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miss-choco-chips · 3 years

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Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed.

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.”

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is.

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing.

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him.

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters.

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second. If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive, but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms.

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion.

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind.

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him? It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof.

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets.

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death.

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now.

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard.

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

#My writing #Tim drake #batman fanfic #red robin #trigger warning:#depression #suicide attempts #discussion of suicide #overdose #mental illness #hurt comfort #Tim doing the comfort and being the hurt #until he gets the comfort #happy ending #wholesome #I swear the tags are scary but it IS wholesome #Tim drake centric #my writting

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angel-letters · 3 years

Text

snow days

PAIRING: levi ackerman x gender netural reader (can be taken as platonic or romantic)

DISCLAIMER: while not directly stated this story does deal with depression, and i understand that sometimes reading stories such as this one can make your own depression worse, so please feel no obligation to read it. your own mental health should be your priority. it is also important that if you are not feeling well that you reach out those around you, you’re not alone in your battle. there are also curse words, because apparently i can’t go without cursing.

WORD COUNT: 3551

DOLL’S NOTE: did i project onto this because my own therapy session was cancelled because of the snow and maybe the fact that i just hate the snow in general because it makes me feel crappy? maybe possibly, but what can you expect when i’m supposed to get 4-8 inches when normally we get less than an inch? also, before i got the chance to finish writing this i had to go work and while i was working i was reading the web comic the maid and the vampire, so as i was writing the last part of this i kept thinking of millard, like the feelings i have for that man, oh my. also, once again, a thank you to @setenuma for helping me edit this garbage.

The Writing Room!

You hated the snow. You hated the way the cold of it seemed to seep deep into your bones, how it made your limbs feel like lead, and turned your fingers blue. But most of all you hated the burden of memories and feelings that flooded into your mind with each new snow fall.

You still kept up with your duties, completing training drills and paperwork the way you had always done. Appearing perfectly fine and normal to those in the regiment that did not know you as well, but to those that did they noticed plenty the sloppiness that took place during training, noticing how you seemed to not care if you put yourself in a position that on an expedition would have gotten you killed. There was also the new found sense of heaviness in the air around you, like you were Atlas, carrying the world on your shoulders.

Slowly as the days turned colder and colder you found yourself distancing yourself from your comrades even more, opting to spend all your free time in your office alone completing paperwork instead of staying in the dining hall with the other high ranking officers and squad leaders, drinking tea and listening to Hange ramble for hours about new experiments and discussing new training exercises.

Most still tried to interact with you, trying to cheer you up, Hange would come and try and drag you off to help with an experiment, Mike would try and hold idle chit-chat with you, and Erwin would ask for your opinions on new formations in hopes of distracting you. However in the end all of them decided that it was best to leave you be and let you come to them when you were readly. Well everyone except one person.

Levi Ackerman.

The man refused to allow you a minute of solitude. Always finding you wherever you hid, two cups of tea in his hands and a stack of paperwork under his arm. Even if no words were spoken between the two of you, for you, however, it was the most calming part of your day, when it seemed that the bombardment of memories and feelings finally slowed down.

You and Levi had always had a special sort of bond, perhaps that’s why being in his presence had such a calming feeling for you. A bond that had developed when you yelled at Flagen for being much too harsh to them and consistently offered all three of the newcomers help whenever they needed it. Helping Isabel learn to tack up her horse, answering all of Furlan’s questions about the world above, and even sneaking a tin of tea leaves to Levi after hearing about his liking of tea from Isabel. Then when Furlan and Isabel were killed you were the one that took their wings of freedom from their jackets to give Levi. It was a small gesture but it’s one that led to you being the closest person to Levi other than Erwin.

It was another one of those days where you had hidden yourself away in your office, busy signing and filling out paperwork when your door was opened, not bothering to look up as a familiar voice rang out into the room.

“Get your ass up brat, Erwins called an emergency meeting for some shitty reason,” the raven haired man grumbled, arms crossed as he leaned his back and right foot up against the door frame, staring across the room at you with steely grey eyes.

He was worried about you, yes, though he would never admit it out loud. Throughout all his time as a scout you had been one of the most consistent people he had ever met. You weren’t the cheeriest person around, but then again not many people in the scouts were (though it wasn’t without reason), but you had a kind soul and a warm smile that helped calm down even the most distressed soldier. The only problem with you was that you were secretive when it came to your own feelings. You would offer an ear and advice to any soldier that asked, but never did you let yourself show vulnerability, instead you hide yourself away until you can put a brave face on and Levi hated it. After everything that the two of you had gone through he felt like you knew more about him then he did you and he had tried everything to get you to open up to him. Asking Erwin to move your squad closer to his in the formations so that two of you could ride together, mixing most of your training exercise together, preparing tea for the two of you during late nights. He had placed himself within nearly every part of your schedule and you in his, but no matter how many inside jokes and late nights it still felt like you had a wall up that you refused to let down, even around him.

Placing the paper you had just finished on a stack to your right you placed the pen in your hand down as you stood up from your desk, and silently joined the shorter man at the door. A feeling like a knife went through Levi’s heart as you said nothing when before you would have come up with some sort of snarky remark to his jab. Instead of saying anything however he pushed himself off of the door frame and started down the hall, with you by his side, to Erwin’s office.

You sat at a large wooden table with the other senior officers. Erwin, as the commander, sat at the head of the table discussing the plans for the latest expedition outside of the walls, Mike sat to your left, Hange to your right (being loud as always), and Levi was directly across from you staring at you once again with those steely grey eyes of his. Normally you would have returned his gaze with one of your own, raising a brow and maybe throwing in a wink to make him roll his eyes and turn his gaze back to Erwin, but today you opted to turn your gaze downwards. Glancing at the papers in front of you attempted to read them, though you knew it was pointless, no matter how many times you read them over you never retained any of the information, similar to know matter how hard you tried to listen to what was being said you never seemed to be able to properly comprehend what was being said. It was frustrating to say the least.

“According to the weather experiments that Hange has been performing it appears that there will be a massive storm arriving within the next couple of days. That is why, after careful consideration, it has been decided that should a storm take place that all troops will be given the day, and following days off as it will be near impossible for any training to take place,” It was the last of Erwin’s announcements and though the blond spoke like he doubted the storm would take place, everyone knew that while often extravagant, Hange’s experiments often worked, with their weather experiments becoming fairly accurate in predicting the weather. So with the idea of maybe getting a little more sleep, and being able to escape your mind just a little, in a couple days you left the room with the others, returning to your office.

The storm that Hange had predicted did happen, starting with low howls of wind late in the night, as clouds burden with snow covered the sky, sending large flakes of snow down onto the earth. By the time that the sun had risen the next morning, though the winds had not calmed by much and the snow was still falling, large drifts of snow had formed around the scouts headquarters. With the lower ranked soldiers being informed of the day off, most stayed in the mesh hall, playing games of chess and idly chatting, while senior officers went to their offices, attempting to catch up with overdue paperwork now that they had a day not filled with training drills. You however were a different story.

You had woken up just as the sun was rising to be greeted with frosted window panes, and a chill that seemed to speed in from the outside, numbing your body even with the fire that was still going in the fireplace. The fatigue that was filling your mind also did not help the chill that had crept into your body, making you want nothing more than to sleep, and perhaps you could. Erwin had said that when the storm blows in they would all be given the day off, so perhaps, just once, you could give into your mind and just sleep. Yes a part of you screamed that no matter how bad you feel, no matter how hard it is to bury everything you’re feeling, you need to get up, go and eat breakfast and do your work. But the thought of food had your stomach in a knot and the thought of paperwork brought back the image of fog whenever you had been working the past days. So before you could tell yourself no you sank back into your bed and pulled the blanket up and over your head and went back to sleep.

Levi was in a panicked mood to say the least, though it did not appear so if anyone were to comment. He had waited for over an hour for you to appear in the mesh hall, and when you hadn’t he had merely shrugged it off as a day that you weren’t hungry (he’ll bring some bread alongside the tea he normally brings later), but slowly as the day went on and as he continually went back and forth between all of the places you went to be alone and his own office, you were nowhere to be found. He had checked the library, Mike, Hange, and Erwin’s offices, the storage closet on the east wing, he had even braved the cold weather and checked the stables. So now with just one place left, if he didn’t find you he was going to raise a high alarm, after all it was already late into the afternoon and not one person had seen you all day, if that wasn’t a reason to worry or panic then he didn’t know what was.

Arriving in front of the room that had you shared with Hange (though it was more of just your room as they tended to sleep in their lab), he tried the handle, finding it unlocked (thankfully he didn’t have to kick the damn thing down, he let himself into the room. Shivering slightly as he walked in, automatically noticing the dying fire in the fireplace, however he quickly turned his gaze to the bundle of blankets on the bed. Pushing the door shut with his hand he quickly turned the lock before he walked slowly towards the bed. Reaching his hand out to grab the blanket, he hesitated, was this the right thing to do? Should he bother you like this? But before he could decide to leave (he doubted that in that state you were that you had even noticed him) he remembered something, a promise the two of you had made.

The night sky had shone so bright that night, if felt like it was mocking him, with each night since their passing not even a cloud crossed the night sky. He may have chosen not to regret anything that happened, chosen to follow the man he had been sent to kill, but that didn’t mean grief did not find its way into his heart. As his mind clouded, silent tears falling down his cheeks, the sound of a cup being placed next to him startled him. Jumping to his feet, his hand reaching for the knife in his pocket, he was surprised to find you there, laughing softly as you held a cup out to him. Eyeing you suspiciously he glanced between the cup and you.

“It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking, I would drink it to prove it to you, but as much of a clean freak you are I don’t think you would appreciate that now would you?” Rolling his eyes he sat back down, (in the same spot he had sat every night he had come up here with Furlan and Isabel) taking the cup gratefully, though still eyeing you as you rested you arms on the way, now holding your own up between your hands, eyes aimed towards the sky.

He couldn’t help but wonder why you went through all the trouble, why you’ve gone out of your way since he first arrived, to try and befriend him (if that’s what you were trying). Even after knowing he had joined the scouts to kill one of your own friends, you had still cared enough to hand him the bloody wings of freedom that had belonged to Furlan and Isabel, and every day you made sure to greet him when passing by, or even dragging him off to train with your squad, because (and he could quote it), ‘Flagen’s an ass and you won’t learn anything from him’. Now even, you had sought him out in the middle of the night, when he was at his lowest, to offer him a cup of tea. Why, what were you gaining from this? Most everyone else still treated him like an outsider, so why were you so kind?

“You’re wondering why aren’t you? Why am I so kind to you?” you mused softly, speaking his thoughts out loud for him. Looking his way, you met eyes briefly before he turned his gaze away, silently answering your own questions. Another small laugh escaped you as he avoided your gaze.

“There’s no reason, if you must know, no reason other than I don’t think that you should be alone after everything that happened.” He scoffed at that, causing you to laugh once more, humans were selfish creatures, that much was true, so you had to have a reason, something that you wanted, but for the time being he would indulge you, you were rather calming to be around (and not just his curiosity getting the better of him). So he sat silently, occasionally speaking up, as you talked about random things to fill the silence. The two of you stayed like that for several hours into the night, and it wasn’t until you both were finally heading to bed to get the few hours of sleep that you could before you would be required to be up and training, did he ask what the both of you knew had been on his mind all night long.

“What do you get out of this, what do you want in return? And don’t say nothing, everyone wants something.” You smiled softly nodding as you thought carefully.

“I really do want nothing, but if it satisfies you, I’m doing what I would want someone to do for me if I were in your shoes, so why don’t we say that what I want in return is for someone to kick me in the ass if I ever appear to lose hope in everything, okay? Does that work as an answer for you?”

Though shock coursed through his body, he rolled his eyes, letting out yet another scoff among thousands that he had made during the night, muttering, “I suppose that works.”

“Great, then it's a deal. I keep annoying you and in return if I ever get mopey and depressed I expect you to kick me in my ass and tell me to get over it,” you said, laughing all the while.

‘If I ever get mopey and depressed I expect you to kick me in my ass and tell me to get over it.’ That was what you said, so while you may end up being momentarily pissed at him for what he was about to do, you could only blame yourself, after all you were the one who said he could do it.

Grabbing the blanket with both hands he gave a hard tug as he pulled it off of you, shaking you awake. As the sudden cold hit your body and light flooded your face, blinding you, you blinked your eyes quickly, trying to adjust to the sudden light while giving Levi a look of, ‘what the hell are you doing?’

“You look like shit,” Levi said once you met his eyes, and it was true. Your hair was a mess, your eyes bloodshot and swollen, tear streaks running down your face, your skin looked duller than normal, but those were not the things that shocked Levi. The look of absolute defeat, of brokenness shook him to his core, never had he seen you look so small and helpless, causing him to yell at himself mentally for not realizing how badly your mental health had become.

“Yeah, yeah, now what do you want,” you eyed the blanket that he had ripped away from you longingly, but made no move to try and take it back, your arms felt too heavy to move, pushing yourself to sit was hard enough.

“I’m here to get your lazy ass up, seeing as you decided to sleep all day.” You raised your eyebrows, glancing to look at the window, to see that long shadows had started creeping across the land outside of your window, the sun would be setting soon.

Sighing, Levi draped the blanket over the headboard, reaching a hand out to gently grasp your chin to turn your gaze back to him, “What’s wrong brat?”

“Nothings wrong, I just decided to sleep all day. What's wrong with that.” While you still denied it, one look, however, he could tell it was a lie. From the way your eyes watered and refused to look at any part of him, knowing that you would cave if you looked directly at him and not wanting to burden him with your own memories and feelings, he already dealt with more than his fair share.

“Don’t lie to me. And if I must remind you, you gave me special permission to beat your ass if you ever got like this.”

“I-,” you finally met his eyes, seeing for the first time the amount of worry that shone behind them, “fine,” you mumbled, slipping out of his grasp and resting your back against the wall, staring at your hands as you gathered you thoughts, trying to find a place to start. Slipping his boots off Levi joined you on the bed, resting against the headboard, arms crossed as he waited patiently.

Once your thoughts had been gathered you started speaking, telling the story of all the people you could never save. Your fellow cadets that had graduated from the same cadet corps as you, joining you as a scout (there had only been five of you who had joined that year), all of whom had died during their first expedition, leaving you alone. Of fellow squad mates that were killed saving you, fresh new cadets that you were given to train that never made it through their first expedition. The guilt you felt from not being there to save Furlan and Isabel. The screams of mothers when told that their child was dead and never returning home. Then finally, as your voice became shaky and tears had filled your eyes until you could no longer see clearly, you told him of your siblings. Of the snowstorm that rolled through your hometown, of the argument you had with your parents, how you had left right before the storm had it, leaving for a friends house, and how your younger siblings had gone out in the storm to search for you only to not be seen again until spring, about the blame your parents had placed on you, and the blame you placed on yourself. You told him everything as he sat silent, watching as your highest wall crumbled and fell to the ground.

He had known you were a kind soul, but he had never realized just how kind you were, how much you cared for people, and how much you blame yourself for not saving people who could not be saved. Stepping out of his comfort zone you reached his arms out, wrapping tightly around your torso as he pulled to his chest, whispering soft affirmations, and speaking of all the lives you had saved. And as he held you in his arms, speaking to you and rubbing calming circles on you back as you fell apart before him and sobbed your heart out, you realized something. You weren’t in this alone in any of this pain, there were others all around you who felt the same, friends, strangers, so many people in your own life who had also lost others and shared in the same grief and pain as you. You realized that as long as you reached out to those you cared, you would never be alone.

Wrapping your arms around the dark haired man, between your sobs, you whispered out a small thank you, for caring, and for reaching out.

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stxleslyds · 3 years

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MY TOUGHTS ON PART ONE OF RED HOOD BY CHIP ZDARSKY :)

Finally I have read part one of the Red Hood story in Batman: Urban Legends!

This story is very interesting, we start with the Red Hood looking for the people who are providing Gotham with a new drug. This drug “Cheerdrops” has been passed around for weeks at this point and it has had devastating results among it's users. If you know Jason you understand that drugs are a big issue for him and one that he treats very carefully and seriously.

As he interrogates people he arrives to the building where one of the dealers of this drug is supposed to be, there he finds a horrific scene, a boy is desperately trying to wake up his mother who appears to have overdosed in her bed. Jason is quick to call an ambulance and get in contact with Oracle in order to find the boy's father who is (as he finds out later) the man that he was looking for.

Jason sees this scene and can't help but compare it to the time he went through this situation with his mom all those years ago, so he takes the boy with him so he can take him to his father, who Jason is hoping is a good man that had to sell drugs in order to help his family.

That's basically the premise of this first part of the story but now i will write about my thoughts on the specifics of the story.

The story begins with Jason giving a speech about fear and how it's used,

"Fear. Its a tool, it's his tool. I never really adopted it, maybe because he kept that fear all to himself." Then he continues with "Never had to rely on it, had to work harder to take out the bad guys, had to be...more direct." he finishes that thought with "Rubber Bullets. So that fear doesn't get turned around on me."

I for one really liked this Fear speech, it does really sum up what the Batman does, he relies on the Fear that he imposes on Gotham's criminals and such while Robin on the other hand was never meant to work with fear, which is true.

It did remind me of the speech that Alfred gave in issue #10 of Under the Red Hood about how Batman works with fear and Jason had some thoughts on it, here is some of it,

"Master Jason had a condescending practice of referring to the costumed criminals elements as 'dress ups'. He also noted that such individuals did not fear the Batman the way street thugs and mafioso did. The 'dress ups' did not believe he was a monster." "...the boy did say something to me that chilled me to the bone...even then. 'They all know he won't kill them.'"

Anyway let's go back to the actual comic I am talking about...

Jason speaks from his position as Red Hood in current time and says that he uses rubber bullets in order to keep the Bat at bay, the fear that the Bat uses against other criminals cannot be used against him if he plays within the Bat's rules.

As he was doing that he was actually trying to get info about who is making the drug but all he was able to get was who was selling it to the person he was interrogating. This drug is dangerous and Jason has to work fast.

Here is where we see the first flashback scene, we see Jason in the cave before he was able to go out as Robin and he is not to happy about it. The art is very beautiful but sadly in these panels i found my first problem with the context of Jason becoming Robin and how Zdarsky seems to set Jason's feelings on the first Robin.

It seems that Zdarsky is going for the “Jason believed Dick was the perfect Robin and no matter what he did he would never be as good as him” route, which fine ok, that's your right but, is it really necessary? I must admit i am a little tired of this particular thing because i adore the fact that when Dick and Jason first met they were fine with one another (even if a little wary at the very start). And the whole competitive and “i will never be as good as X person” is really tiring in the Robin/Batfamily fandom.

That problem is not as significant as the next one though.

Jason not thinking that Robin was “badass”. Well this is not only a bad take but it's completely OOC for Jason, no matter how you see it. From his first appearance as Robin to the flashbacks in Winick's UtRH and even through both of Lobdell's runs Jason has always loved the concept and the mantle of Robin as a child.

Batman v1, #385.

So that whole take is wrong, i don't like it and also who on this or any universe would rather call themselves Batboy? Honestly i hope this is never brought up again or i will cry. ((((Also in this house Robin will always be the name that Mary gave Dick and then he used as his hero name so it hurts a lot more))))

Also at the end of this first flashback Jason discovers a room full of firearms and is obviously surprised because Batman hates those so he asks why he has them, B responds that he has to understand how they work for his detective work, but that's not all he says, he also says this “...Guns are a coward's weapon, and we will not be cowards.”

Alright Mr. Zdarsky i see the irony... i also see the Daredevil / Punisher thingie right there.

Anyway we are now back to the present where we see Batman seeing the effects of the drug in one of its victims, after saving that person he takes some samples of the drug. We also get to see two police officers with different views on the “masks”, that's a nice way to set the story after the Joker War and before the Magistrate.

Back to Jason, he seems to be struggling, he can't find the people making/providing the drugs in Gotham and is also doubting his skills, he tells a man that if the information that he gave him is incorrect he “will find him” followed with another internal speech full of self doubt, “...sure thing Red Hood, right now you can't even find a street drug. Half of Gotham's teenagers could find it no problem. You never were the best detective.”

Alright, so Jason feels insecure about his skills now? First you have pre-Robin Jason not feeling like he could be able to keep up with the first Robin and now, Jason as a grown man has doubts about the skills that he has used for a long while now? I mean, press X for DOUBT because UtRH showed us how much of a badass and extremely skilled he is. This man planed everything in order to turn the Bat's world upside down (and this story has references to UtRH so it definitely happened) and now he feels like he is not that good?

Shit. i know where this is going, first the insecurities that he has already worked out... I can see it coming, the next big thing will be Daddy issues. Wonderful i hate it and i hope i am wrong because those “issues” are more than resolved, i know that's the only trope DC throws at Jason but honestly how different will it be this time?

Fine, lets move on. Jason finds himself in one of the apartments and what he sees is horrifying. Lying on a bed there is a woman completely catatonic with a horrible smile on her face and right next to her a terrified little boy.

Here is the best take on Jason's character so far.

Realizing that the child is scared of the situation and the masked man that just came into his home Jason takes off his mask and reassures the kid that he is there to help, it's quickly made obvious that the woman has overdosed on Cheerdrops, he makes sure to call an ambulance for her stating that she seems to be in a drug-related coma.

Its important to note that Jason is doing this as he is having troubling thoughts about how much this scene reminds him of the time he was in this little boy's (Tyler) shoes. Its hard for him but he soon realizes that he needs to make sure Tyler is safe.

He asks Tyler if he has another parent, he does and his name is Andy, after taking a look around the house Jason deduces that maybe the father is also taking drugs so if the police comes they will surely take Tyler and put him in the system, this idea is not one Jason is fond of so he calls Oracle, he asks if she can locate Tyler's dad's phone, when she asks about the kid Jason says that he will be the one keeping him safe.

Now we find ourselves back with Batman where he is investigating the components of Cheerdrops, he finds out that the drug is a modified version of Scarecrow's fear gas that gives the victim a sense of extreme happiness instead of fear.

Here we get confirmation of when in the timeline this story occurs, which is after the events of Infinite Frontier (where there was an attack on Arkham and many patients/prisoners were killed or escaped).

B suggests to Oracle that maybe Crane didn't die there and that he might be behind this drug, he will be on the job right away! To this Oracle is like well shit, so she tells B that Jason is also working this case...and here comes a funny yet confusing interaction.

Barbara says “I know you two aren't exactly friends right now but...” before she finishes Batman interrupts her by saying “He is a killer Barbara. I will do this alone.”

OH BOY is this interaction confusing! First of all may i point out how different this conversation is from the one in Three Jokers where the roles were basically reversed??? Please tell me that i am not the only one who finds that funny! Anyway that story doesn't matter here, but Red Hood Outlaw from Rebirth does, right?

Here is the thing, the last person that Jason “killed” in rebirth was Penguin and he actually didn't do it, he had him trapped in a panic room in his own Casino. Batman already beat the living shit out of Jason in RHatO #25 for it...and some time has passed, B surely found out that Jason didn't kill Penguin by now, i mean isn't he like the best detective to ever detective in the history of the universe??

Not only that but Jason has been using rubber bullets for a while and even at the start he mentions that, he basically implies that he is playing by the Bat's rules to keep him off his back. Maybe B hasn't let go of the duffel bag full of heads or any of the shitty people Jason killed during UtRH??? If B still holds that against Jason then why would he try to make Jason part of his Bat clan at the beginning of RHatO Rebirth?

Maybe he still thinks that Jason killed the penguin...but even then isn't B working with Harley and Ghost-Maker? You know, people who have killed? Why is Jason different? Did Jason kill someone recently that we don't know about? Jason only kills a very distinct set of people (that are very not nice) so i guess i don't see the logic...

Anyway second flashback, and this time we have a look at what was going on in the Batcave with B and Alfred during the events of UtRH! Nothing that wasn't explored in UtRH is said here but we do see Alfred explicitly telling Bruce how much they failed Jason. There is a heavy insinuation that the fact that Batman keeps sending the Joker to Arkham only for him to escape and kill more people actually makes B responsible for those deaths and i love that. Thank you.

Back to Jason and Tyler we get to see some very adorable scenes between the two. Jason gives the lower half of his mask to Tyler to protect his identity like a superhero and we have a really sweet moment in which Tyler chooses the Blue Hood as his name because he likes the colour blue (same Tyler).

After he leaves Tyler in a place where he will be safe he goes to the building where Andy should be and let me tell you the more Jason sees the less hopeful he becomes about Andy being just one of the people selling the drug... He does some shooting and incapacitating and then follows the man that is trying to escape and here is when shit hits the fan.

Andy is a disgusting human being. He hates Tyler's mother and doesn't care that she might be dead and the piece of shit hates his son so much that he gave a barely 10 year old drugs.

Yeah. BANG BANG BANG MOTHERFUKER.

If you think that this leads to Jason being a little more like his UtRH self, you know the guy that said that people who gave drugs to kids will get killed without a thought...yeah that's not happening, here comes the guilt!

I get it he just killed a man, but, did you read what that man said?

Anyway that's how the first part of this story ends.

The story is good. it has things that don't make much sense but i think it's because Zdarsky is a Batman fan and not a Red Hood fan in the sense that he doesnt know much about Jason's character and that this is his first ever DC work.

I cant wait to see where this story goes, while i hope “unresolved daddy issues” doesn't become a theme yet again in a Red Hood story i believe it's where we are headed. I will keep on reading because i am invested in Jason and Tyler's relationship and what is going to happen now that Jason killed Andy.

Let me know what you thought about the issue and my post if you want! Bye!

#jason todd #red hood #red hood outlaw #batman urban legends #robin #batman and robin

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melancholia-cressa · 3 years

Text

Weakness

So, one random morning, I was listening to a certain song for the first time. Once the lyrics sunk in, I just had this idea for a Dio and female reader-insert fic. Hope you enjoy it, even if I do hate the guy lmao.

warning: angst, implied child abandonment, mentions of blood and death, swearing, and minor spoilers for those who have not finished Part 1

Addendum: I actually forgot to mention that I based my interpretation of Dio's personality and thought process mostly from the Over Heaven light novel. It's a good read and it helps you understand his character better, so I say give it a shot

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

"How many times has it been this week?"

Dio grunted, turning his cheek away from the girl in front of him. Your arms were crossed over your chest with a brow quirked in a silent question. He felt the bruise on his cheek sting and smart by the slightest brush of the wind. If anything, the painful sensation was intensified by your glare. His tongue flicked over the cut on his lip in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the blood. Your exasperated sigh reached his ears; nothing more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Come here, you stubborn mule." Before Dio knew it, you had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the bustling streets of urban London. Passersby didn't spare a glance for the two teenagers dressed in soiled commoner clothes.

Dio, hoping to spare himself from the embarrassment of allowing a girl to drag him around, watched the crowd go about their mundane activities. Women gossiped with each other, hands covering their mouths to stifle scandalized gasps, while men languidly talked about adult matters—business and what other dull subjects they had in mind. His gaze drifted to the hollowed junction between a clothing shop frequented by aristocrats and an apothecary that had seen better days. The blond already sensed the death and neglect in the air before the sight made his skin crawl. He caught a glimpse of a man in tattered rags whose back hunched over, shoulders sagging from the weight of his head tucked towards his chest. His hand loosely held the neck of a bottle of booze, empty and hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the nape of Dio's neck stood on end, but a harsh tug from you brought him back to reality.

"We're almost there," you told him. You looked at him from the corner of your eye before focusing on the road ahead. Your hand, small and thin with a bony wrist, squeezed his arm before abruptly jostling through the crowd. The throng of people parted, cleaving a path towards the outskirts of the city. Dio scowled, directing his attention to the cobblestone path and ignoring the pain blossoming in the palm of his clenched fist. Murmurs from the socialites rang as clear as the church bells, but you paid no mind to it. Something about your indifference made his indignation and annoyance worsen; his blood dangerously close to boiling over what little patience he had. Another squeeze of his arm and a quick glance from you told him this was a losing battle, one he had never won before. With a scoff, Dio grudgingly remained silent and continued to let you drag him.

From how long Dio knew you and vice versa, he wouldn't be surprised if you somehow noticed his apprehension and discomfort. He never understood why you went out of your way to help him. The first time he met you, Dio had slapped your hand away when you tried to help him off the ground. He expected you to either cry or throw a tantrum, like all the other girls he observed from his time in the slums, but you didn't. Instead, you looked him in the eye with a glimmer of emotion Dio couldn't describe.

"Sod off. I'm helping you, and that's that." The look in your eyes remained even when you roughly pulled him up and dragged him back to your home to tend to his bruises and cuts. Now, here he was again, being dragged by you and your insufferable pity suffocating him. Its spindly fingers ghosted over his neck, which uncomfortably tickled his skin; sharp nails poking the soft flesh that one squeeze could puncture it. Every time your eyes met his, Dio could see the swirl of indiscernible feelings in your gaze, forlorn and soft, just like his deceased mother's. The one who died thinking about others on her deathbed and wishing his son to do the same. The woman who lost her life in return for compassion and kindness. You resembled his mother—the gentle grasp on his arm, the feather-light brush of fingers tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear, the small smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, the warmth in them—to the point where he found it disgusting and wretched.

He hated it, everything about you, but why did he still keep you around?

The cold, trickling sensation that dripped down his cheek made him jump in his seat. A cough echoed in his ears, followed by a faint snort that told him someone refrained from laughing at him. The corners of your eyes wrinkled in mirth while you held a cold, wet rag to his bruised cheek. He must have looked comically bewildered because you stuffed a fist over your mouth to keep in your giggles. A frown tugged the corners of Dio’s lips as his brows furrowed.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed. Your free hand grabbed his to replace the other one holding the cold rag, “Hold still while I get some more ice from the ice box.”

With that, you left with your skirt swishing from the rush towards the kitchen. A grunt rang in the living space, courtesy of the blond begrudgingly holding the cool cloth to his bruise. Upon looking around, he noted that nothing much had changed from the last time he was here (which was around a week). Moth-eaten curtains hid the windows, most likely coated in dust and grime, and the floorboards creaked at every step you took. The wooden chair he sat on felt cold and sturdy, indicating how you rarely sat on it due to your apprenticeship in the city, while the table across him bore scratches hidden under a doily you embroidered. A basket with a few apples and grapes tempted him, but he didn’t act on it. The house, smaller than his own, is located on the outskirts of the city, and he still couldn’t understand how you lived here by yourself like this. Knowing that women can’t own property of their own, Dio had asked you a question: how did you keep the house to yourself?

“I lie about father sending me on errands,” was your simple reply despite the fact that your parents were long gone. One morning, Dio had found you dragging your feet in the streets and, when you had suddenly leaned into him, the quiet sniffles told him everything. He had taken you home that night—damn his father, he never even cared where he went as long as he brought back a bottle of alcohol—and stayed upon your request. The moment he led you to your room, glimpses from an open door showed him emptied drawers and a barren wardrobe. A drawer box was left hanging from its cabinet, as if it was pulled out in haste. The candle was barely touched. Its wick remained spotless and barely any wax dripped down the candle holder atop the cabinet. He didn’t need to see the rest of the room to know what happened.

His ten-year-old mind didn’t know why he stayed, much less took you back to a cold, lifeless house. Yet, he did all that and more—he kept you by his side without a single, logical reason. You didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy would. If anything, he seemed to be the one drifting anywhere near you. He would wander the slums and traipse through the bars for scraps, mostly booze for his deadbeat father, then his gaze would land on you. You were there every single time, whether it was for apprentice work in that dress shop or buying bread in the bakery, and it drove him mad. Dio, the one who survived alone in this shitty reality of his, subconsciously seeking your company like a besotted fool. The very thought makes him scoff and laugh. Every time he asked himself about these coincidences, he came up blank. His mind conjured nothing but the image of your tear-stained face and the devastation that set itself in place of your usual smile.

Dio didn’t know why, but he’d rather not see you in that condition again. Never.

The creaking floorboards announced your arrival. With a sweeping flourish, you switched the warming rag with a new one wrapped around ice and firmly pressed it to his cheek. Dio hissed, throwing you a venomous glare at the amused smirk on your face. You shrugged, the damning smirk remained, and only laughed when he ripped your hand off the rag to grasp it on his own.

“Stop acting like a child,” you tutted, mocking him as if he was the child in the situation. Heat crept up his neck and ears, skin flushing a slight red. Whether it was from embarrassment or indignation, he didn’t know. All he knew was the annoyance fluttering in his stomach and the twitch of his fingers, ready to smack your hand away should it be necessary. Another laugh came from you, and the fluttering feeling increased tenfold.

“We are children. Speak for yourself,” Dio snarled, but this only earned him another smile from you. The soft, small one that always resembled his mother’s.

He hated it, how you sorely reminded him of his mother, but why won’t he leave?

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“Oh, aren’t you…”

Your wide eyes shifted into crescents, a smile gracing your lips, as you told Jonathan your name. The blue-haired aristocrat gently took your hand and kissed its knuckles, which caught you by surprise. The slight flush of your cheeks said it all. Dio could feel his eye twitch at the predicament unfolding in front of him.

Is this what it felt like when God has forsaken you? Not that Dio believed in the supernatural, but it best captured his feelings at the moment.

He coughed into his fist, diverting your attention away from his stepbrother, and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “I thought you’d be working in the dress shop today? You told me you couldn’t come to the rugby game.”

“Oh, w-well…” You trailed off, fiddling with your thumbs and looking away from the blond. You gnawed your bottom lip, a tic Dio associated with nerves, as your eyes flitted between him and Jonathan. Somehow, this irked him more than it should. Jonathan watched the scene in curiosity, only recognizing you from the time he had seen twelve-year-old Dio walk after you in the city once. The oblivious boy asked about you, and Dio immediately glared at him until he was cowed into silence. Dio was about to demand an answer—childish, really, but his patience was being tested—until you finally answered him.

“Mrs. Smith allowed me to leave early—” once she knew you were playing, was what you thought but chose not to divulge that information—“so here I am.”

Dio let out an amused huff, the swell of relief almost choking him, “Well, what did you think of the game then?”

You hummed, placing a hand on your cheek with a mock thoughtful expression. Dio subconsciously tapped his shoe on the grass as he awaited your response. The raucous beating of his heart dulled his senses the longer you mused, which wasn’t that long in all honesty. It only took a mere three seconds before you spoke.

“I think you and Jonathan were amazing. I would have never expected him to pass the ball to you, then you taking the winning score.”

Dio would have basked in your compliment, which was a rare occurrence unfortunately, if it weren’t for the fact that Jonathan was included in it. Regardless, he sported a triumphant grin and clapped you on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. Your eyes widened in surprise, but this had gone unnoticed by Jonathan, who knew nothing of your relationship with Dio, and the man himself. The confusion swarming your mind remained even when Jonathan bashfully grinned and expressed his gratitude.

“Oh! Well, thank you, but this victory is all because of Dio,” he told you. You sighed, knowing that would stroke Dio’s ego, but the latter felt his heart stutter at the sight of your smile. If he didn’t despise Jonathan and plotted to take the Joestar fortune for himself, then he would have been grateful to Jonathan at the moment. That was not the case, but he took the compliment in stride with a boastful grin.

Unfortunately, his heart dropped when you dismissed it with a wave. “Nonsense! You deserve the recognition as much as he does!”

It felt wrong seeing you smile at Jonathan; the one that always reminded him of his mother. His blood simmered under his skin as his jaw clenched, teeth painfully grinding together. His heart hammered in his chest; mind screaming and urging him to lead you away from the spoiled, ignorant Joestar. He didn’t like this: how you and Jonathan are in the same space and breathing the same air. He felt those ghostly fingers grip his throat and prick his skin, the phantom sensation of nails scratching the sensitive area. Yet, he kept the polite smile and the pretense that he’s friends with his stepbrother. Dio Brando will get everything he wants soon. He can’t afford to ruin his carefully sculpted plan all because of a girl.

You are not worth the repercussions.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“How many times has it been this week?” You smiled, but the disgust and spite associated with the expression disappeared in a sharp inhale from Dio.

Blood stained your dress, splattered over your skirt and apron, as your fingers clutched at the arm embedded in your torso. Drops of blood found their way to your boots, the worn leather speckled with scarlet dots. A cough sent a spurt of blood to dribble down the corner of your lips as a terrified cry of your name echoed in the hall. Jonathan—it was Jonathan’s voice, followed by the voices of his companions Dio didn’t even bother to acknowledge. The muted horror of what he had done registered in his mind, and the blond vampire immediately ripped his arm away from you. The force propelled your body forward, falling towards the stone floor of the castle, but an arm hooked itself around your waist.

“You bloody idiot,” Dio hissed, dropping to his knees from the momentum of capturing you. One of his hands cradled your head, fingers buried into your hair, while the other held your body flush against his chest. “You bloody fucking idiot.”

“How many times have you taken lives this week?” Your voice warbled, hints of melancholy in your teasing tone. Dio briefly barked orders for the zombies to attack Jonathan and his comrades before he returned his attention to you. His heart clenched, cracks starting to form at the unsightly hole in your stomach, but his rage at what you have done made his mouth run.

“Why?” One of his arms supported your back, gripping you closer in a futile attempt at clinging to your life. He had no warmth—no comfort to spare for your dying body. It was the first and only time Dio cursed the consequences of his immortality, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Not when you, the girl he had known since childhood and the one he shared a strange bond with, were waning between the realm of life and death. You looked at him, and Dio’s rage grew at the soft smile still on your face. It spoke of promises and hope, the things Dio had forsaken ever since his mother died and his father began to further drive a stake into his future.

They were empty and meaningless, but not with you.

“Why?!” He demanded, visibly trembling at your silence. Dio didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you jumped in front of Jonathan to take the hit. The light in your eyes began to dim, but you shakily placed a hand on his cheek. The same bruised cheek you had tended to before his father died and he had been adopted by the Joestars. The memory made Dio shudder and he moved to evade your touch, but you stubbornly clasped his cheek with the remaining strength your fragile, bleeding body had.

“Should there be a reason?” You rasped, chuckling a little. The gesture resulted in another harsh cough and more blood to spill from your mouth. The red coated your lips akin to the lipstick of those aristocrat beauties Dio observed during the parties George Joestar hosted. The color mocked him, taunting him for his dependence on the wretched substance. The vampire’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. The rage festering inside him threatened to break through his cool façade. He was about to snap at you for your foolish remark when your thumb ghosted over the skin under his eye.

"This is a first," you whispered, chest heaving and eyes flickering between dark and light. "I thought I'd never see the day you'd cry."

"Save your breath," Dio fumed, cursing once more for the obvious tremor in his voice. "Just save your strength. I can save you—just—"

"Silly boy," your smile grew as you looked into Dio's eyes, finding semblances of the bruised boy you had bumped into when you first met. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, or I might regret my decision."

Before Dio could say anything, scream at you for your audacity in your last moments, your lips brushed against his cheek. His breath hitched and his hold on you slackened the tiniest bit. He felt your lashes flutter over his pale skin, the receding warmth of your body, and the dainty caress of your hands on his cheeks. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he yearned for more. Dio yearned for more time with you—to relive the days when you two were nothing but gullible children in a world dominated by greed and power-hungry beasts lurking beneath beautiful masks.

The moment shattered when your body sagged against him; your head lolled to the side and unceremoniously bumped against his shoulder. The blood from your lips marred his skin, but he paid no mind to it. His hands scrambled to hold you—keep you close to him—as his breath came in short, panicked bursts. Dio didn't care if he looked like an idiot in front of his army. He didn't care if Jonathan and his parade of fools saw him in his moment of weakness.

He only cared about you.

He lifted a hand, shoulders shaking a bit, to take a look at your face. The soft smile you always adorned, one that lit your expression, now painted itself on your pallid complexion. Your eyes remained close, and you looked nothing but peaceful the moment you died in his arms. The blood on your clothes and the hole he created didn't deter nor ruin your blissful image. He hated it. He always hated that smile.

It was the same smile his mother gave him before she died.

The ghostly, spindly appendages found their way around his neck. They ruptured his skin and crushed his throat as the back of his eyes stung. A lone tear dripped down his cheek and landed on your own, devoid of the flush it once had when you were still alive. A silent, choked sob slipped past his lips and he brought you closer; his nails digging into your arm from how tight he gripped your corpse. He brought your face into the crook of his neck. Dio couldn't bring himself to look at you, knowing what you meant by your last words.

You wanted to die as a human. This thought made him curl his body over yours, shielding the ghastly sight of your corpse from the others, if only to provide him some sense of comfort that you didn't shun him. You never did, not when you saw him discard his humanity and not even when you decided to join Jonathan to search for him. Dio never understood why you'd follow him to the ends of the earth. He never understood why you didn't leave him when he chose to become immortal. He never found the answers to these questions. Although, he understood why he never left you—he saw himself in you, a girl abandoned by her family and scorned by society. Dio couldn't find it in himself to leave you; his pride prevented him from stooping to their level. There was another reason, but the crushing weight of this revelation only served to choke him in his guilt-ridden wrath.

He loves you.

#jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure phantom blood #jjba #jjba part 1 #phantom blood #dio brando #dio #reader insert #dio x reader #angst all the way #enjoy your angst #there is no happy ending for this man #im sorry not sorry

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inkstaineddove · 3 years

Text

Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up. They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Weird q..but i really dont understand why most fans hate season 4, especially the last episode. Why? I think it gave us a deeper look on both sherlock and mycroft! I felt it tells a lot about mycroft how he had to step in and take control of things ever since he was a kid himself. Also he is not a robot or a killer. Also redbeard thing. It was an appropriate deep psychological trauma (cause most shows usually disappoint in that area). I am not trying to impose my opinion. Just want to understand

Hey Nonny!

It’s all good, and I totally respect your opinion and how you enjoyed S4! It’s totally okay! I know that there are quite a few who got a lot of of S4, and who genuinely enjoyed it.

Sadly, I am not one of those people, and I’ll try to be as diplomatic a possible in my response, but PLEASE know that I don’t think you’re “terrible” or “stupid” for liking S4 because I DO get passionate sometimes in my responses, and I’m just merely speaking as someone who studied the series very closely for quite a long time before S4 aired, and as someone who knows Day-One-ers (ie., people who watched Sherlock on its day one airdate) who also are a large majority of the people who did not like S4. This is just me simply stating why I didn’t like it, but it’s different for everyone.

Stating what I DO like: The acting and cinematography of the first two episodes were brilliant for what they had to work with, and I’ve never faulted any of the actors for the flaws of S4. And for TFP, they did the best with what they had to work with.

That’s… pretty much all I really liked about S4.

Now, here’s my problems with S4:

Nothing made a LICK of sense to the narrative that they were telling in Seasons prior.

This series was always based a bit in reality, and suddenly everything became comic-book rules: X-Men villains, shitty “redemption” arc, destroying favourite characters just for drama, ludicrous physics, explosions that only destroyed one small room in an apt where in previous episodes one explosion destroyed an entire block, etc.

Sherlock was OOC.

Mary was being built up to be a fantastic villain? Ah, nope, here’s the lacklustre twist where tee hee Mary’s just an assassin with a heart of gold that still emotionally abuses Sherlock and John and just won’t fucking stay dead.

And speaking of this, the DVD’s make NO LOGICAL SENSE unless she was planning to kill herself

AND she tries to make her death equatable to Sherlock’s??

Everyone was RIDICULOUSLY out of character in TFP, I’m so sorry: Mycroft is a bumbling coward for the most part, Sherlock disregards John when he gives the Vatican Cameos warning, the Holmes Parents are assholes because Mycroft COULDN’T SOLVE A PROBLEM WHEN HE WAS 12?? ARE YOU SERIOUS???? And that creepy Moriarty / Eurus thing, and LITERALLY they’re implying that EVERYTHING HAPPENED BECAUSE EURUS DIDN’T GET A HUG. Like, I’m so sorry, but that’s lazy writing.

And don’t even get me started on the ridiculousness of the entire character of Eurus. She LITERALLY had X-Men powers, and like… just nothing made sense. Her involvement in the entirety of S4 MADE NO SENSE. Why go back to prison if you can get out?? WHAT IS THE POINT?? AND I repeat: She did all this because she didn’t get a hug. Yes. I’m oversimplifying, but at the base level, that’s what it was, because she wanted Sherlock’s attention. Welcome to the club, kid, stand in line, everyone on the SHOW wants his attention.

The ENTIRE plot of the first 2 seasons got wiped out all because it wasn’t Moriarty who was interested in Sherlock, but Eurus?? What… What about Carl Powers?? Like…. the ENTIRETY of season one and TGG makes no sense now, because of that one 5 minute scene where Eurus “enlists” Moriarty. I… ugh.

The SUDDEN tonal switch from kind-of Sherlock to James Bond, for some fucking reason.

And on that note, how terribly lazy and cheap TFP looks in comparison to the other two episodes. The whole episode looks like it was filmed in a small house with 4 identical rooms.

EVERYTHING that was etablished in 2 episodes prior were COMPLETELY forgotten when Mary was “shot”.

The complete character assassination of one loyal blogger John H Watson in favour of Mary for some fucked up reason, even though AT HIS OWN WEDDING HE COULDN’T STAND BEING AROUND MARY. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe for one damned second that John would EVER forgive Mary for murdering his best friend after seeing what it did to him. That’s not love from her, and that’s NOT John’s character EVER in the ENTIRETY of the series.

And speaking of character assassinations, Molly’s character being devolved to S1E1 Molly, where instead of giving her agency like they were doing with her the ENTIRE series, so much so that Sherlock picked up on her dominance enough to give her a big role in his mind palace in HLV and TAB, only to make her a sad little self-insert Mary Sue pining for the main character, and in turn made Sherlock a TERRIBLE human being for MAKING HER say what she did. It��s gross.

AND speaking of Molly’s character, they’ve been setting up Mollstrade since as early as ASiB, but I guess that plot line got shafted. Look I LOVE Hopkins, and I am ANGRY they didn’t give her more than 3 fucking lines in the entirety of ONE episode after HEAVILY promoting her actress and character, but they essentially reduced her to a piece of ass for Lestrade to chase. AND THAT’S NOT HIS CHARACTER EITHER. EW GROSS.

The constant plot holes being gaped wide open, and the Chekov’s gun moments where they bring up shit but do nothing with it!!

TD-12? Nope, just a lame reference to a story we like.

John got shot at the end of TLD with a VERY REAL FUCKING GUN? Nope, it was a dart gun.

John not suddenly knowing how to be a doctor.

The TGG one I mentioned up above.

What was in the letter? And who was Anyone??

Moriarty essentially being erased as anything other than a hired thug and had no part whatsoever in Sherlock’s history.

Eurus… Just all of her character is asinine.

Everyone in T6T suddenly not knowing John’s the blogger, which is in direct contradiction to literally the entire series.

The AGRA plotline was ridiculous, in the end.

Baby? What baby? It was only there when convenient.

They dropped whatever plotline they were going to do for Mycroft: He was being set up as either dying, or the villain.

Redbeard. I’m sorry, I disagree with you on that. Mofftiss is trying to tell me that a little boy fell down a well and went missing, and that WASN’T the first place searchers / the police wouldn’t have looked? Sorry, no. And then. AND THEN his parents just… go along with this thing where Sherlock shuts down and they DON’T get him therapy? Yes, I agree the mind is a funny thing, and we can be traumatised into forgetting or dissociating from traumatic events. I GET IT. But… like I don’t believe the Holmes are so heartless as to just never grieve or have memories around about their supposedly dead daughter. It’s another OCC thing for me.

John’s cheating.

Disappearing and reappearing characters, like this scene, and the entirety of the aquarium scene.

Mary and John being terrible parents

OH GOD THIS FUCKING SCENE. That bomb SHOULD HAVE DESTROYED THE ENTIRE BUILDING.

What… who was this girl on the plane? What? Like I know WHO, but if she’s supposed to be Eurus talking to Sherlock, why don’t we see Eurus… talking to Sherlock? I … Ugh.

NORBURY.

The glass SUPER SECRET GOVERNMENT ROOM THAT NO ONE SHOULD SEE INTO in T6T.

Sloppy camera work that some believe was intentional, but if it wasn’t, jesus c’mon.

The RIDICULOUS amount of 4th Wall Breaking. Like… even the actors didn’t give a shit.

Essentially, everything on this list here and in this blog tag here.

And everything mentioned on these three posts:

T6T: 10 Revealing Things That Haunt You Late at Night

TLD: 10 Revealing Things That Haunt You Late at Night

TFP: 10 Revealing Things That Haunt You Late at Night

There’s SO much more I can go into, but please go through my “something’s fucky” tag in that last link.

Notice how probably 90% of that has NOTHING to do with “johnlock not becoming canon” because the Johnlockers get MONSTROUS accusations as to THAT being why we didn’t like S4, even though it was, like critically panned by the GENERAL AUDIENCE who have NO investment in the series other than “I liked it in the past”.

Two of my fave YouTubers have interesting (not perfect, but still good) takes coming at the series as casual viewers:

‘The Day Sherlock Died’ by The Closer Look

‘Sherlock is Garbage, and Here’s Why’ by hbomberguy

So it’s NOT just Johnlockers. I’ve talked to Sher1011ies at 221B con who didn’t like S4 either, because most of them realized how shitty Molly was treated in the last episode. So yeah, a big middle finger to those who think I dislike S4 because of “no Johnlock”. No, I disliked it because I need my stories to make logical narrative sense. I disliked it because I love John and they ruined his character all for the sake of drama and because Moffat has a “hurting Ben” kink. I disliked it because Mary should NOT have been “redeemed” because she was an abuser. I disliked it because Moriarty was turned into a cartoon villain, even though he was already overused in the series. I disliked it because the core of the show – the FRIENDSHIP of Sherlock and John, and their solving mysteries together – did not exist at all. I disliked it because John got sidelined. I disliked it because TFP was a ridiculous episode that, if you replace ANY of the characters, it wouldn’t make a difference, because it didn’t feel like an episode of Sherlock. I disliked it because everyone was OOC.

Anyway. Sorry. One too many accusations my way over the past 1100+ days LOL.

As for your assessment of TFP, I’m going to have to respectfully disagree with you. There was no growth and actually it implies something far more sinister: That the Holmes are and were terrible parents that gave no shits about their daughter, their traumatized son, and expected their eldest to essentially be a parent. It implies that Mycroft, at 12 years old, orchestrated the ENTIRE Sherrinford thing… Look I can suspend my disbelief, but there’s limits, and this is one of them. A LITERAL CHILD. Perhaps Uncle Rudy had a hand in it somehow, but then why not shit on Uncle Rudy? Why is Mycroft blamed for it all?

Look, I don’t doubt Sherlock had a traumatic experience regarding “Redbeard”. But then why play into the fact that he was a dog? Why bring another character into the series just to have a gotcha moment? Because Mofftiss wanted a “Shyamalan twist”, that’s why. They threw EVERYTHING away for a twist ending either because they GENUINELY thought it was good, or they got tired of doing Sherlock. ALL of TFP is LITERALLY a really bad plot twist because reasons. TFP makes no sense to the ENTIRE narrative structure of the previous 12 episodes. It erased EVERYTHING from the previous episodes, and coated it with a gross closing by a character no one wanted in the series, and then tried to convince us that it’s a new beginning – “a journey they had to go through” – but it SOLVED NOTHING.

Anyway. I have big feels about S4, and the only way I can enjoy it is to watch it subtextually, but even then, I cannot sit through TFP without cringing.

That said, Lovelies, please do not attack Nonny for enjoying S4! I know you guys won’t, but Nonny came out with an olive branch and they just want to understand why the fandom is passionate about S4′s… whatever it was. We can have a civil discussion about it, and point out – without attacking – why S4 is universally panned. It’s okay to like things no one else does, and Nonny was respectful to me in this ask!

So with that, feel free, lovelies, to express why YOU didn’t enjoy the series, or why you did! I’m interested in both “sides” / pov’s whatever :)

#steph replies #long post #sherlock s4 #s4 shitposting #mofftiss #something's fucky #the mary problem #my thoughts #my meta #shitposting steph #sorry gang if you like the season #it's easier for me to enjoy it if i tinhat

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spiralesbian · 4 years

Text

ALRIGHT

here’s my full Stranger Avatar Sasha Archivist timeline:

(also, thanks to @artbyblastweave for being so interested in my lil au!)

SEASON ONE

sasha james is hired as the head archivist of the magnus institute!

her assistants are jon, tim, and martin

tim takes the thematic role of martin (aka getting tormented by my worm wife jane, and stays in the archives)

sasha reads thru statements and is a skeptic! she really does not believe it’s real until jane comes along.

“tim……………………..did you die here?”

“no, but every time i come to work i die a little more inside.”

cute timsha moment in the supply closet tho.

until martin kool-aid-mans through the door and gets them out of there

jon used to work in artefact storage so he hides in there. he’ll be fine

i actually can’t remember how they all get out but they do it KKJSDGFJHD

sasha takes everyone’s statements. tim is fucked up, martin is also fucked up, jon is actually fine though he seems pretty normal about this whole situation most definitely.

sasha realizes this is a bit more than a regular archivist job.

SEASON TWO

sasha gets paranoid of course. she learns more about gertrude because she never got the chance to meet her

she takes a statement from a guy named michael shelley. weird dude. then helen shows up :)

jon is most definitely himself he is just a normal regular grumpy jon i swear :)

sasha starts to manifest her powers a little bit. she doesn’t know it, but she is an avatar of the stranger, and a prisoner of the eye.

she starts to notice more things about jon? similar to this comic but with jon

eventually she + tim + martin help get jon out of the grip of the NotJon. this is my au and i get to choose who dies (it’s no one because i miss the s1 archival assistants too much).

jon is pretty fucked up from this though and at like a season-3-tim mindset already.

fucking goddamn leitner avatar of the fucking whore shows up to trap the NotJon in one of his shitty fucking novels. fuck this guy tho

he’s like Sasha We Must Talk and shes like okay but stay 8 ft away from me at all times you bitch

she leaves the room for 10 minutes and pipe murder occurs. good riddance

wait are the cops in the season i genuinely can’t remember. if they are, their roles don’t change very much. melanie and sasha feud, battle of the bi queens

SEASON THREE:

uh oh! girlie’s be framed for murder! she crashes at her ex gf georgie’s flat. also the admiral is there don’t think i would EVER cut him out of this story

(also jon is georgie’s ex too because i think that would be fun JDHBFHS)

sasha learns abt an upcoming web ritual (mirroring the unknowing), all that shit. gets kidnapped a ton of times, as usual.

helen is like “i am going to kill you because i hate gertrude <3 i was that dumb bitch’s assistant for too long” but michael busts out of the door like Hi Guys and traps her in the hallway.

sasha also gives her statement about a leitner she found as a child that marked her. its a stranger book and we learn her edgy orphan origin story how her parents were both murked by the stranger. fucked up if true!

back at the archives jon is like so fucking tired of this shit honestly and now martin is also pretty paranoid. also jm romance subplot is still very present!

tim is just trying to protect sasha at all times and he’s pissed she keeps leaving the country and getting fucking kidnapped

(remember when jon persuades the traffic cop?) sasha starts to fill her archivist role in a different way. she can shapeshift into the subject of a statement and uses her affiliation with the eye to coerce statements or info out of people. (example: if she needed a live statement from the guy in #90 Body Builder, she could temporarily make herself look like jared hopworth to the guy and ask “what happened to me?” or “what did i do?” and the guy would be like well he built some fucken bodies i guess let me tell you all about it) while reading the statements in america that refuel her, she fully shapeshifts into the statement giver while reading out loud.

once again i truly can’t remember daisy + basira’s roles until the end of the season. also melanie get shot by the ghost at some point

anyways sasha gets kidnapped by trevor and julia and they gerry lays out all the shit for her and she’s like ah! i’m fucked

tim offhand mentions the web ritual to martin and he loses his shit cause he’s marked by the web blah blah this isn’t a web!martin thing i swear i just need someone to fill tim’s role in the ritual and a lonely ritual would be fucking boring as hell as we learned from ass man peter lukas. i hate that man

so they make the plan to stop the web ritual (which is fucking hard when the offense knows your every move) so sasha, basira, daisy, jon, and martin go.

tim stays back at the institute to burn shit and distract elias. elias does some fucked up shit as usual and it makes me sad

the ritual starts! they have a plan to blow it up and run but like. u know how it goes

instead of the unknowing-stranger-dream-sequence, we get everyone kinda mixed up in a huge spider’s web on the big stage and its still quite confusing because this ritual not only manipulates the prey, but also the prey’s perceived reality. the web is also in current control of the buried coffin cause they think that shit is kinda fun. they yeet daisy into it.

hard to describe what happens, but basira keeps her cool, jon is a bit lost in his own mind, sasha tries to use her powers to escape but fails. she manages to get through to martin through the strings and mounds of spiders and she tosses him the detonator.

[squishing spider noises]

SEASON FOUR:

martin doesn't die, i told you i can't kill the og archival assistants! he does lose most of one leg though, he took the blunt of the explosion.

sasha in da hospital in da coma. tim is mad he can’t wake her up and then my man ollie says “ur fucked up mate” and she wakes up

(and because coma jon has such wild hair controversy, i’m establishing that her head was shaved when she was in the coma. it grows back thru s4. it she keeps one side shaved cause she’s cool)

meanwhile tim is recruited by that dumbass man you know who i don’t even wanna say his stupid fucking name

sasha gets daisy out of the buried. they become avatar pals!

(there is the biggest blank in my memory where all of season four should be. at this point i should just relisten to the entire fucking show but i would literally just forget it all again)

melanie says hm. fuck this! and blinds herself. she goes to live with georgie (and that’s the moment jon and sasha realize they are both georgie’s exes FHFHDJD)

tim continues to fight the lonely pull. he thinks that since p*ter l*kas is tied to the institute, he can blind himself out cause melanie was successful. he is wrong. he is also interrupted by elias midway, and only blinds one eye, and loses most of his sight in the other. elias’s hold on him is weak, but this just drives him way farther into the lonely.

gotta be honest i remember the end of season four but like i couldn’t visualize what was happening at the end so i like don’t understand what happened JGDKFJGD but sasha intervenes (???) and peter yeets tim into the lonely (???) and sasha jumps in (??????) after him. elias is just there i guess?

instead of “look at me martin,” sasha finds tim and at this point her form is warped and hard to recognize because of stranger powers, and tim is almost 100% blind, so she says “don’t look at me, see me. see me tim, it’s me.” and finally creates a clear image of herself. “it’s...it’s you. you’re my sasha.”

they break free and go to scotland i guess KHSDDKDSF

idk what happens with jon and martin im losing continuity at this point. fuck it, they smooch <3

“ah these are the statements.”

“yes. basira said last week she’d send some up as soon as the archives weren’t a crime scene. and she wasn’t sure which ones you’ve read already, so she, she just said she’d send a bunch.”

“.........Hello Sasha.”

(alternate ending: personally i think sasha would read through each statement before speaking them aloud cause that’s what i would fucking do, so she would get this statement and be like “lmao tim come look at this elias trying to prank me dumb bitch think i’ll start the apocalypse for him. fucking little puny bitch boy. anyways what do you want for dinner?”)

SEASON FIVE:

“just. listen.”

“...i’m dead. and you have been chosen to be my replacement as head archivist. hopefully, this means you, jon, but if someone else is hearing this, and elias has made a different choice for some reason, then these words are still very much intended for you.”

sasha in full stranger avatar mode and is like 8ft tall and her faces shift a lot as they go through the realms. except the stranger is the second to last one (the panopticon is last obviously).

helen and michael actually talk shit out in the spiral hallway and now they are mlm wlw solidarity and both like tim and sasha are such bi and trans icons <3 this is so fun don’t you love the fearpocalypse <3

oh daisy n basira trapped in the hunt, and jon and martin are trapped in the stranger. wtgfs + the admiral are like in space or some shit idk but they are ok :)

not much to report other than she is my monster wife <3

i really don’t have many theories to how everything in s5 is gonna pan out, and i would like to closely mirror the actual show, so maybe as we get closer to the end i’ll build more on to this! thanks a lot for all the notes on my first sarchivist post!! also if u wanna make art this specific au DEF tag me in it i’d love to see!!

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ihatetaxes99 · 3 years

Text

Death Note: The Glorious Manga Ending (And the anime that failed to deliver)

Well, this is certainly something a tad different from my usual affairs. Yes, I'm delighted to bear the news that I am taking a break from writing sub-par fanfiction and selling weapons to Middle Eastern terrorists in order to follow something a little less creative, but more immediately interesting to me in my current time of writing. I mean, hell, there's probably a 60% chance that no one will ever read this, since I'll likely drop it halfway through and go back to my black market dealings. But, in that small 40% chance that I do get this out the door, or indeed any further than this very sentence before I forget about it for all eternity, then I want to have a little discussion, a fun little analysis. And of course, I'm going to analyse everyone's favourite slice of life fluff comedy, Death Note. Specifically the ending and how I think the manga surpasses the anime in many, many ways.

If you haven't yet read or watched Death Note, then you won't be reading this anyway, so it would be rather pointless at best and an insult to your intelligence at worst to give a recap of how the series works. If you must have a layman's explanation, big murder book gets dropped into the human world, shenanigans ensue. There, now go watch or read it for yourself. Preferably read, as I am about to discuss. The manga is far better, entirely because of the second half. It's no secret that the Death Note anime handled the second half poorly. Content was cut, elements were skipped, scenes were changed entirely and Near, my favourite character from the manga, was done so dirty that he generally ranks as many people's least favourite, for some understandable reasons and others that I consider rather weak. But the main part of the second half aside, I want to talk about the final showdown, the confrontation in the Yellow Box warehouse, and how I feel the anime adaptation butchered a near-perfect ending for the sake of either time, or budget, or maybe to appease Light fangirls (because that definitely has a factor in why I don't like the anime's ending as much.)

So, to recap, most of the confrontation at the warehouse between the SPK and Kira plays out very much the same. Mikami writes the names down, Light reveals himself, the notebook is revealed to be a fake and Yagami has his famous mental breakdown, followed by one of the most powerful lines in the series:

(Note: I condensed the speech to fit neatly into two boxes)

I love this speech. I think it's one of the best in the series, for reasons that very much tie into why the ending in the manga works better. I want you all to think for a moment; I've seen a lot of people say Death Note is a series that doesn't take sides on the conflict. No, that is bullshit. In the early series, maybe, but from the moment Light Yagami killed Naomi Misora, and arguably even earlier than that with Raye Pembre, he was consistently portrayed as being more and more callous, more evil, more of a scumbag. Let's look over what he did, especially in the later stages of the series.

He:

Murdered the FBI agents tailing him.

Only expressed regret over Utika's death because it may negatively affect Kira's reputation.

Watched with no emotion as his father died and indeed, encouraged him to use the Death Note moments before he died.

Mocked Matsuda for mourning his father's death.

Manipulated two seperate women into doing his bidding (albeit, one was unintentional) and killed one himself, with plans to kill the other had he not been killed.

Instigated a riot in New York with the intent of killing Near and the SPK.

Killed FBI agents who were tailing him.

Only cared about Utika's death because it compromised Kira's strong public image and not because he was actually a good man.

Manipulated two seperate women into falling for him (albeit one was accidental) and promptly killed off one with no hesitation, with plans of killing the other had he not met his end first.

Watched emotionless as his own father died and even tried to get him to use the Death Note in his last moments.

Mocked Matsuda for mourning the death of his father and used it in a last ditch effort to distract the detective and escape.

Staged a riot with the intent of killing Near and the rest of the SPK.

And these are just some of them. By the end of Death Note, Light was not a good person. I personally never agreed with him, but he went from a disillusioned kid with a minor saviour complex to A full-blown, sadistic, perverted image of what he used to be, utterly unfeeling and cold-hearted, with a major God complex, a complete lunatic. As Near said, a mass murderer and nothing more. After everything Yagami's done over the course of the series, it was just too satisfying to read this for the first time, and I will concede, the anime did a great job adapting it. I feel a lot of Light fangirls agreed with him because his ideals sounded good on paper, but in reality, they're completely childish and self-serving. I am not one to moral grandstand, I believe those who take any excuse to give lectures about morality are annoying and often hypocritical scum, but my point here is that this is not a man any reasonable person could agree with if he were a real person. So, this teardown of his ego was perfect.

Now, the first big difference is the ultimate fate of Teru Mikami. In the anime, he kills himself in the warehouse, in a scene that makes me laugh every time due to the comically large quantities of blood spewing from him. He dies defending Kira's ideals, believing in his God. Or, if you choose to interpret it another way, he has accepted that Light is not God, and he has nothing else to live for. Either way, the anime lacks a key scene, after Light is shot by Matsuda and begging for help:

This is extremely important, as it continues what Near did with his speech and sets in motion the following trend for what is to come. Light is humiliated, his second most faithful pawn has turned against him, called him scum, seen him for what he truly is, and worse still, he's done it in front of everyone else. Teru Mikami has denounced his God, and this is just the stepping stone for the humiliation Kira is about to suffer. Also, it's worth noting that just before Mikami denounces Kira, there's a scene of Light crawling on the ground, bleeding, calling out for Misa and Takada to help him, seeming to have gone totally delusional, forgetting that Takada was already dead. This may have been excluded from the anime, or it may have been the fault of the subs I was using. It still serves as a vital part of the theme that the final few chapters hammer in, over and over again, that being the complete and total humiliation of Light Yagami. And the worst for our criminal-killing protagonist is still to come.

Finally, we reach the fate of the original Kira, the end of Light Yagami. In the anime, he uses Mikami's suicide as a distraction to escape, wherein he runs off, seeing visions of his past self, and dies out in the middle of a staircase, from a heart attack delivered by Ryuuk, calmly and quietly. This is all very nice and emotional, we see for a moment, Light contemplates what he became and wondering how it could have ended differently, and him dying in the middle of the staircase, as many people have stated before, is oh so very symbolic of how he finds himself unable to reach Heaven or Hell. However, this does not hold a candle to the manga.

This is what Light is like upon his death there:

Yeah, there's no real doubting it, he's going out like a complete bitch. Like the anime was thoughtful and silent, with an underlying sombre soundtrack, in this the once great Kira is reduced to a blubbering mess, throwing a tantrum because he refuses to accept his time is up. It was made very clear to him at the beginning that he was to die at Ryuuk's hand one day and now that it's here, he can't take it. He tries to cheat death, the one thing no human nor Shinigami can do. I mean, just look at the panels. He's a mess. A privileged, pampered brat who isn't getting his way. That is why I consider the Death Note manga ending to be superior to the anime in almost every way. While the anime gives us symbolism and a sense of calm, the manga goes all the way in tearing down this character, who has been a piece of human garbage for years at this point. I find it so satisfying to watch him get what he deserves, not only the death but the shame.

Light's own hubris and mental instability stole from him the honourable death he received in the anime. And that is everything I believe he needed, far more than the mere reality check he was given in the anime.

Phew, damn this was a ride and a half to write. I always appreciate feedback, if anyone wants to share their own thoughts on the ending. Please do feel free to do so, and I'll hopefully be back soon with your regularly scheduled shitty fanfics.

#death note #analysis #anime #manga #light yagami #near #teru mikami #manga vs anime #why the death note manga is superior #short #rambling

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promptis-imagines · 4 years

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How about Promptis go on their first ever date at an arcade or a fair and they're both nervous at first. They relax after a nice chat and some junk food and Noct notices a giant chocobo plush at a stall/prize counter and tries to win it for Prompto

nananasonatra: Noctis taking Prom on a summer carnival date. They both act like teenagers in love and at the end of the night they ride the Ferris wheel .Noctis bribes the operator to make them stop ontop .Sorry my heads fried in this heat lol

yes this is exactly what I need. You two have galaxy brains. So I will combine them: first date to the fair complete with shitty carnival games and a ferris wheel extravaganza

They are both very obnoxiously awkward. Prompto can’t stop talking even when he desperately wants to shut up. Noctis is having a hard time speaking at all. They went to the fair because hey, it’s in town! Surely that’s gotta be cheesy and fun. Thing is, both of them are too shy to admit that they love cheesy things (even tho they literally...are going on a date there. They’re doing their best). It’s the way there and the getting tickets where they’re still acting the nervous couple bit, but once they feel the adrenaline of a rollercoaster and stock up on junk food (a horrible choice before going on more rides), they start to loosen up and laugh off the nerves.

Also I can just...picture that scene. So vividly.

The sky was growing darker by the minute, which was only accentuated by the carnival lights dotting the view. Most of the rickety rides had been conquered, though not without a fair share of screaming on the couple’s part, so the tired boys decided to take a break for snacks before taking on the rest of the event.

Okay, maybe calling them “snacks” was a bit of an understatement. Two orders of fried oreos, an entire funnel cake, some wildly-oversized corndogs, and a large lemonade. They might have forgotten to grab dinner before the fair in their nervous endeavors, and nothing was healthy at the fair.

Sitting on that bench, laughing and munching on their food, any hint of awkwardness or fear was left behind in some gross seat of a rollercoaster car. Well and truly, this was a real date.

There was only a bit left of the funnel cake in the end. Prompto heaved a sigh, shoving the plate onto Noctis’ lap while his head flopped onto his shoulder. “You eat it,” he murmured.

Noctis pouted. “No, you.” The plate was passed back.

“Noooo, I’m so done, dude,” Prompto whined. “Just take one for the team.”

That earned a snort from Noctis. “What team? And why do we have to finish it?” he questioned.

Prompto paused, then sat up straight again. “I dunno. Feels wrong to just throw it away?” he reasoned. Especially considering that Noctis was the one who paid for all of it. He would feel bad, prince or not.

Noctis lightly bumped him with his shoulder. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s the last thing we have, and I’d rather toss it than have either one of us get sick before our date is over.”

He couldn’t lie, Prompto’s stomach still erupted with butterflies at legitimately hearing Noctis say they were on a date. He’d been dreaming of this for so long that he’d chalked up his hopes to wishful thinking. But no, they were here, and they were having a good time. It was enough to make him grin. “Fine, fine. Throw it away, and we can walk around for a while before hitting something that could make us lose all that food we just ate,” he conceded.

“Right.”

The two of them hauled their trash to the nearest trash can, and Prompto had to laugh at just how much powdered sugar had attached itself to Noctis’ all-black clothing. “Y’know, I applaud your choices to start wearing white,” he teased, making Noctis look down at his shirt.

“Oh, come on,” Noctis grumbled.

Prompto ran his hands along the worst parts. “No worries, I got you.” It only took a few seconds more for him to note how low the powder had gotten. “Um...”

Noctis huffed a laugh, getting the rest off. “You’ve got some on you, too.”

“I do?” Prompto asked with a confused expression. “Could’ve sworn I dusted myself off, already. Where’s it at?” he rambled, hoping he didn’t look like a mess.

“Hm, right here.” Suddenly, Noctis’ hand was on his cheek, his warm lips pressed gently to Prompto’s in a kiss that lasted all of three seconds. Nonetheless, his cheeks were absolutely burning afterwards.

When they parted, it appeared that he wasn’t the only one. Noctis’ cheeks were dusted a soft shade of pink, though it was hard to see under the harsh lighting around them.

It took a moment for either of them to say anything. “Did...you get it off?”

Noctis’ lips turned up in a faint smile. “Think so.”

Now it was Prompto’s turn to smile. “Cool. Thanks. What would I do without you?” he joked.

“Dunno. Have powdered sugar all over your face?” Noctis returned teasingly.

“All over? You saying I’ve got more on me?”

Noctis hummed in thought, once again brushing his fingers along Prompto’s cheek. “Nope, got it all,” he confirmed.

An eye-roll from Prompto. “Dork. Let’s move away from the trash can, yeah?”

The two headed back into the bustle of the fair, hand in hand without Prompto even realizing they'd reached for each other. It made him giddy all over again.

Before long, they stopped. A long row of carnie games sprawled out before them, vendors shouting for patrons to step up and take their chances. Stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes were presented along every surface, and it was a safe bet to assume they’d been waiting to be claimed for far longer than necessary.

Prompto looked over to his date. “Got something in your sights?” he questioned.

That got Noctis tugging him towards a nearby stall. “Does a giant chocobo sound good? I’ll try to win it for you,” he stated, all the determination in the world lighting up his eyes. It was rare to see Noctis this enthusiastic about something. Gods, it was cute.

Still, Prompto couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. The thing Noctis had pointed out was giant, which also meant that it was going to be near impossible to get. “I mean, it sounds great, Noct,” he started, leaning against Noctis’ shoulder. “But I’m not gonna get my hopes up.”

Noctis knocked his head against Prompto’s. “What, don’t believe in me?” he returned in mock-offense.

“Oh, c’mon, you know these things are rigged,” Prompto reasoned. “Plus, this is a shooting game. One, that’s even more rigged. Two, we should both know by now that I'm the better marksman out of the two of us."

His boasting earned him a scoff from Noctis. "While I might cave and admit that, it doesn't mean that I'm bad at it. Have a little faith," he requested, giving Prompto's hand a light squeeze. Without waiting for a response, he was off towards the unattainable holy grail of stuffed animals. Oh, to be the carnie that got to proctor this little event in history.

Watching with an air of amusement, Prompto leaned on his elbows over the counter. "Heya! What's the requirements for getting that Behemoth up there?" he asked, gesturing to the comically large bird in question.

The carnie's polished grin focused on him. "Well, buddy, it's fairly simple!" he chirped. "All you've gotta do is shoot at those little targets that are moving across the planks." He made a grand gesture towards the back wall, which sported plenty of painted wooden ducks with red and white targets on their sides meandering in a single file. "Each duckie has a different number on the back. Shoot as many as you can before the time runs out, and your score will be tallied afterwards. Get over fifty points, and the chocobo is all yours. But watch out! Some of the ducks are hiding negative numbers that will reduce your score. So, care to test your skills?"

His speech had sounded so trained and NPC-like, Prompto had to laugh. "No, not me. But this guy wants to give it a go." He tugged on Noctis' sleeve, a grin of pride bright on his face. Noctis, on the other hand, had lost some of that brazen confidence in his expression.

It was always funny to watch people's eyes go wide. "O-Oh, Prince Noctis! Er, that is you, isn't it?"

"Nah, but I get that a lot," Noctis replied nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders in preparation. "Just a guy trying to win a chocobo for his boyfriend. Can I start?"

The man, seemingly recovered, nodded with his previous vigor. "Of course! Here is your weapon, good sir." After ducking down to grab one of the dingy guns from under the counter, he handed it over. "The timer starts when you first shoot."

Prompto cast a smirk at his boyfriend. "Let's see what you got, sharpshooter," he teased.

Noctis took aim. "Oh, hush. I'm doing this for you."

After a quick "Good luck!" from the man behind the counter, Noctis started the timer with a pop from the toy gun. One duck down, who knew how many more to go.

"Wohoo, got one!" Prompto exclaimed, beaming at a smug-looking Noctis. "Think you can keep it up?"

Still keeping his eyes on the targets, Noctis gave a little nod. "You bet I will. I've got someone to impress," he replied before knocking another off of the shelf.

Prompto snorted, slumping more over the counter. "You say that like you're on a date," he continued.

Another duck toppled. "And what if I am?"

That earned a dramatized gasp from Prompto. "Are you, now? Didn't know you had it in you to snatch a date. Always thought you were too shy." The mocking edge to his words were light, and he couldn't hide the slight giggling that followed. The next few shots hit the wall. He poked Noctis in the shoulder before wrapping an arm around his middle. "Trying to win him something?"

Noctis gave him a knowing glance. "I would be, if he wasn't doing stuff to distract me. Don't be disappointed when I can't get the prize for you," he warned, getting another target down.

Prompto leaned in to press a kiss to Noctis' cheek. "A good marksman should be able to work well under pressure." Still, deciding that he'd messed with him enough, Prompto let go and returned to being an encouraging spectator.

As the timer drew nearer to zero and the little duckies came crashing down, Prompto did have to admit that he was impressed. Especially considering the hindrance that was a rickety carnival gun, the sizeable amount of targets Noctis had managed to hit was most likely more than the average. Though he hadn't expected much of a reward from this mess, part of him was thinking he might be going home with a giant stuffed chocobo.

When the timer sounded, the carnie bounced back to life. "Aaalrighty, let's see how you did!" he said in his merry speech. He collected the last few fallen ducks, then laid them face up on the counter in front of them.

"Sweet, let's count 'em up!" Prompto was grinning as he began to turn over the targets. "Noct, count with me. This one's five," he stated, "and then eight, and…damn, negative six." Oh well, there were plenty more to bring the score up.

Noctis continued flipping over the next few. "Hey, got a fifteen," he boasted, shoving it over to the counted pile.

"Aw, so proud."

The scores varied for the rest of the ducks, some on the smaller or negative sides, presumably to keep the prizes from all being taken. Still, Noctis had gotten a few of the higher numbered ones. With one left to check, he had reached a whopping forty-five. Prompto was tingling with excitement; that chocobo was as good as won.

The last one stared them down with its chipped paint and bright, ducky smile. "You want to do the last one?" Noctis offered.

With a nod and bated breath, Prompto turned over the last one to add the number….

"Negative twenty?" he cried. "Why is that even in here!" Noctis groaned as well, and the two boys slumped against each other in defeat.

The man behind the counter drew up an apologetic smile. "Sorry, fellas, luck of the duck. But you still get to choose from one of the smaller prizes!"

He gestured to the side wall that sported the rest of this booth's treasures. They were way smaller than the grand prizes, more hug-to-your-chest size, but they were still something.

Noctis nudged Prompto's shoulder. "Go ahead and pick one."

"Mh-hm." Prompto's eyes flitted over the options: stuffed dogs and coeurls, moogles, various fruits for some reason, and a mini version of that giant chocobo above their heads. "Not to be predictable, but I do want the chocobo," he decided. So what if he consistently chose them? They were his favorites!

As it was being retrieved, Prompto turned to Noctis with a bright smile. "By the way, good job, dude."

Noctis shrugged, a light mix of embarrassment and pride in his face. "I would've won if it had just been about knocking them over," he reasoned.

Prompto chuckled. "Sure would've. They weren't ready for you," he teased.

"Here you are, sir." Holding it in his hands, Prompto decided that this was officially the best first date ever. How cool was it that his boyfriend won him something at a shitty carnival game?

They ventured back into the crowds, a bit dissuaded from trying any of the other booths for now. The chocobo plush was held securely with one arm while his other hand held fast to Noctis'. Now there was just the matter of deciding what else to do before calling it a night.

"Got any ideas what to do next?" Prompto questioned.

Noctis pursed his lips, doing a quick glance around. "Well, I think we already went on all of the rollercoasters, and you're not putting me back on that drop thing," he said definitively.

That drew a laugh from Prompto. "I half expected you to warp right off of that thing, by the way," he commented. "But fine, something else. How about…." He trailed off, rubbing his thumb along Noctis' hand. "Oh! We haven't done the ferris wheel yet."

What other way was there to end a night at the fair than being sappy while overlooking part of the city from the top of a rickety ferris wheel? Prompto hoped he wasn't coming across as too sappy, though; it was embarrassing, but he really did enjoy those dumb romantic fantasies. Even after being asked out, he was still worried that Noctis might laugh at him for wanting to do cheesy romantic things. Noctis just didn't seem like the type to enjoy that. He knew he was probably being ridiculous, but that didn't dispel the doubt in the back of his mind.

Thankfully, Noctis gave a casual shrug and nodded. "Sounds good to me. We can hit the ferris wheel and then head out for the night," he said.

Relief flooded back into Prompto's lungs, and before long, they were speeding up towards bright lights of the their last ride. Giggling, the two kept it up until they were running and dodging people in the crowd to get there first. Nevermind that they were still holding hands.

The pair stumbled to a breathless halt at the entrance gates, turning to each other with a full-out laugh. Prompto still had his chocobo clasped tightly between his arm and chest.

"After you," Noctis said, finally letting go of his hand to gesture to the open gate.

Prompto landed a playful punch to Noctis' shoulder as he walked past. "Really acting like a prince today, huh?"

"What, I don't normally?"

"Gonna have to give a no to that one, bud."

"Rude."

The worker got them situated in the seat, Prompto first. Noctis lagged behind slightly, turning to the lady in charge before climbing in next to his boyfriend.

Once they were snugly hip to hip, Noctis sighed. "How old do you think this ride even is?" he asked.

Prompto looked up. "Proooobably pretty old," he reasoned. "But I'm sure it's fine. They have, like, inspections and stuff, right?"

Noctis huffed a little laugh. "Hope so. If something does happen, I'll just grab you and warp off of this thing."

"My hero," Prompto teased. Though, as they began their ascent up and around the ferris wheel, the idea that it might break down did start to creep into his mind. A jarring bump halfway there didn't help one bit.

He pressed closer to Noctis' side just as he did the same. Prompto took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the feeling of being close to him soothe him. The warmth they shared was a nice defense against the cold winds, too.

A tiny smile formed on his face when he felt Noctis nuzzle slightly into his hair. "Sorry I couldn't get you the giant chocobo," he heard him murmur.

Prompto gave a slight shake of his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. This one's just as cute. And it's travel sized." He gave the toy a squeeze. Honestly, he was thrilled to have a gift from him in the first place. It was a silly little thing, but it made his heart swell in a way he thought he'd never feel.

As they completed the first rotation of the wheel, Prompto decided to look around more at the fair below. By now the sky was completely dark, making the colorful lights shine brighter. Laughter and shrieks of children reached even where they were up high. He even saw someone drop their cotton candy in a puddle, which he pointed out to Noctis so they could both grimace at the sight.

All of a sudden, they were stuttered to a halt at the top of the wheel. Prompto swung his leg a bit and laughed. "Welp, looks like we're up here forever," he joked.

Noctis snorted. "We'd better not be. I'm not sleeping on a ferris wheel."

"That's your problem with it?" Prompto laughed, making the seat sway slightly.

"There's other issues with living on a ferris wheel for the rest of my life. That one just came to mind first," Noctis said in his defense.

Prompto's laughter continued while he squeezed the stuffed chocobo to keep from dropping it. "Yeah, okay. Sleep is always your first thought."

"Don't judge."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Being stuck at the top really wasn't so bad. They could see everything, and it was just the two of them, despite there being hundreds of people around. It was as if they'd been brought up just to be alone for a few minutes.

A hand rested atop his thigh, and Prompto turned to face his date. And gods, did he look so good with the lights of the city behind him. Noctis' dark hair made him a silhouette, though his features were close enough to make out. His cool gray eyes had a soft shine to them, and he was looking at Prompto in a way that stole his breath. He had to be the luckiest guy in Eos right now.

Noctis quirked a small smile. "Is it…too cheesy if I ask for a kiss right now?"

Prompto paused, then cracked a smile as well. "Very cheesy. Do it," he replied.

"Then can I kiss you at the top of the ferris wheel?"

Without speaking, Prompto slid a hand along the side of Noctis' neck and pulled him in. His lips were tinged with slight cold, but they felt soft as they touched Prompto's. And just like that, they were sharing one of those dumb movie kisses on their first date at the fair. The thought made Prompto's smile grow as he leaned in more.

Once they pulled away, there were a few moments of silence between them. Then the ride began to move again, starting through one more loop before they would be let off.

Prompto couldn't hold back another little laugh. "Good way to end that?"

"Definitely," Noctis said, looking equally relieved and happy. "Now we can't say anything else for the rest of the time so we don't ruin it."

That earned a shoulder punch from Prompto. "Oh, shut up."

"See, like that."

Prompto grinned, taking Noctis' hand in his. "Too bad you're stuck with me, then," he retorted.

Noctis smiled back. "What a shame."

#I finally finished it lakfjagahgkjdk #this took me forever I am sorry #y'all be like: give me the tooth rotting fluff #and I try to provide #promptis #ask #thedarkrose17 #nananasonatra #answered

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bibliophileiz · 3 years

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A (not really) Ode to bucklemming

Last bucklemming episode, and you guys, it was just such a classic example of their stale mediocrity. And yet, at the end of this post, I found myself bizarrely happy with how the episode turned out.

This is the second time I’ve watched it, and while I was planning to just liveblog my thoughts, I realized quickly that would not work, because most of the episode is boring and miserable, (especially the first third or so) and that makes for boring and miserable note-taking. I think I said in a tag of a different post that Dabb assigning this one to bucklemming is just further proof that he hasn’t cared about plot at all this season, and honestly, I don’t know there’s much they COULD have done to make this plot entertaining. Chuck even says at one point that it ... isn’t entertaining.*

The first third or so is basically Sam, Dean, and Jack being miserable with nothing around them break that misery up (except, briefly, a dog). And that makes for a miserable viewing experience. Here are a handful of notes I took that give you the gist:

- Chuck standing there talking about how loneliness and no-people is “deep” and a “page-turner” is such a gratifying little critique of shitty writers who like their gritty stories about permanently miserable protagonists. Like dude, you know there’s a reason nobody rereads “The Road,” right? - Dean slurring his words because he’s hungover is the first time anything interesting has happened with the dialogue in this whole episode. - Rob Benedict is the only one who gets to inflect his dialogue this episode. I do think his acting in that last scene is great, where he’s screaming, “Guys, wait!” as they drive off. It’s not a terrible ending scene.

So there’s that. Now here are my notes not-related to how stale and boring everything is:

Beginning: -The shots of Kyoto and New York City remind me of all the shots in NYT and other major newspapers after COVID shut everything down last spring (except in this case all the traffic would still be in New York, just no people). - “I couldn’t save anybody.” Poor Sam. (must push down feelings about Sam’s leadership arc and how it always seems to end with people dying, ugh, repress, repress!) - Also, I wanted to see a shot of a sink running and one of them turning it off. Just a random thing.

Archangel stuff: - I guess it makes sense to lose Adam if you’re going to kill Michael at the end, but goddamn if Michael isn’t a way more boring character without him. - Ah, Lucifer, a.k.a bucklemming’s attempt at comic relief. I’m starting to miss the boring dialogue. - Ooh, awesome, the only female character in the episode shows up bound and gagged and immediately murdered so she can be used and then murdered again. (Also, the first time I watched this scene, I was sure she wouldn’t wake up and was gearing up to laugh at Lucifer for sucking.) - Jensen stays as far away from her as he can when he unties her, I’m sure that actress appreciates him trying not to give her COVID. Course then she immediately ruins it by head-butting him, which is NOT practicing social distancing. - Many have commented on whether Lucifer can actually kill Death by snapping his fingers. We don’t know, but the Scythe WAS right there, and if Dean can kill Death with it (twice), I’m sure Lucifer can. - On the other hand, it IS established lore that God doesn’t have power in the Empty. Presumably he could negotiate with it like Death, and possibly he just took advantage of the loud chaos of Jack exploding, Death dying, the Empty apparently being super pissed, etc. to sneak in and make off with Lucifer. - Also WHY DO ALL THE ARCHANGEL FIGHTS IN THIS SHOW SUCK ASS???? - “I haven’t been in a battle like that in several centuries,” Michael says, as if he just fought the Battle of the Blackwater in Game of Thrones, and not what appeared to be the archangel equivalent of Mario Kart.

And climax/last scene: - But the best moment of the episode is when they GET BACK UP BLOODY AND HOLDING ONTO EACH OTHER AND ABSOLUTELY BEAMING BECAUSE THEIR LITTLE BOY IS ABOUT TO BECOME GOD. - Also, I like the music in this scene. And it seems like it’s the same place they used to film the end of Season 12/beginning of Season 13, which was probably peak Dabb era, ngl. (Jensen as Michael was also great.) - I also like that Jack and Chuck are both wearing light jackets, but Jack’s is a leeeeeetle whiter. - Chuck looking at the blank book is that moment in every writer’s life, when they’re like, “NOOOOOO, the computer DELETED EVERYTHING I WROTE.” - “Dean Winchester, the ultimate killer” You guys, 10 is Chuck’s favorite season. - Of course it is sweet that Cas’s last words seem to have had an effect on Dean, how he goes from “That’s (killing) all I know how to do” to “That’s not who I am.” I’m far from the first person to point that out though. - What happened to Amara is THE WORST. - Also, I am annoyed that Jack isn’t going home with them, because I really wanted him to be God, and a hands-off one, but I also wanted him to drive the Impala and solve crimes, ya know? - Jared at least seems to understand that this ending is upsetting, because Sam has tears in his eyes, whereas Dean is just kind of like, “ah, he’s leaving.” Which is fine because DEAN AND JACK ARE NOT AS CLOSE AS SAM AND JACK, fight me. - Him disappearing into light is stupid, though. - At least Dean and Sam get to sit close to each other at the end. I wonder if that was the first scene shot after they got out of quarantine. - WHERE ARE THEY DRIVING? - Maybe to go see Jody. - WE GOT BELA AND CROWLEY AND ANNA IN THE MONTAGE HELLZ YEAH, ALSO ABBADON AND ELLEN AND RUFUS, but we also got fucking Asmodeus and Ketch and no Benny, what the fuck, Showalter?

So I have questions.

Some of them are unimportant, like how did people in restaurants at the end react when they found themselves looking at food that seems to have undergone days’ worth of rot in the blink of an eye? Also, you got a shot of a full airport at the end, but that begs the question: were there airplanes in the sky at the time Chuck snapped everyone away, and did they crash, and did the people on them get snapped back into crashed airplanes and was that not super confusing for them and did the airlines lose billions of dollars because all their planes crashed right before COVID shut them down anyway and if all that’s the case is it really any wonder they needed a bailout from the federal government?

But some of them are plot-relevant and could have helped an episode in desperate need of it.

For example, I want to know what’s going on with the Empty, and if Mark Pellegrino had talked about it for more than two seconds, I might not have hated every second he was on screen. Also, there are other things happening this episode. Like Jack walking around sucking life and “power” out of plants catches Dean and Sam’s attention immediately. We know that, because we see them noticing it and exchanging confused glances in the flashback at the end of the episode.

Here’s the thing though: Why not have that in the beginning? It’s not a Huge Reveal, and it would have given Jensen and Jared something to do in that stale boring beginning other than Make Sad Face. As pretty as Jensen and Jared are, and as good as they are at making sad faces, you cannot build an entire episode around that.

Related, there isn’t actually much of a beat in the plot where it makes sense for them to figure out Michael will betray them for God. It seems like it will happen in that conversation between Dean and Michael when Michael expresses his hurt that Chuck let Lucifer out of the Empty before even asking for help. But at that point, it seems Sam and Dean have already come up with their plan. The flashback makes it seem as if they began to suspect Michael would betray them when Lucifer called him a cuck, something I think they made a plot point purely to have the word “cuck” in the episode for the third time.**

There are a few hopeful beats that show that bucklemming understand on some level that there needed to be some flow to this episode, such as the dog and Dean thinking he may have gotten Cas back. But I don’t think those are substitutes for showing Sam and Dean come up with their plan to defeat God. Even if you don’t want to reveal that they know Michael will betray them, you can still get one scene in there of them saying something like, “You think this’ll work?” if you just cut two minutes of Michael’s boring monologue in the church and/or Lucifer’s bullshit.

It follows this weird pattern of bucklemming once again seeming to not find Sam and Dean particularly interesting, so they don’t spend any time writing them DOING anything, or at least succeeding at anything, because they’d rather write Lucifer killing women and generally being an asshole.

So ... who cares, right? It’s bucklemming, they were bound to be mediocre-to-bad anyway, it kind of makes sense for Dabb to give them this episode because nepotism definitely makes it a best case scenario. And while I take issue with Dabb as a showrunner, I do think he’s great at standalone episodes and character stuff, so I’m not too terribly worried about next episode. I just think there were things about this episode that could have sucked less.

There ARE things about it that were fine, dare I say even good. It was in my notes, but I just want to emphasize that I LOVED the shot of Sam and Dean getting up bloody and broken, holding onto each other and grinning their asses off knowing that Chuck’s about to lose to Jack, and they get to see it! They may very well have gone into that fight expecting to die -- Chuck nearly just zapped them from existence, which would have still unleashed God-power for Jack to soak up.

The ending scene is pretty good, with Sam and Dean seeming like they’re still pretty beaten down, but trying to get it together. That’s more Jensen and Jared’s acting than anything bucklemming wrote, but it’s still good. The montage is good (although I will say for like the third time, where. the fuck. was Benny?)

Jensen’s acting over the dog was SO SOFT (doesn’t he have a dog?). I half-expected the dog to run to him at the end, which would have been cute.

There are also things that were ... potentially good, if they’d been brought up correctly? I actually really like that Jack is going to be “hands-off” (although I like less that he and Sam will never see each other again, but Dabb did say it was going to be a bittersweet ending, so ....).

I also -- and God, I’m going to get hate mail for saying this -- don’t mind that he didn’t bring Cas back. That highlights the difference between him and Chuck. Chuck brings back Sam and Dean (and, in Season 5 at least, Cas) over and over again, not out of love, but just to throw them back into their exhausting existence. In contrast, Jack NOT bringing anyone back (except the people who’d been snapped out of existence, which I would argue is more about putting the world on its proper course again, as opposed to “violating the natural order,” as Billie would put it). He knows he has to let people go. You could argue that’s always been his arc -- he and Cas even talk about how hard it will be for them to one day lose Sam and Dean back in Season 14 when they think Dean is dying.

But I wish there had been dialogue exploring THAT instead of the weird vague stuff about how he would always be a part of them. It doesn’t have to be anything super analytical like what I just wrote, it just has to be him saying, “I understand that in order to be a just god, I have to let things go and be at peace.”

(However, if the reason they DIDN’T go that direction is they didn’t want Dean to be like, “You know, he’s right,” next episode and not rescue Cas from the Empty, then I’m fine with them leaving that out. Screw the natural order, Dean -- go rescue Cas from the Empty!)

I also really really really want to get some sense that Sam’s faith has been rewarded. We got a tiny glimmer of that this episode in the hushed, awed way Jared delivers the line, “Are you really ... him?” Sam has always been the one with faith in a just and loving God, and one of the things that aggravated me about the end of Season 14 was his faith being so blatantly not rewarded, in favor of promoting Dean’s more cynical take on God.

The show has always, since the very first season, raised questions about where God is, whether his will is just, and how we know we’re following it, and the main characters all have different answers to that -- Sam’s being the more faithful, optimistic view of “God is good”, Dean’s being the more critical “If God is good then why do bad things happen?”, and, most interestingly, Cas’ viewpoint largely fluctuating with his own sense of identity and self-worth. The point is, we had all three of these opinions on God, without the show ever explicitly saying which one was right.

Until very recently, I thought it should have stayed that way. But now I love the idea that Sam’s faith in God was rewarded not by Chuck, but by Jack -- the very boy he took under his wing and raised as his own son, the boy who understands that he is good and that people are good largely because SAM TAUGHT HIM THEY CAN BE. It’s just so beautiful, and I’m getting more and more happy about this ending as I write about it, actually, so maybe I don’t entirely hate Jack’s ending after all.

That was a happier note than I planned on ending this on. I guess that is how you stop worrying and tolerate bucklemming.

Goodbye, bucklemming. I hated many of your episodes, but I will miss you and your weird, inconsistent writing that was so entertaining to pick apart and analyze and make fun of. I hope you find some cop shows where you can churn out more mediocrity and make some money. And in the meantime, stop killing off women.

*Yet another example from this season of the writers intentionally writing a bad episode to highlight the fact that Chuck is a bad writer. NEWSFLASH DABB: Bad writing is still bad writing, I don’t care if the villain of the story is the writer, I still don’t want to watch it if it’s bad.

**Which is such a bizarre insult to use. Isn’t it slang for a guy who’s wife cheats on him? I swear I’m not innocent or sheltered, I have just literally never heard anyone use that insult in a real context in my entire life.

#how i learned to stop worrying and tolerate bucklemming #this is the last time i get to review one of their episodes i'm getting a little choked up #not really #supernatural spoilers #supernatural #supernatural home stretch #this episode was boring and miserable but the end was decent

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

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that original lifeline

chapter 4 / 5 - “you deserve what you are given” - 2.2k

in which Eddie has a chance at some closure—but not in the way you might think.

note the update to the chapter count—it didn't feel right wrapping up everything in one last chapter. the beautiful, wonderful @buckleydiazs inspired a totally new ending with one of her recent works and honestly you should all be reading everything she’s ever written.

that all said and done, I won't keep you waiting too long. the last chapter will be up tomorrow, and I love all of you forever and ever.

read on AO3

For all intents and purposes, Eddie Diaz felt like a dead man walking.

He had been swallowed up by the Earth and spit back out, in once piece, but that didn’t mean that he was whole.

For the first month, he seemed to fluctuate wildly between the first three stages of grief, but honestly, he attributed a good portion of that to the mandatory leave of absence he had been given from the 118. He had already lost an eternal being, so sure, absolutely, losing the one routine he had going for him was great!

As ashamed as he was to admit it, his denial spiked the highest whenever he was around Christopher. His son was so good, so fucking kind, and sweet, and it just didn’t feel fair for Eddie to do anything other than smile with him and support him in any way that he could. He had to admit, that was the only shred of silver lining he could see in his mandatory leave—he got to wake up with Chris every morning, he got to take him to school and pick him up after, and he got to give Carla a very, very well deserved vacation.

If he spent the hours that Chris was out of the house begging to a God that he figured hated him, well, that was his own business.

When he did get angry, Eddie made damn sure to do it on his own time, in his own house, in his own state of being—he would sooner jump back under an exploding fire truck than allow any of his anger leak through to Chris, and besides, the only person that he was really angry with was himself. He still didn’t know why he had volunteered to go down in the first place—Chim would have been the much more logical choice, he was smaller, he was lighter, and he could move faster, all of that proven when Chim had successfully pulled the kid out of the muddy hole in record time. Unfortunately, there was one thing he didn’t have—the heaps of fucked up brainpower that Eddie seemed to tap into whenever he was out on a call that involved a kid.

Somewhere around the six week mark, Eddie’s brain had finally given up on bouncing back and forth between denial, bargaining, and anger, and instead slipped right into stage four—a deep, comfortable, whole body depression—one that felt impossible to shake, one that felt like a thick, weighted blanket, wrapped around his body, layering guilt, sadness, shame….

…well. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that he wasn’t in a great place. But what the hell else was he supposed to do, go to therapy?

“Hi, I’m Eddie, I’m sad because my guardian angel died. I haven’t been able to sleep in weeks without nightmares about being buried alive. Why yes, I am still on active duty as a firefighter.”

Yeah, that was going to go over so well.

One of the many fucked up surprises this newer, nihilistic state of being brought him were the rare moments when he managed to break out of the shell he used to call a personality. He would snort with a sudden spike of laughter at something a comic on television said, or feel a pulse of genuine sadness when he was reading Chris his bedtime story. The moments were few and far between, and they were never more than a few seconds long.

So, the surge of resignation he felt when he saw red and blue lights erupt in his rearview mirror came as something of a surprise, in and of itself… and then he realized he was going ten over the limit, and resigned this entire day to another page in the Eddie Diaz book.

It was one of his rare days off—rare, because he had been picking up every extra shift he could to help keep his mind busy—and Chris had been overjoyed at the idea of spending a day with Abuela, a rare treat for both of them once Carla entered their lives. Eddie had swung by after work, had an early dinner with his family, kissed Abuela and Pepa goodbye while dodging all of their questions about what was wrong, and why he looked so sad, and if you would just talk to us, Eddito. He had ignored it all, skillfully loaded Chris into the back of his truck, pretended not to feel a little envious when his son passed out within minutes, and—

—and now he was getting pulled over for speeding.

Eddie allowed himself all of five seconds to rest his head against the steering wheel, the urge to scream only lessened by the knowledge that Chris was asleep in the back of his truck, before he pulled out his wallet and fished his license and registration out. He rolled his window down as the officer started to walk toward the truck, unable to even entertain the idea that he was going to drive away with less than a ticket for whatever it was he had done wrong.

“You can go ahead and put those away.”

Eddie blinked in confusion as the officer approached his window, his hand hesitating awkwardly before he slowly pulled his arm back inside his truck, the cards tossed absentmindedly onto the passengers seat of the truck.

“I don’t need your license to know who you are, Edmundo. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I had to ensure we wouldn’t be interrupted.”

Typically, an announcement like that usually would have set off every siren in Eddie’s head, but he hadn’t had the energy for something like that for weeks now. Instead, he shifted in his seat, not quite leaning out the window but definitely getting a better look at the officer standing just outside his truck, the lights from her squad car still blinking in his side view mirror.

“How do you know who I am?”

She smiled, expression sharp and calculating, and Eddie didn’t need her to take off her sunglasses to know that she was looking him over, staring right through him. He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt desperate that she would approve of whatever it was that she saw.

“My name is Athena.”

Suddenly, things clicked in his brain, and it wasn’t just in the sharp smile of the officer—or, not officer—standing in front of him. He was knocked back, almost violently, sitting outside of a shitty shake shack with Buck, ankles knocked together under the table, laughing about whatever.

He almost choked as a surge of emotion shot through him, rattling the very shell of his empty being, a sadness and a guilt so strong, so overwhelming, that it threatened to spill out of him in a moments notice. He gripped the steering wheel so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if he bent it, face going through a flurry of emotions, not trusting himself to speak when he couldn’t even breathe.

Fuck, here Eddie was supposed to be strong, for his kid, for his teammates, and four words had him blinking back tears in the drivers seat of his truck. “Athena, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what he was going to do, I wouldn’t have let him, I promise, this is all my—“

“Hey, hey, stop that.” She took a small step forward as Eddie felt his jaw click shut, tucking her sunglasses into her uniform pocket. “I don’t blame you for anything, and you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. Buck told you about our relationship with free will, right? Well, he had it, too. Everything he did was by choice. His energy was his own to give, and you can’t beat yourself up for him choosing to use it on you. He wouldn’t want that.”

Her smile had softened into something more genuine, something more understanding, and as much as Eddie wanted to let it calm him down, wanted to trust it, he… couldn’t.

Eddie felt another wave of emotion surge forward, dangerously close to the edge—anger this time, hot and sticky in the back of his throat. Here this perfect stranger was telling him what to think, what to believe, what Buck would want, and the worst part of it all was that Eddie had no reason to doubt her. All in all, he really, really didn’t know Buck—not as well as he thought he did, certainly. But maybe not even at all.

No sooner did that thought enter his mind did his anger die down, leaving him feeling nauseous, guilty, and as gross as it was to admit it—a little pleased. He hadn’t felt genuine emotion in so long, he had been beginning to think he couldn’t anymore.

Eddie let out a rattling breath as he leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel once again, only now, Athena looked mostly sympathetic, arms loosely at her sides, thumbs tucked into her utility belt as she waited for Eddie to get his bearings again.

“I miss him.”

Athena let out a little laugh as she nodded her head, her smile wide again, looking at Eddie with something between fondness and exasperation. It was a look he had grown very used to, spending more time with Abuela.

“I know, Eddie. I do too.”

They shared another moment of silence while Eddie counted his breaths, interrupted only when Athena cleared her throat and looked down, kicking at the ground near Eddie’s front tire.

“I’m not going to stand here and try to placate you with promises, or niceties, because this world is already unstable enough, and I am not going to waste either of our time. I’m here to offer you a choice, Eddie. I’m here to offer you a chance of… closure, of sorts.”

Eddie felt his pulse start to quicken as she spoke, not because of the words she said, but because Eddie could already feel it—the same warmth, the energy that used to dance around Buck, was already beginning to swirl around Athena’s narrow frame, making Eddie homesick for a place he didn’t think he would ever be able to return to.

“What, um…” He had to swallow, taking a moment to look at Chris in the rear view mirror, still conked out against his doorframe. “What exactly are you offering me?”

Athena’s jaw was squared again, slowly lifting her hand up from her belt, fingers splayed before her. If it was a little darker out—if Eddie closed his eyes—he could almost swear they were luminous.

“Buck was under my care, he was my responsibility, and that means you were too, even if it was in an indirect way. Eddie, I didn’t know what was going to happen, before or after you went down that hole, but I hope you believe me when I tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through that. No human should ever have to deal with… with a loss of that magnitude.”

And there it was, the unbreakable truth that Athena had been dancing around since she pulled him over. Loss. It was a loss, Buck really was gone. Not an angel, not a guardian, not anymore. Eddie had to swallow again.

“I can’t lessen that pain. Only time can do that, and to what extent, even I don’t know. But what I can do is take it away from you, make you forget. Your life will still be your own, but the moments where Buck shone through will be altered, so you’ll have seen the situations just like any other human would have.”

Eddie took in a deep breath, letting it out between loose lips, taking in a few more before he could speak. “So it’ll be like I never saw him in the first place. Like I never knew what was protecting me.”

Athena nodded her head, moving her fingers slowly, focusing on them as much as she was on him. “It’s important to me that you understand I won’t force you to do anything here—this is all your choice. And I’m sorry to say it’s a choice you have to make relatively quickly, I’m already breaking enough protocols being here right now.”

Eddie laughed—he couldn’t help himself, the sound pulled from his throat without him expecting it. “So I guess you’re where Buck got his strict adherence to the rules, huh?”

Athena clicked her tongue and leaned in to smack his arm with her free hand, but the smile on her face was genuine, the touch feather light compared to what Eddie knew she could do.

“His presence has been a bright spot in your life, and I’m glad for that, but I know it can get awful dark without that light. So, it’s up to you. Do you want to keep living, having had this experience, but knowing that no one can relate to it, can help you past it now that it’s over? Or do you want to forget you ever saw his light, to be able to move forward without this darkness weighing on your heart?”

For the first time in months, Eddie was able to sleep through the night.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 #guardianangel!buck #guardian angel #AU #closure #hurt/comfort #this chapter and my entire heart dedicated to cailee who single handedly unintentionally changed the whole direction of the ending

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 3 years

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Random Review #3: Sleepwalkers (1992) and “Sleep Walk” (1959)

I. Sleepwalkers (1992) I couldn’t sleep last night so I started watching a trashy B-movie penned by Stephen King specifically for the screen called Sleepwalkers (1992). Simply put, the film is an unmitigated disaster. A piece of shit. But it didn’t need to be. That’s what’s so annoying about it. By 1992 King was a grizzled veteran of the silver screen, with more adaptations under his belt than any other author of his cohort. Puzo had the Godfather films (1972 and 1974, respectively), sure, but nothing else. Leonard Gardner had Fat City (1972), a movie I love, but Gardner got sucked into the Hollywood scene of cocaine and hot tub parties and never published another novel, focusing instead on screenplays for shitty TV shows like NYPD Blue. After Demon Seed (1977), a movie I have seen and disliked, nobody would touch Dean Koontz’s stuff with a ten foot pole, which is too bad because The Voice of the Night, a 1980 novel about two young pals, one of whom is a psychopath trying to convince the other to help him commit murder, would make a terrific movie. But Koontz’s adaptations have been uniformly awful. The made-for-TV film starring John C McGinley, 1997′s Intensity, is especially bad. There are exceptions, but Stephen King has been lucky enough to avoid the fate of his peers. Big name directors have tackled his work, from Stanley Kubrick to Brian De Palma. King even does a decent job of acting in Pet Semetary (1989), in his own Maximum Overdrive (1986) and in George Romero’s Creepshow (1982), where he plays a yokel named Jordy Verril who gets infected by a meteorite that causes green weeds to grow all over his body. Many have criticized King’s over-the-top performance in that flick, but for me King perfectly nails the campy and comical tone that Romero was going for. The dissolves in Creepshow literally come right off the pages of comics, so people expecting a subtle Ordinary People-style turn from King had clearly walked into the wrong theatre. Undoubtedly Creepshow succeeds at what it set out to do. I’m not sure Sleepwalkers succeeds though, unless the film’s goal was to get me to like cats even more than I already do. But I already love cats a great deal. Here’s my cat Cookie watching me edit this very blog post.

And here’s one of my other cats, Church, named after the cat that reanimates and creeps out Louis and Ellie in Pet Sematary. Photo by @ScareAlex.

SPOILER ALERT: Do not keep reading if you plan on watching Sleepwalkers and want to find out for yourself what happens.

Stephen King saw many of his novels get adapted in the late 1970s and 80s: Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and the movie that spawned the 1950s nostalgia industrial complex, Stand By Me, but Sleepwalkers was the first time he wrote a script specifically for the screen rather than adapting a novel that already existed. Maybe that’s why it’s so fucking bad. Stephen King is a novelist, gifted with a novelist’s rich imagination. He’s prone to giving backstories to even the most peripheral characters - think of Joe Chamber’s alcoholic neighbour Gary Pervier in the novel Cujo, who King follows for an unbelievable number of pages as the man stumbles drunkenly around his house spouting his catch phrase “I don’t give a shit,” drills a hole through his phone book so he can hang it from a string beside his phone, complains about his hemorrhoids getting “as big as golfballs” (I’m not joking), and just generally acts like an asshole until a rabid Cujo bounds over, rips his throat out, and he bleeds to death. In the novel Pervier’s death takes more than a few pages, but it makes for fun reading. You hate the man so fucking much that watching him die feels oddly satisfying. In the movie, though, his death occurs pretty quickly, and in a darkened hallway, so it’s hard to see what’s going on aside from Gary’s foot trembling. And Pervier’s “I don’t give a shit” makes sense when he’s drilling a hole in the phone book, not when he’s about to be savagely attacked by a rabid St Bernard. There’s just less room for back story in movies. In a medium that demands pruning and chiseling and the “less is more” dictum, King’s writing takes a marked turn for the worse. King is a prose maximalist, who freely admits to “writing to outrageous lengths” in his novels, listing It, The Stand, and The Tommyknockers as particularly egregious examples of literary logorrhea. He is not especially equipped to write concisely. This weakness is most apparent in Sleepwalkers’ dialogue, which sounds like it was supposed to be snappy and smart, like something Aaron Sorkin would write, but instead comes off like an even worse Tango & Cash, all bad jokes and shitty puns. More on those bad jokes later. First, the plot.

Sleepwalkers is about a boy named Charles and his mother Mary who travel around the United States killing and feeding off the lifeforce of various unfortunate people (if this sounds a little like The True Knot in Doctor Sleep, you’re not wrong. But self-plagiarism is not a crime). Charles and Mary are shapeshifting werewolf-type creatures called werecats, a species with its very own Wikipedia page. Wikipedia confers legitimacy dont’cha know, so lets assume werecats are real beings. According to said page, a werecat, “also written in a hyphenated form as were-cat) is an analogy to ‘werewolf’ for a feline therianthropic creature.” I’m gonna spell it with the hyphen from now on because “werecats” just looks like a typo. Okay? Okay.

Oddly enough, the were-cats in Sleepwalkers are terrified of cats. Actual cats. For the were-cats, cute kittens = kryptonite. When they see a cat or cats plural, this happens to them:

^ That is literally a scene from the movie. Charles is speeding when a cop pulls alongside him and bellows at him to pull over. Ever the rebel, Charles flips the cop the finger. But the cop has a cat named Clovis in his car, and when the cat pops up to have a look at the kid (see below), Charles shapeshifts first into a younger boy, then into whatever the fuck that is in the above screenshot.

Now, the were-cats aversion to normal cats is confusing because one would assume a were-cat to be a more evolved (or perhaps devolved?) version of the typical house kitty. The fact that these were-cats are bipedal alone suggests an advantage over our furry four-legged friends, no? Kinda like if humans were afraid of fucking gorillas. Wait...we are scared of gorillas. And chimpanzees. And all apes really. Okay, maybe the conceit of the film isn’t so silly after all. The film itself, however, is about as silly as a bad horror movie can get. When the policeman gets back to precinct and describes the incident above (”his face turned into a blur”) he is roundly ridiculed because in movies involving the supernatural nobody believes in the supernatural until it confronts them. It’s the law, sorry. Things don’t end well for the cop. Or for the guy who gets murdered when the mom stabs him with...an ear of corn. Yes, an ear of corn. Somehow, the mother is able to jam corn on the cob through a man’s body, without crushing the vegetable or turning it into yellow mash. It’s pretty amazing. Here is a sample of dialog from that scene: Cop About To Die On The Phone to Precinct: There’s blood everywhere! *STAB* Murderous Mother: No vegetables, no dessert. That is actually a line in the movie. “No vegetables, no dessert.” It’s no “let off some steam, Bennett” but it’s close. Told ya I’d get back to the bad jokes. See, Mary and Charles are new in town and therefore seeking to ingratiate themselves by killing everyone who suspects them of being weird, all while avoiding cats as best they can. At one point Charles yanks a man’s hand off and tells him to "keep [his] hands to [him]self," giving the man back his severed bloody hand. Later on Charles starts dating a girl who will gradually - and I do mean gradually - come to realize her boyfriend is not a real person but in fact a were-cat. Eventually our spunky young protagonist - Madchen Amick, who fans of Twin Peaks will recognize as Shelly - and a team of cats led by the adorable Clovis- kill the were-cat shapeshifting things and the sleepy small town (which is named Travis for some reason) goes back to normal, albeit with a slightly diminished population. For those keeping score, that’s Human/Cat Alliance 1, Shapeshifting Were-cats 0. It is clear triumph for the felis catus/people team! Unless we’re going by kill count, in which case it is closer to Human/Cat Alliance 2, Were-cats 26. I arrived at this figure through my own notes but also through a helpful video that takes a comprehensive and complete “carnage count” of all kills in Sleepwalkers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmt-DroK6uA

II. Santo & Johnny “Sleep Walk” (1959) Because Sleepwalkers is decidedly not known for its good acting or its well-written screenplay, it is perhaps best known for its liberal and sometimes contrapuntal use of Santo & Johnny’s classic steel guitar song “Sleep Walk,” possibly the most famous (and therefore best) instrumental of the 20th century. Some might say “Sleep Walk” is tied for the #1 spot with “Green Onions” by Booker T & the M.G.’s and/or “Wipe Out” by The Surfaris, but I disagree. The Santo & Johnny song is #1 because of its incalculable influence on all subsequent popular music.

I’m not saying “Wipe Out” didn't inspire a million imitators, both contemporaneously and even decades later…for example here’s a surf rock instrumental from 1999 called “Giant Cow" by a Toronto band called The Urban Surf Kings. The video was one of the first to be animated using Flash (and it shows):

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So there are no shortage of surf rock bands, even now, decades after its emergence from the shores of California to the jukeboxes of Middle America. My old band Sleep for the Nightlife used to regularly play Rancho Relaxo with a surf rock band called the Dildonics, who I liked a great deal. There's even a Danish surf rock band called Baby Woodrose, whose debut album is a favourite of mine. They apparently compete for the title of Denmark’s biggest surf pop band with a group called The Setting Son. When a country that has no surfing culture and no beaches has multiple surf rock bands, it is safe to say the genre has attained international reach. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many bands out there playing Booker T & the M.G.’s inspired instrumental rock. Link Wray’s “Rumble” was released four years before “Green Onions.” But the influence of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” is so ubiquitous as to be almost immeasurable. The reason for this is the sheer popularity of the song’s chord progression. If Santo and Johnny hadn’t written it first, somebody else would have, simply because the progression is so beautiful and easy on the ears and resolvable in a satisfying way. Have a listen to “Sleep Walk” first and then let’s check out some songs it directly inspired.

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The chords are C, A minor, F and G. Minor variations sometimes reverse the last two chords, but if it begins with C to A minor, you can bet it’s following the “Sleep Walk” formula, almost as if musicians influenced by the song are in the titular trance. When it comes to playing guitar, Tom Waits once said “your hands are like dogs, going to the same places they’ve been. You have to be careful when playing is no longer in the mind but in the fingers, going to happy places. You have to break them of their habits or you don’t explore; you only play what is confident and pleasing.” Not only is it comforting to play and/or hear what we already know, studies have shown that our brains actively resist new music, because it takes work to understand the new information and assimilate it into a pattern we are cogent of. It isn’t until the brain recognizes the pattern that it gives us a dopamine rush. I’m not much for Pitchfork anymore, but a recent article they posted does a fine job of discussing this phenomenon in greater detail.

Led Zeppelin’s “D’Yer Maker” uses the “Sleep Walk” riff prominently, anchored by John Bonham and John Paul Jones’ white-boy reggae beat:

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Here it is again with Del Shannon’s classic “Little Town Flirt.” I love Shannon’s falsetto at the end when he goes “you better run and hide now bo-o-oy.”

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The Beatles “Happiness is a Warm Gun” uses the Sleep Walk progression, though not for the whole song. It goes into the progression at the bridge at 1:34:

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Tumblr won’t let me embed any more videos, so you’ll to travel to another tab to hear these songs, but Neil Young gets in on the act with his overlooked classic “Winterlong:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV6r66n3TFI On their 1996 EP Interstate 8 Modest Mouse pay direct homage by singing over their own rendition of the original Santo & Johnny version, right down to the weeping steel guitar part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT_PwXjCqqs The vocals are typical wispy whispered indie rock vocals, but I think they work, particularly the two different voices. They titled their version “Sleepwalking (Couples Only Dance Prom Night).”

Dwight Yoakam’s “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” makes cinematic use of it. This song plays over the credits of one of my all-time favourite movies, 1993′s Red Rock West feat. Nicolas Cage, Lara Flynn Boyle, Dennis Hopper, and J.T. Walsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu3ypuKq8WE

“39″ is my favourite Queen song. I guess now I know why. It uses my fav chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE8kGMfXaFU

Blink 182 scored their first hit “Dammit” with a minor variation on the Sleep Walk chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT0g16_LQaQ

Midwest beer drinkin bar rockers Connections scored a shoulda-been-a-hit with the fist-pumping “Beat the Sky:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSNRq0n_WYA You’d be hard pressed to find a weaker lead singer than this guy (save for me, natch), but they make it work. This one’s an anthem.

Spoon, who have made a career out of deconstructing rock n’ roll, so that their songs sometimes sound needlessly sparse (especially “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which takes minimalism to its most extreme...just a piano being bashed on staccato-style for four minutes), so it should surprise nobody that they re-arrange the Sleep Walk chords on their classic from Gimme Fiction, “I Summon You:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teXA8N3aF9M I love that opening line: remember the weight of the world was a sound that we used to buy? I think songwriter Britt Daniel is talking about buying albums from the likes of Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins, any of those grunge bands with pessimistic worldviews. There are a million more examples. I remember seeing some YouTube video where a trio of gross douchebros keep playing the same progression while singing a bunch of hits over it. I don’t like the smarmy way they do it, making it seem like artists are lazy and deliberately stealing. I don’t think it’s plagiarism to use this progression. And furthermore, tempo and production make all the difference. Take “This Magic Moment” for example. There's a version by Jay & the Americans and one by Ben E King & the Drifters. I’ve never been a fan of those shrieking violins or fiddles that open the latter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacBKKgc4Uo The Jay & the Americans version puts the guitar riff way in the forefront, which I like a lot more. The guitar plays the entire progression once before the singing starts and the band joins in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKfASw6qoag

Each version has its own distinctive feel. They are pretty much two different songs. Perhaps the most famous use of the Sleep Walk progression is “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, which is one of my favourite songs ever. The guy who chose to let Bobby Hatfield sing this one by himself must have kicked himself afterwards when it became a hit, much bigger than "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0

What can you say about “Unchained Melody” that hasn’t already been said? God, that miraculously strong vocal, the way the strings (and later on, brass horns) are panned way over to the furthest reaches the left speaker while the drums and guitar are way over in the right, with the singing smack dab in the middle creates a kind of distance and sharp clarity that has never been reproduced in popular music, like seeing the skyscrapers of some distant city after an endless stretch of highway. After listening to “Unchained Melody,” one has to wonder: can that progression ever be improved upon? Can any artist write something more haunting, more beautiful, more uplifting than that? The “need your love” crescendo hits so fucking hard, as both the emotional and the sonic climax of the song, which of course is no accident...the strings descending and crashing like a waterfall of sound, it gets me every fucking time. Legend has it that King George II was so moved by the “Hallelujah” section of Handel’s “Messiah” that he stood up, he couldn't help himself, couldn't believe what he was hearing. I get that feeling with all my favourite songs. "1979." "Unchained Melody." "In The Still of the Night." "Digital Bath." "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" "Interstate." "Liar's Tale." “Gimme Shelter.” The list goes on and on. Music is supposed to move us.

King George II stood because he was moved to do so. Music may be our creation, but it isn't our subordinate. All those sci-fi stories warning about technology growing beyond our control aren’t that far-fetched. Music is our creation but its power lies beyond our control. We are subordinate to music, helpless against its power and might, its urgency and vitality and beauty. There have been many times in my life when I have been so obsessed with a particular song that I pretty much want to live inside of it forever. A house of sound. I remember detoxing from heroin and listening to Grimes “Realiti” on repeat for twelve hours. Detoxing from OxyContin and listening to The Beach Boys “Dont Worry Baby” over and over. Or just being young and listening to “Tonight Tonight” over and over and over, tears streaming from my eyes in that way you cry when you’re a kid because you just feel so much and you don’t know what to do with the intensity of those feelings. It is precisely because we are so moved by music that we keep creating it. And in the act of that creation we are free. There are no limits to that freedom, which is why bands time and time again return to the well-worn Sleep Walk chord progression and try to make something new from it. Back in 2006, soon after buying what was then the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, I found myself playing the album’s closing track over and over. I loved the chorus and I loved the way it collapses into a lo-fi demo at the very end, stripping away the studio sheen and...not to be too punny, showing its bones (the album title is Show Your Bones). Later on I would realize that the song, called “Turn Into,” uses the Sleep Walk chord progression. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqCFoPiwpk

It’s just like, what Waits said, our hands goes to where we are familiar. And so do our ears, which is why jazz often sounds so unpleasant to us upon first listen. Or Captain Beefheart. But it’s worth the effort to discover new stuff, just as it’s worth the effort to try and write it. I recently lamented on this blog that music to me now is more about remembrance than discovery, but I’m still only 35 years old. I’m middle-aged right now (I don’t expect to live past 70, not with the lifestyle I’ve been living). There’s still a whole other half life to find new music and love and leave it for still newer stuff. It’s worth the challenge, that moment of inner resistance we feel when confronted with something new and challenging and strange sounding. The austere demands of adult life, rent and routine, take so much of our time. I still make time for creative pursuits, but I don’t really have much time for discovery, for seeking out new music. But I’ve resolved to start making more time. A few years ago I tried to listen to and like Trout Mask Replica but I couldn’t. I just didn’t get what was going on. It sounded like a bunch of mistakes piled on top of each other. But then a few days ago I was writing while listening to music, as I always do, and YouTube somehow landed on Lick My Decals Off, Baby. I didn’t love what I was hearing but I was intrigued enough to keep going. And now I really like this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMnd9dvb3sA&pbjreload=101 Another example I’ll give is the rare Robert Pollard gem “Prom Is Coming.” The first time I heard this song, it sounded like someone who can’t play guitar messing around, but the more I heard it the more I realized there’s a song there. It’s weird and strange, but it’s there. The lyrics are classic Pollard: Disregard injury and race madly out of the universe by sundown. Pollard obviously has a special place in his heart for this track. He named one of his many record labels Prom Is Coming Records and he titled the Boston Spaceships best-of collection Out of the Universe By Sundown. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Captain Beefheart megafan but I can hear that the man was doing something very strange and, at times, beautiful. And anyway, why should everything be easy? Aren’t some challenges worth meeting for the experience waiting on the other side of comprehension or acceptance? I try to remember this now whenever I’m first confronted with new music, instead of vetoing it right away. Most of my favourite bands I was initially resistant to when I first heard them. Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Guided by Voices, Spoon, Heavy Times. All bands I didn’t like at first. I don’t wanna sleepwalk through life, surrounding myself only with things I have already experienced. I need to stay awake. Because soon enough I’ll be asleep forever. We need to try everything we can before the Big Sleep comes to take us back to the great blankness, the terrible question mark that bookends our lives.

#sleep walk #santo & johnny #neil young #queen #dwight yoakam #led zeppelin #the beatles #betterdaysareatoenailaway

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thankskenpenders · 5 years

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Yeah, this is the big one. Grab your popcorn

Sally finally gets a moment to talk to Sonic after being ignored all day, and tells him what’s up. With her being put in charge, and Sonic being her royal consort (basically, the guy who’s committed to marrying her someday but isn’t quite her fiance yet), Sally wants Sonic to stop going on away missions and lead Knothole by her side

Look. Let’s set aside all of our preconceived notions about what a Sonic comic should or shouldn’t be. Ignore the fact that we obviously want to see Sonic go on adventures. Forget it. Let’s look at it from Sally’s perspective for a second

Yes, this is the post in which I explain that “The Slap” isn’t that bad. It’s certainly not great, but it’s not The Worst Thing Ever like it’s been made out to be. I wish I didn’t have to spend my evening writing this, but 15 years of hyperbolic fan outrage (note: some Wikia rando added that “reception” section this year) have forced my hand

First of all, again, Sonic is formally committed to marrying her and ruling alongside her someday. This was established ten issues ago. He was already committed to this. Then, Sonic went and died. Sally still spent an entire year of her life thinking her basically-fiance was dead, and had to deal with shit in Knothole without him as things continued to get worse and worse. No one can just bounce back from that unscathed. After his return, she WANTED to help Sonic and go be a Freedom Fighter on the last mission, but her parents forbade her and the royal guards kept her in the castle. (That SUCKS, but is a whole ‘nother conversation.) She wants to fight by his side and keep him safe, but her parents are forcing her to stay home and be the princess, which only makes her more distraught. Last issue, she broke down into tears when she saw Sonic get shot by M over Eggman’s video feed, and her mother had to console her and reassure her Sonic wasn’t dead

Sally very clearly has PTSD over Sonic’s “death” a year ago. She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’s outright said as much

And also... when she says Sonic isn’t the only hero around, she’s got a point?Sonic barely did anything in the last arc! Tails was the one who outsmarted ADAM. Shadow dealt with Eggman. Bunnie did most of the damage to M and took out an entire fucking aircraft carrier on her own. Knuckles, the Chaotix, Rouge, and Amy took out the robot horde. All Sonic did was land the final attack on M--which, honestly, someone else could’ve done. And he got his arm injured in the process

Add on to this all of the chaos of the last few days. Sally’s barely had a free moment to see Sonic since she found out he was alive. They nearly got nuked by Eggman. They’re being harangued by the paparazzi. It sucks. And hell, it goes back WAY further than this! She spent years as a kid trying to save her parents, and now all they do is belittle her. She found out she had a secret older brother, and then her parents decided he was the more important child. She went through all sorts of relationship drama. She nearly died a few times herself. And now, her parents have decided to leave her in charge of their whole kingdom at a time of war, while she’s still a mess from the trauma of losing Sonic. The idea Bollers had was apparently that Sally had been bottling up her issues for years (which she totally had been), and this was just the breaking point

I know Sonic’s desire to keep being a hero is understandable. I know he’s right. That’s all he really knows how to do, and he feels useless in times of peace. And obviously, we the readers want to see Sonic go on adventures. But Sally’s concerns are valid. We don’t have to agree with her plan to have Sonic rule by her side for her emotions to be understandable

Sally’s been on the verge of a breakdown for who knows how long. She should be mad at her parents, but they’ve worn her down to the point where she thinks she’s unable to confront them. (It would be very, very easy to make a case arguing that Sally’s parents are emotionally abusive. Max especially.) She thinks that Sonic is the one person who will listen to her and have her back. They’re betrothed, after all. This is literally what he signed up for. After trying to get his attention ALL DAY, she finally gets a chance to talk to him. But he wants other things in life, and refuses. In front of a crowd, no less

So she lashes out at Sonic and slaps him

Then they both start yelling at each other and crying. Sally asks Sonic if she’s more important to him than fighting Eggman, Sonic can’t answer, and Sally runs away in tears. For all intents and purposes, Sonic and Sally are now broken up. (For now.)

Should Sally be lashing out at Sonic? No. Could this scene be done better? Oh, absolutely. This is not the direction I would want Sally to go in as a character, and if you ARE gonna have them fight, this wasn’t written with the care required to make fans sympathize with both parties. The fact that we’ve seen everything from Sonic’s perspective with barely any insight into Sally’s certainly doesn’t help. But as the several lengthy paragraphs above explain, this does not come out of nowhere. It’s easy to find lots of fans online calling Sally all sorts of names (sometimes very misogynistic or ableist ones) because they think she just flipped out on Sonic out of nowhere. But she didn’t. Sally having some sort of breakdown had been foreshadowed for several issues, and the reasons why make sense. No, she shouldn’t have lashed out at Sonic, but this isn’t just her going “Oh no, my period! Let’s nuke England!” as so many have made it out to be. (And hell, the comics already had a lengthy history of treating Sally even worse than this, with Gallagher making her the nagging girlfriend who bickered with Sonic all the time and Penders sympathizing more with her shitty dad.)

Again, this was supposed to be a turning point in which Sally bottling up all this crap and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders finally leads to her breaking. It’s a dramatic low point to build back up from. The problem is that Bollers left the series only a few issues later, and Penders and “Chacon” never did much with this. So in hindsight, many view this as her randomly snapping “for no reason,” because the followup stories that would have explored how she’d been bottling up her feelings were never actually written. But it’s not hard to figure out what’s supposed to be going on in her head if you actually go back and look at the preceding Sally scenes

For the most part, this is just run of the mill relationship drama for Archie Sonic. You see this kind of shit all the time in serialized media. Characters date, but the writers need to keep things ~spicy~, so they break up, see other people... then inevitably end up back together, and the process repeats ad nauseum. You ever watch Scrubs? You know how JD and Elliot are obviously love interests from episode one, but they had to do that will they/won’t they shit for years and have flings with other characters to keep up ratings? Yeah, it’s just that. For Sonic, there’s also the added pressure from Sega, who never allowed Sonic to be in any stable relationship for very long. Several writers have talked about how this limited what they could do with Sonic and Sally. Do I like that this cycle of drama is the norm? No. But after over 200 of these comics, I’m used to it

(And hell, at this point in the comics, they had literally just broken up Bunnie and Antoine, and Rouge was starting to get in the way of Knuckles and Julie-Su’s relationship. Between Julie-Su and Knuckles’ first kiss and them actually dating, Penders had Julie-Su get mad at Knuckles and go out with some random other guy. They do this shit all the time)

The worst you can really say about this scene is that Jon’s art is a little too goofy and undermines the drama a bit. In his own words from his website’s FAQ: “I’m sorry. Like I said, I was an overeager noob and I drew what I was given.” But really, he had been drawing these sorts of exaggerated, frantic expressions throughout the entire issue. Not just with Sally. Look at all the panels of Sonic wigging out in the previous pages. I still think his work is fantastic. If anything, it was a bad call on Archie’s part to give this somber scene to a brand new artist with a very exaggerated, silly art style. He just drew what was in the script

You know what really blows about this whole thing, though? Jon Gray is still, to this day, over 15 years later, getting harassed for drawing The Slap

That is so utterly ridiculous and shitty. People have made up all sorts of conspiracy theories about the slap, saying that Jon had some sort of “anti-Sally agenda” and that it wasn’t in the script. (This is completely false.) People are so stuck in the past and bent out of shape over this one panel in a pretty run-of-the-mill Archie Sonic issue that Jon has to block people who come into his Twitter mentions accusing him of “sabotaging” the series on a regular basis. Y’all, Jon’s a good guy, and he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that

And lord. There’s so much nastier shit within this series. Penders hooking a 15-year-old Sally up with a dude in his 20s (and later saying that he wanted her to lose his virginity to said dude). Gallagher making Barby Koala have a creepy crush on Tails. Penders rephrasing a poem about the Holocaust to be about hedgehogs. Penders having Sally rationalize her dad’s attempt at genocide. (I could go on and on with Penders, can you tell)

This whole thing is just, so blown out of proportion. It’s not a great scene, but it didn’t “ruin” Sally’s character. Neither Jon nor Bollers had some sort of “anti-Sally agenda.” They weren’t out to ruin your fucking ship. And for god’s sake, quit yelling at them about it. This was 15 years ago and all parties involved have moved on. It’s just more melodrama in a series that’s always 90% melodrama

It’s a single panel in a comic about Sonic the Hedgehog. Can we move on

#StH 134 #tkp post #the slap #hall of fame

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windskull · 4 years

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A Little Less Lonely

A/N: Uhhh does the Namco High Fandom still exist on here? I know this is like. 7 years late but.

Summary: Davesprite has watched the same week play out so many times, knowing that, in the end, everything will start anew and there’s nothing he can do about it. Everyone around him feels like little more than a caricature, going through the same motions over and over, tugged along with by the whims of the game.

Until one day, someone doesn’t.

~ 6000 words, Davesprite/Anti-Bravoman. Contains swearing. See Ao3 posting for more notes.

Davesprite drummed his fingers against the plastic table, his expression unreadable as he idly looked over the crowded field. All around him colorful booths advertising various clubs and student organizations had been set up, desperately vying for the attention of any student that happened to pass by. Several groups of students idled about nearby, some occasionally glancing at him as they passed by. But they never approached, never expressed interest in joining. They never do. Some might smile at him or give him weird looks, while others might ignore him entirely. But in the end, they always behaved in the same predictable way.

Right on cue, a pair of students in wrestleball gear passed by. One of them gave him a dirty look, whispering to his friend as they gave his table a wide berth. But their actions don’t bother him. They don’t so much as sting. In the end, the other students were just voiceless bits of data, and they just did what they always did.

His attention shifted to a booth across the pathway. Meowkie stood by herself, looking out for a certain someone. Cousin, of course. She always looks for them. Just like all the other datable caricatures in Dating Sim Hell World.

The slightest of smiles — a wistful, wry smile — crossed his face for mere seconds before he turned away. Cousin dated her in a recent cycle. They certainly wouldn’t go for her again so soon. He almost felt bad for her. Without Cousin there for her, she’d just get pushed around by the other students and blamed for things out of her control. Just like she always did.

His gaze shifted away again, spotting the adorable alien in question conversing with Blue Max. Ah, so that’s who they’d selected this time. It’s not the first time they’d dated Blue Max, and he doubted it would be the last. He supposed Cousin had a soft spot for the sensitive ones. At least they weren’t dating Hiromi or Terezi this time; those routes always made him cringe just a little.

Shifting his gaze further still, he spotted a speck of purple down the path, standing out against the colorful crowd. Anti-Bravoman was watching the exchange as well. Davesprite let out a disinterested hum, leaning forward to rest his chin on the palm of one of his hands. That poor sap got chosen just last time. Who knew when he’d be selected again?

Cousin and Blue Max began to walk back towards the school, Anti watching them go. Davesprite rose from his seat, preparing to go off and dow who knows what, but he paused. Huh, had Anti always watched Cousin leave? He shook his head. Oh, what was he saying, of course he must have. The game always played out the same. No matter what Cousin did, everything went down the same predetermined paths.

The other students begin to disperse, and the little effects of Cousin’s choice are evident. Davesprite counted them off on his head. Taira won’t immediately go to the wrestleball game. Instead, he’ll gather up a couple of the other players and go heckle Blue Max at his club. But everyone else would still follow their usual patterns, just without Cousin. Meowkie would go do her hall monitor thing, Richard would go to culinary club, and Anti-Bravoman would go to poetry club. Just like everyone else would do their own clubs.

He wouldn’t bother with his webcomic club, of course. Despite how much the game tries to compel him, he hadn’t bothered with that in a long time. After the first dozen or so cycles, he’d abandoned his schedule, doing whatever he pleased when the game didn’t call for him to interact with Cousin. Admittedly, doing what he pleased usually meant doing nothing, but that didn’t matter. So long as he didn’t get in the way of Cousin, everything would go fine. The game wouldn’t care. The game wouldn’t compel him to move elsewhere.

But as he began floating away, he realized something was off.

Instead of wandering off like all the others, Anti-Bravoman was still rooted to the spot. At first, he thought it must have been a little error. Sometimes the game glitched, after all. He’d return to his normal path soon enough, none the wiser that there was ever anything wrong.

Anti glanced up, noticing Davesprite. He locked eyes with him for just a moment, then suddenly let out a squeak and averted his gaze. Davesprite fully expected him to turn and run off towards Poetry club. Maybe he’d go, too. Watching Anti make a fool of himself trying to act cool and edgy might be fun.

But Anti didn’t run off towards the café. Instead, he turned and dashed towards the school steps. Davesprite’s mouth dropped open as he stared where Anti had disappeared.

That. That wasn’t normal. Throughout all the resets he’d experienced, Davesprite had never seen Anti enter the school on club day. This was new. And as much as the voice in the back of his head told him that this wasn’t anything important, and that he was probably just forgetting something, he couldn’t help but be curious.

So, despite a little itch telling him to do otherwise, he floated through the doors and after Anti.

*****

Davesprite’s search for the rogue student brought him to the roof, where he found Anti sitting on the edge with his back turned, kicking his feet idly. His bullshit guide abilities tell him that there are no events that are supposed to happen up here today, a fact that helped alleviate that itching feeling that he was in a place he shouldn’t be.

Yet, at the same time, it gave him an uneasy, twisting feeling in his stomach that threatened to make him sick. (Could he even get sick?) There was something wrong. Neither of them were supposed to be here. But more importantly, Anti-Bravoman wasn’t supposed to be here.

Uncertain of how to break the silence, Davesprite floated just a bit closer but said nothing, silently closing the door behind him. Sure, he could just float up to him and go, “hey you know you’re not supposed to be here right don’t you have poetry club to get to or something?” But something about that didn’t feel right in the moment. So instead, he opts to just say, “hey.”

Anti jolted at the sound of his voice, letting out an out-of-character, high-pitched squeak of alarm. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. But then his eyes lit up with recognition, and he relaxed slightly. He tilted his head.

“…Davesprite?” There was confusion in his voice, but it wasn’t the hesitant confusion of someone trying to recognize the face of someone they were vaguely familiar with. No, it was the confusion of someone who wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. “What are you doing up here?”

Offering a coy smile and a shrug of his shoulders, Davesprite did the best he could to play it off. “Can’t a guy get a little privacy? I mean the roof is supposed to be off limits and all. But it’s kinda hard to enforce that when a student can fly don’t you think? But anyways what about you? You up here doing like. Some Batman shtick or something? Like. I can see you doing a deep gravelly voice. Monologuing about how dark and broody you are and how the world can’t understand you or something. Some pseudo deep poetic bullshit like that. Speaking of that don’t you like. Go to poetry club or something today?”

Anti flinched and turned his head away, his gaze dropping back towards the ground. “They wouldn’t understand the… inky depths of my soul. The darkness that dwells within me. The depressive state of my innermost being. But that’s enough focusing on my inner demons. What about you, aren’t you supposed to be at poetry club or something?”

He had to suppress a snort to prevent himself from laughing out loud at Anti’s edgy antics. Teasing, whether lighthearted or not, would be the fastest way to get nowhere with his questions. He shrugged. “Poetry club sounds cool and all but I prefer making shitty comics to spitting hot rhymes these days.”

He approached the edge of the roof, taking a seat next to where Anti had been a moment before. His tail curled around, hanging over the edge beside him as he patted the edge, inviting Anti to sit beside him.

Anti stared at him for a moment before sitting back down a few feet back. Then he laid back, his arms behind his head. “I mean,” he began, keeping his gaze on the clouds above them, “no one is going to miss me if I don’t go to poetry club. Cousin might ask about it but all I gotta do is make up a little lie. It’s not like it changes anything in the end.”

Something about the way he said that made Davesprite suck in a breath. It’s familiar, in a way. Like Anti took the words right out of his mouth. He blinked a couple times, digesting the statement before turning back to look at Anti. As soon as Anti realized he was staring, though, he sat back up and looked away.

“I mean. Think about it,” Anti said quickly. Maybe almost too quickly. Or maybe Davesprite was just overthinking things. “It’s not like I have any friends here. I don’t help people out with their bike problems or participate in any of the other clubs or anything. Or just. Have friends in general. If I don’t show up, no one’s going to know.”

He has a point. But at the same time, that didn’t make the nagging feeling in the back of his head go away. Because he knew the way this game worked. He knew Anti wasn't actively involved in any route but his own, and that he only ever made passive remarks about his actions. But still. The game had a way that it did things. Everyone was a caricature, unable to deviate from their script. Everyone but himself.

Or so he thought.

Davesprite realized that he had zoned out. Anti was still rambling, trying to come up with some sort of excuse as to why he was up here. Because that’s all it was. Excuses. Davesprite ignored it all, instead just uttering two words barely above a whisper. “You know.”

Anti’s voice stopped mid-sentence, the words dying in his throat. Swallowing nervously, he tugged at his scarf. “Know what?”

Davesprite frowned. “I mean. We can beat around the bush all day and all but Cuz is only going to be busy for so long, you know? And then we all have to go home and do nothing for the rest of the day and then come back and have to pretend like we did what we were supposed to do. Or we’re supposed to at least. I guess I could always say that I did jack shit but even if I did it wouldn’t make a difference anyways. If anything going off-script would just cause things to reset prematurely or something. Shit’s pretty whack and all but what can you do. So instead you just shrug it off and try and trick them into thinking there’s a harem ending or some shit.”

“What are you…” Anti blinked at him a few times, trying to digest his words. When the implications finally sank in, he stiffened. He stood up suddenly, pulling his scarf up a little higher. “I need to go. I-I have a poetry club to get to.”

“I mean if you don’t want to talk about it that’s cool and all. But.” Davesprite paused. What good would it do to force it. If he was right, then Anti apparently didn’t want to talk to him about it. Which was frustrating, knowing that there might be someone that understood his plight right in front of him, refusing to admit it. But if he was wrong, he’d just make a huge fool of himself.

Then again, if he was wrong, it wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. Anti would just forget this whole conversation in a week, and his sad, miserable little existence trapped in a looping video game would just return to the usual.

He would speak up. “You’re not exactly the most popular student or anything. It’s not like you got anything else to do. Heh. Imagine if you were popular like Donko or Galaga. Always surrounded by other students. Beloved by all. Wouldn’t that be wild? Then again you’re not an inanimate object. Seeps like that’s what it takes to get popular around here. You think someone would date Cousin’s Katamari if they were given the chance? I think it could be pretty cute.” What was he saying?

“What are you trying to say?” Anti gave him a weird look, shaking his head. “Why are you even bothering me with all this. You’ve never paid me any mind before.”

Because he needed to know . He needed proof that he wasn’t alone in this mess. “All I’m saying is that you usually go to poetry club don’t you? You run off and go hide in the rafters and give this dramatic speech about meat prisons that nobody seems to like. I guess you’re going to go do that now so I’ll stop bothering you. Have fun and all.” He shrugged, rising from his spot, and prepared to lower himself to the ground.

“Wait.”

Davesprite turned around. Anti was standing still, staring at him. He wring his hands together nervously, eyes darting to the side. “Are… you really being serious? You’re not messing with me, right?”

Sincerity wasn’t one of Davesprite’s strengths, so instead he replied with his usual flair. “I ain’t clowning with you. The only person I’m clowning on is myself. Well. Right now anyways. It’s not like there’s anyone else here right now. God damn. Do you really remember stuff? Wish you’d have said something sooner bro. It kind of fucking sucks talking to people and getting the same cookie cuter responses every time. Like a bunch of fucking puppets. Ugh.”

Anti tilted his head so that he was staring at the ground and rubbed his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m supposed to,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know.”

Seeing at how vulnerable, and, yeah, kind of pathetic, Anti looked at the moment, Davesprite almost felt bad. Almost. “What you think the fact that you know about all this is like. Some sort of glitch or something. I mean, hello, I’m Mr. Guide Knowitall and I didn’t know about this so you may be on to something. But. I mean. I also feel like I should have noticed a glitch or some shit like that. Then again I did see you acting weird today so I guess I did notice but…”

“I was just missing Cousin,” Anti said quietly without looking up. “Even if it’s all temporary and all part of a script, they make me feel good about myself.”

Davesprite sucked in a deep breath. Still keeping his gaze down, Anti walked back to the edge of the roof. Finally, he turned back to look at Davesprite. “I… I’d like to talk about this more. I think. But… Cousin will probably be finishing their event right about now.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Davesprite suggested before pausing. “Well. Not tomorrow. The day after. We could meet up and. I dunno. Discuss why videogames suck and maybe why you have control over your actions?”

Hesitation crossed Anti’s face. But it was gone just as quickly. He nodded. “We should probably go somewhere away from the school, since Cousin should be here if they continue down their current path… I think. I don’t know, I don’t follow them around. The café, maybe?”

Davesprite raised a hand up, offering Anti a fist bump. “It’s a date.” He paused. “Well. Not a date. But. You know.”

Anti rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Eh, heh… no, I get it. I’m a swirling pit of darkness. A walking pile of — admittedly totally cool — edge. Not exactly Cousin material. I don’t think that’s what you meant anyways.”

Davesprite laughed, because of course he’s skittish like that. “See you then.”

*****

The next day, as always, passed in a blur. From his seat, Davesprite watched, bored, as Cousin talked to Bluemax and a couple other students, but did little else. They just don’t speak to them all like they used to. Anti kept to his seat in the back of the room, idly scrawling away in a notebook.

Curious, Davesprite rose from his seat, mindful of his tail as he made his way across the room to take a look at what Anti was doing. He expected to see bars upon bars of poetry, but instead was met with surprisingly pristine doodles of robots. Little, less clean doodles of Anti charged at the robots, destroying them in some pictures. Some of the bots he recognized as the ones from Evil Namco High. The ones that they all fought at the end of every week. But others are totally unfamiliar.

Anti glanced up and caught Davesprite’s eye, but quickly looked away, placing his hand over the notebook. Davesprite couldn’t get a good read of his emotions at the moment, but the way the antennas on his helmet drooped suggested that he was embarrassed or otherwise flustered. He raised his brow at the reaction, but said nothing and instead just took one of the nearby empty seats.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Lingering doubts began to swirl in Davesprite’s mind. What if everything from yesterday hadn’t been real. Perhaps he had made it up, in some desperate desire for company.

He almost said anything. But then he swallowed nervously and said, “are we still on. For tomorrow. You know. Date at the café and all.”

There he went, calling it a date again. Not because it was. But it was kind of fun to get Anti a bit flustered. His behavior when he wasn’t putting on the edgy, tough guy emo kid persona was quite a bit different, and almost kind of cute in a way.

Anti nodded slowly. “I… thought you said it wasn’t a date. But yeah. I should have nothing better to do.”

Davesprite let out a relieved breath and smiled. Thank god he was right. At least he didn’t make a total fool of yourself.

“I’ll let you get back to your doodles then,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before leaning away and settling down to just chill out and watch the room, waiting for time to pass.

“T-they’re battle plans!” Anti sputtered, holding the notebook up to his chest. Davesprite just smiled.

*****

They waited for Cousin and Blue Max to leave before sneaking out. Anti insisted on jumping out the window, which Davesprite decided to go along with. For the first time, he got to see that Anti wasn’t actually just some kid in a silly costume. Grabbing hold of the windowsill, Anti’s arms stretched , allowing him to carefully lower himself onto the ground. Without reacting outwardly, Davesprite lowered himself to the ground after him. Not a single student said a thing as they slipped away. Not that they ever did.

The café was only a short walk away. After all, everything in the game had to be close by. There was only what, like three locations outside of the school? Four? It certainly saved on resources.

Save for the staff, the café was empty. No need to waste resources on patrons if Cousin wasn’t coming. The two of them sat down at a table near the back, neither saying anything at first. Not until the waiter came, at least.

“Got anything with birdseed?” Davesprite asked, his eyes skimming through the menu idly.

“... We do not,” the waiter replied flatly.

What kind of establishment didn’t carry birdseed? But he shrugged it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Eh…. I’ll take a sugar cookie then. And a cup of ice water I guess.”

“I’ll take a hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream please.”

Davesprite waited for the waiter to jot their order down and walk off, tracing circles on the table with his finger. “Didn’t take you for the hot chocolate type of guy. With all your dark, angsty poetry I would have thought you’d order ‘coffee as black as my soul’ or something like that. Seems more on brand or whatever.”

“I mean yeah it is,” Anti said quickly, adjusting his scarf. “But, uh, that would be wasteful. Just because something is ‘on brand’ for how I act in-game doesn’t mean it’s who I am as a person.”

“Touché. So the poetry is all for the game, then?”

“Oh, no, it’s very me. I’m supposed to be the dark avenger, the tortured soul, shunned by society.” He paused, staring at the table. “But, I mean, that’s not all there is to me, you know?”

Davesprite opened his mouth to say something, but paused when their order was brought to their table. Peeling the wrapper from his straw, he sat it aside and took a sip before speaking again. “Well, while we’re here, might as well talk about how we ended up in this situation. I mean, the short story of your life and all. I could talk about mine all day but well. That would be one hell of a story. It’d take weeks to tell that shit yo. We’d be up to our necks in video game bullshit. Then again. Aren’t we anyways?”

Anti chuckled, the tone bitter. “Guess you’re right there. I’ll tell you more of my story if you tell me yours. The, um. Short version.”

“Fair enough. Long story short is that I’m basically the doomed version of a cool dude named Dave. Went back in time and fused with an asshole crow and became this mess.” He paused to gesture to himself. “You know. Standard video game fare. Did I mention he was playing a game too? Wild stuff. Doomsday game. Ended the world. All that mess. I watched my bro die. That was pretty shit. But that’s not important here. Anyways after like. Three years of things went to shit and I just. Fucked off. Pretty sure that timeline was doomed anyways. Whatever. Anyways, I just kind of ended up here in video game hell. Guess that’s my punishment for not being good enough. Being surrounded by a bunch of soulless caricatures that just act and react the same way every time, no matter what you do. Can’t change things. Well. Till I found out that you’re not. Wild. Maybe it’s not quite hell after all but like. Purgatory or some shit. I dunno I never really gave a shit about all that.”

He looked up, realizing just how long he’d been rambling now. Anti was staring at him, though between the visor and the scarf that covered his face, his expression was pretty hard to read.

“Anyways, how about you? I think I said enough here.”

Anti pulled his scarf down just enough to expose a frown. Huh, his skin was the same color as his suit. Davesprite wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected that. Anti lifted the mug, taking a small sip before sitting it down again. A little bit of the whipped cream stuck to his face, a stark contrast to the dark tone. He wiped it away before staring at the mug for a moment, the corners of his mouth twisting into a wistful smile. “I guess my origin isn’t as different as you’d think. I’m… a science experiment, you could say. A byproduct of chance. An alien gave a man some superpowers that he called from space. But by total chance, some of it split off and hit a mad scientist’s experiment and made me. I guess I’m not a clone, per say, but I was given life by the same power that made him a hero and I share most traits with him. Bravoman, that’s his name. And that’s where the ‘Anti’ part of my name comes from. I guess you could say my whole identity revolves around him.”

He paused, laughing bitterly. His hands gripped the edge of the table, fingertips clenching tightly. “Which is why it’s kind of funny that it never comes up in my story here. Nothing from my home world does, except my penchant for the dark and dramatic. Heck, I wasn’t even a villain there. And I’d barely qualify as an antagonist, despite my best efforts. It took an evil, alternate universe version of myself to even be recognized as a rival. But… that’s getting into complex issues.

“All that to say… In my universe, half of my super powers revolve around meta. Recognizing that I was part of a webcomic and playing with that medium. I wonder if that’s why I was able to break out of the game’s mold. One day I just woke up in detention, with these words and memories of things I never did — like attending Evil Namco High — in my head. I didn’t question it the first time. The second time I thought I must be having a weird dream. But after a while, I knew something was up. I started trying to figure out how I got here. And tried to figure out if there was a way out.” Another bitter laugh. “Never have.”

Davesprite frowned, placing his elbows on the table so he could prop his chin on his hands. “Well. Shit. If that ain’t a story and a half. I guess it explains a lot. Um…” Jesus. Anti looked about ready to cry. And he wasn’t good at that whole consoling business. He lowered one hand, drumming his fingers on the table before reaching to break off a bite of the cookie. “Want some?”

Anti blinked, staring at him for a moment before opening his palm so Davesprite could drop the cookie piece into his hands. “…Thanks. I… I never really knew if everything you said was a part of the game, or if you were really in control of yourself. And I never got the courage to ask because, well, I was afraid that if I did, the game would take notice and I’d… lose control of myself, or something. Does that ever scare you?”

He sucked in a sharp breath before nodding slowly. “I mean I don’t think it would if everything I’ve done to stretch the limits of this game hasn’t done so already. But I can understand your concern.”

Nodding slowly in response, Anti took another sip of his chocolate. “I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag though… Maybe things won’t be as lonely around here?” There was a hopeful tone in his voice. And as much as Davesprite wanted to be defeatist and say that none of it would matter, he just nods in response.

“Guess we could just. I dunno. Blow the game off and do whatever on day three, huh? What do you usually do again?”

“Get peer pressured by total strangers I’m led to believe are former classmates into kidnapping Pac Man. You?”

“Same,” Davesprite joked, shaking his head. “No, I just usually fuck off and do whatever. God it feels so nice to be able to swear. Did you ever notice how we’re never allowed to swear despite the game having several little innuendos here and there? Funny how standards are different. Kind of like how they made sure everyone was at least eighteen in the game. You know why. You ever think about how Taira is thousands of years old and yet he’s a student here? Weirdest shit.”

Anti blinked. “Uh… I don’t actually know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t? Davesprite snorted. Oh that was hilarious. “God you’re just as innocent as Cousin. That’s hilarious.”

“Anyways, I think we’re running out of time, but this has been fun. Kind of cathartic actually. We should definitely meet up again, don’t you think?”

Anti smiled before pulling his scarf up. “I would like that. So… in two days… somewhere?”

Davesprite began to get up from his seat. “Sounds as good as anything to me.”

*****

They spent the next detention day passing notes to each other, and chatting once Cousin seemed to be done talking. Anti told Davesprite more about his world, while Davesprite told him more about his. Much of the same was done in the day that followed, albeit elsewhere in the school. It amazed Davesprite just how much more bearable passing the time became, just with Anti being there to help him pass it.

*****

Cousin picked Lolo on the next reset. This time, they hadn’t even bothered to talk to anyone else. Davesprite waited for the crowd to disperse before approaching Anti, Keeping a nonchalant expression. “So I was kind of thinking,” he began, shrugging his shoulders. “Since I saw you drawing the other day and all. Seems like you’d enjoy the webcomic club or some shit. Room’s unoccupied if you wanna go there and pass the time.”

Anti blinked at him a couple times, like he hadn’t expected to be approached. Then his eyes squinted and the antennas on his helmet stuck up, and Davesprite got the idea that he was grinning. “Sounds fun! Lead the way.”

And that’s where he and Anti spent the next hour, doodling stupid little comics to pass the time. Davesprite did his usual shitty ironic comic shtick and got a kick out of Anti’s attempts to overanalyze them and find a deeper meaning. Anti, meanwhile, busied himself with drawing a more refined version of the doodles he’d seen in the notebook before. It was kind of adorable.

“I’ve kind of gotten used to drawing them by memory now,” Anti explained as Davesprite looked over the images. “Since, you know, everything always ends up getting erased in the end.”

“Tell me about it,” Davesprite said. “Kinda surprised you bother at all. Knowing that it all goes away in the end.”

Anti doesn’t say anything after that. And for a moment, Davesprite thought he might have genuinely upset him. But then Anti shook his head. “No, you have a point. But it’s like. I don’t want to forget anything, you know? At least there’s something a bit more permanent now. Something that’s going to stick.” He raised his hand to gesture to Davesprite. “Our friendship. This uh. This is a friendship, right?”

Davesprite snickered. “Wow you’re a real dork you know that. But yeah if you consider hanging around a feathery asshole a friendship then I’m all for it and all that. It’s better than being totally alone in Dating Sim Hellscape.”

That got a laugh out of Anti.

*****

It became a habit, going forward, for the two of them to meet up and pass the time. The next reset, Cousin dated Taira, and the davesprite learned that Anti actually knew quite a bit about building robots.

The reset that followed saw Cousin joining up with Richard Miller. Davesprite cracked a joke about how Richard and Albatross would go great together, and Anti replied that it was too bad they couldn’t mess with the code that much, just to see what would happen.

Al was picked the reset after that, and Davesprite couldn’t help but wonder if whatever player force that controlled Cousin was thinking of the same idea. He and Anti spent most of their time at the café this time, only avoiding the area when Al and Cousin were there. In those times, they kept busy reading and making silly comics. Even if they lost the records each time the game reset, at least they had the memories of the pleasant times.

Davesprite was selected the next reset. The week passed with him doing his usual bullshit. And yet, he couldn’t help but think about Anti the whole time, and how real he felt in comparison to this. Several times, he’d glance in Anti’s direction during detention, only to catch Anti doing the same.

He didn’t expect Anti to hug him tightly when the next reset came around, rambling about how much he missed him.

And suddenly, Davesprite started to realize that maybe this was becoming something more than a friendship. Yet, the words remained unspoken between them, through reset after reset.

*****

One reset, Cousin did something strange. Day one went on as normal, with Cousin electing to spend time with Mr. Driller. Yet, the second day, Cousin chose Donko.

As Anti watched the two of them sneak out through the window, he leaned over to Davesprite. “What are they doing?” he mumbled.

Davesprite stared with a blank expression on his face, his hands clenched into fists. “They’re experimenting,” he said quietly. “The player. They’re trying to see what happens if they play the game differently. Fucking with our lives just to see what would happen. To see if they can get a game over, perhaps.”

“What happens when they get a game over?” Anti asked.

Davesprite swallowed nervously. “You. Me. Everyone that goes to confront Evil Namco High. We…”

Die.

He didn’t say the word, and yet it hung in the air like a weight waiting to be dropped.

Anti sucked in a breath, wringing his hands together. “Oh…” A long silence passed between them. “I don’t want to…”

“Yeah.”

Another silence, Anti glanced down at the doodles on his page. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so heroic. “Davesprite… you’re the more knowledgeable of the two of us. What would happen if we just… didn’t go?”

Davesprite had to pause for a moment. What would happen. It wasn’t like they were the ones fighting alongside Cousin. They weren’t the ones that determined the outcome of the battle. “I mean. It wouldn’t change the outcome of the fight. Jury's out on whether or not we’d die though. Since like. Not fighting isn’t really an option in the game itself in all.”

Anti was silent again. He traced circles on the surface of the desk with his finger. “I guess… I guess there’s only one way to find out, huh?”

*****

They waited until Cousin had made their selection — Donko, who they had only hung out with on the second day — before slipping away. No one noticed as they moved away from the gathering crowd of students. Or at least, no one said anything, but Davesprite hadn’t expected them to.

He led the way to Zweihander Ridge where the two of them laid out on the grass. They could hear explosions in the distance, but the two of them did their best to ignore it.

“This is some pretty depressing shit huh,” Davesprite said, letting his hands rest at his side. “Who would have thought dying was a possibility in video game hell huh? I mean I know Jane’s route has her and Cousin die but like. They come back before the end. In this ending you just. Don’t. It’s like a fresh reset. You do one thing wrong and dead Davesprites start piling up. Not fun. Not cool Cousin. Seeing a corpse of yourself is the worst, you know. Awkward as hell.”

He felt something brush against his hand. Looking over, he spotted Anti’s hand resting on top. He gave Davesprite the most serious look he thought he’d ever seen him give.

“Look, I… I don’t know. What that’s like. It sounds… awful. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with all this.” Another explosion sounded in the distance. “But like. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, right?”

Davesprite stared for a moment. Then he smirked and moved his hand so that his fingers intertwined with Anti’s. “You’re goddamn right about that. Who would have thought mister doom and gloom would be so hopeful? It’s kind of cute.”

He sat up for just a moment, which made Anti sit up too, his head tilted in confusion.

“You know maybe we should just like. Make this official and all.” Leaning forward, Davesprite used his free hand to tug down Anti’s scarf. Anti’s mouth hung open ever-so-slightly.

“Davesprite, you… I…”

Davesprite gave Anti a quick peck on the cheek before leaning back, giving Anti an uncharacteristically serious expression. “When I ended up here, I thought everything about this world was fake. Everyone was little more than a caricature. Little more than a game construct, a bastardization of who they could be. Yet here we are. You’re not. God damnit Anti, don’t ever leave me.”

Anti’s mouth hung open in shock. For just a moment, Davesprite regretted being so candid.

But then Anti smiled, and Davesprite felt his heart flutter.

“Don’t worry Davesprite, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hesitantly, Davesprite let his ghostly tail wrap around Anti’s waist. There the two of them sat, watching as the town far below grew quiet. It was over. The game would reset soon. The world seemed to slowly grow brighter around them.

Davesprite smiled. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

#Namco High #Davesprite #Bravoman #Anti Bravoman #fic

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suhmayzooka · 4 years

Text

cursed child broadway, feb. 23, 2020

third time seeing cc in three months for one reason: my sister is, in her words, “in love with joey labrasca” (karl). she thinks he’s absolutely perfect. this past week i’ve endured her talking about how hot he is. i mean, i’ve gotten quite a bit of good lily luna material for my fics now, but at what expense? did i need to know that joey’s (very mild) acne made him look handsomer? did i need to know about how deep his eyes are? did I?

i teased her about what she’d do if he wasn’t on, and she said she’d be so upset.

we get to the theatre, i look at the cast…and james romney was karl.

my sister was shocked. the love of her life, who most likely has forgotten about her existence, wasn’t there for what looks to be our final time seeing the year 2 cast. she was devastated.

we also got to see antoinette robinson as hermione and tom patrick stephens as ron! and sarita amani nash was myrtle!! and kimberly dodson as polly!!

james!karl was great and i will bombard my sister with as much james romney content as i can in order to piss her off further :)

patrick du laney was the sorting hat and aaron bartz was the station master. we actually saw aaron walking into the theatre as we waited outside for part 2. he definitely has the draco swagger.

anyway let’s get to the good stuff!

~james snyder as harry! great as usual. i don’t think he did much differently than last time, or if he did it wasn’t very noticeable.

~diane davis as ginny – same w james. i think she held on to albus longer when they hug in godric’s hollow this time?

~jonno roberts as draco: okay this guy singlehandedly inspired me to start a fic back in december (that has…….yet to be finished………) with how his draco and bubba’s scorpius behaved and this was no exception. idk whether his mic got caught on something or if he was really bringing it all out, but when he shoves scorpius’s head against his desk in the dark world, he GROWLED the “you do NOT use her name in vain” line ???? i’ve never heard him say it like that, it’s usually more of a hiss. idk how to describe how he said it other than “growl.” almost like an animal.

then when he said “do it safely, i can’t lose you too” he’s looking directly at scorpius. it’s different from how i’m used to seeing him and closer how i picture him saying it; usually he’s looking away, like he’s afraid of showing vulnerability to scorpius. but here, with him looking directly at him, and said with so much emotion and love, even in such a dark place…oOOF

he refused to let go of scorpius when they met again in godric’s hollow. my heart…..always one arm around scorpius’s shoulders, or one hand on his chest, as scorpius clings on to him.

~kimberly!polly SMILED and giggled when she stepped in blood? “oh, potter, i’ve got blood on my shoe!” *delighted* and then as the staircase rolled away, she turned on her stomach to gaze down at scorpius, grinning flirtatiously. this is my second time seeing her as polly, but from what i remember, katherine!polly wasn’t as sadistic in the dark au as she was. i personally prefer kimberly!polly.

~sarita!myrtle!! like w kimberly!polly this is my second time seeing sarita!myrtle and i don’t really remember much about lauren!myrtle to compare, but sarita!myrtle was hilarious. she got a round of applause just for appearing. “girls….*turns around, stares directly @ albus* AND BOYS” *albus turns around, confused, as if she’s talking to someone behind him* UGHHH she’s so good and she’ll absolutely kill it as (main) polly, i can feel it.

~this was my first time seeing jack pravda as young harry! his voice is deeper than zell’s, and he was so adorably confused in the graveyard scene. “why are there so many flowers?”

~antoinette!hermione was a lot less playful than jenny!hermione. she does try for comedic effect, but she’s a bit more serious overall. she was so scary in the first timeline! when she waves her wand to dismiss the class and she’s standing all alone, she looks out with such a distant, despairing expression, then composes herself immediately.

~tom!ron was very funny! again, my issue with ron in cc comes down to how he was written. he may have been relegated to shitty comic relief (why……is one of the first things he says……a fart joke…..?), but it’s up to the actors do what they can to flesh out some semblance of a likeable character from the bs that the script gave us. and tom!ron was great!! he’s not as…dopey? dorky? as matt!ron, who’s very funny but a bit—childish? i guess? tom!ron feels more like an adult who still has a childish sense of humor, if that makes sense.

~ROMIONE. watching a new take on romione was like falling in love w romione all over again. tom/antoinette was a very loving pair. jenny/matt tease each other a lot more, but tom/antoinette are more tactile. their kiss was so sweet

~there’s hardly any love for sara farb’s delphi for some reason. i’m not sure why; her shift from delphi diggory to delphi riddle is so chilling. delphi diggory has a high pitched voice and is really goofy around albus. scorpius absolutely hates her lmao. as soon as she switches, her voice drops to a low growl and she’s downright terrifying. i’m sad to see her go!

~WILL CARLYON. is it possible to fall in love with the portrayal of a character in a handful of scenes? he’s got like five lines total but oh my god. one thing a lot of people note about nicholas!albus is the way he’s so obviously a fourteen-year-old child. will’s james sirius potter is SUCH a thirteen-year-old in the opening scene…it’s somewhat disconcerting watching this very-obviously-twenty-something-year-old man flap his arms going “WATCH OUTTT FOR THE THESTTRRAAAAAAALS” but it works? it’s believable?? he’s so close with lily luna. this is my third time seeing him and every time he pretends to pounce on her and hug her during the thestral line i fall in love?? ginny scolds him and he is sheepish, but he won’t stop making the troll face at albus. “SLITHERING SLYTHERIN STOP WITH YOUR DITHERING” *smacks albus*

~yeah i promised jsp content and i’m fucking delivering

~he’s sO excited watching albus get sorted. when the hat goes “SLYTHERIN” he’s absolutely shocked. he’s confused. he just stares at albus, confused, until yann (jonathan gordon, who once again gives us a delightfully dislikable yann) says some shit and james just turns to him and swats his hand at him. he genuinely looked ready to fight yann. i couldn’t tell but i think he tells him to stop?? it was hard to hear but his mouth definitely moved, i think to tell yann to cut it out.

~the scene with the students eavesdropping on mcgonagall’s meeting with the parents. oh my god i don’t think he did anything that much differently than last time but i need to talk about this because i didn’t do it justice in my last recap.

~they sit on the stairs (iirc) top to bottom craig, yann, karl, rose, james. i’m gonna ignore craig, yann, and karl since there are some serious family feels going on w rose and james

~jsp and rose begin the scene smiling, snickering as they hear that albus and scorpius fucked up. “ahaha they got into deep shit” but then when they learn that they wrote rose and hugo (??whom??) out of time and then killed harry, their faces fall. james’s eyes become vacant, far-off as he learns what happened to his brother. his breathing becomes heavier and faster until he’s a few breaths from hyperventilating. he leans his forehead against the stairwell/banister and shakes his head, mouthing/whispering “no…no…”

~nadia brown’s rose is such a little shit but she’s so good in this scene. when she learns that she didn’t exist in the new timeline, she grabs james’s shoulder and he grabs her hand. they don’t let go for the rest of the scene.

~i’m like half convinced that will got the part because of his amazingly expressive eyebrows. i think my sister calls it “back row acting?” his eyebrows can probably be seen from the back row. after the mcgonagall scene is over he sits on the stairs, raising one eyebrow at rose and hermione, then goes back to reading the scroll.

~i didn’t mean for this to become a will carlyon fan account but he deserves it. according to nicholas he’s the biggest potterhead in the cast. he’s a ravenclaw. he can sing. he’s so fucking valid and i’m so glad he’s staying for year 3. he’s got two followers on youtube and one of them is me. please guys like no one talks about him and i’ll fill this niche. same with the lovely sarita. she’s so kind and so beautiful and so talented she can sing so well and she gives everything during wand dance listen i spent the beginning of this thing making fun of my sister for liking joey so much but sarita……..

~cc nyc said straight girl/lesbian solidarity

~anyway…

~nicholas podany as albus. so. Many. Tears. i didn’t realize this before but his whole body trembles when he cries?? i first noticed this when he and harry were in the slytherin common room. i was like “are his pajamas vibrating?? is this an optical illusion (they’re striped pajamas)???” no, his whole body was shaking with suppressed crying. once i noticed i couldn’t un-notice and this continued for the rest of the show.

~bubba weiler’s scorpius didn’t seem much different from usual? i could go on about him but….that’s what my unfinished fic is for……one day……….

~okay so this is where i elaborate on the scorbus moments that made me want to YEET myself off the roof of the theatre (if you had to make sense of my typos on discord: i am Sorry)

~the slytherin dorm scene: scorpius tickles albus to wake him up. he then makes himself comfortable on albus’s bed and won’t stop rubbing and patting his thigh.

~in addition to being austistic, bubba!scorp is bisexual (jon case would be proud) and here is PROOF: to flirt, bubba!scorpius leans against objects, sprawls his body out, plays with his hair, etc all extremely cheesy, greasy, suave moves. he blows a kiss to polly as he’s sprawled across the stairs. when he ROLLS down the stairs (looked painful…) to see rose at the end, he plays with his hair, shoots her a finger gun (further proof he’s bi), and lowers his voice. but the comparison i need to highlight is THIS: when he says rose smells like bread, (1) he leans against the suitcases, trying to look suave, and (2) his face is instant regret. he silently bends back and mouths “WHAT WHY BREAD?? WHAT??? WHY???” and now…when he delivers his “ENGORGIMPRESSED” line to albus, he (1) leans against the sink, (2) grins, lowering his voice, and when the pun doesn’t land, (3) his face immediately falls, instant regret, the literal definition of “oH MY GOD WHAT WHY DID I JUST SAY THAT” the same expression he had when rose wasn’t impressed. coincidence? i think NOT. he’s trying so hard to flirt but he has no idea how to interact w people im --

~delphi in the church: when the adults have all surrounded delphi with their magic in the center of the stage, albus, ginny, and scorpius are huddled together. scorpius is behind albus, clutching his shoulder and hand. albus breaks free for “SHE’S A MURDERER I’VE SEEN HER MURDER” (an underappreciated line imo) and scorpius just watches him, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how

~the final hug. my initial, endorphin-fueled reaction was, verbatim: “THE FUNAL HUG NSCWR SEEN IR LAST SO LLNG NEVER SAW NICJ HUG HIM BACK NOSES ALMOST TOYCHONF.” not even this is enough to convey my reaction to the final hug, but i’ll try my best to transcribe it.

scorpius: runs up the stairs, grabs albus into a hug

albus: stunned for a moment, then wraps his arms around scorpius’s shoulders and hugs him back, burying his face into the crook of scorpius’s neck. this is the first time i’ve seen him hug back, at least so fiercely. they stand there for a good 3-5 seconds, then albus says, quietly, “what’s this? i thought we didn’t hug.”

scorpius, pulling back but still close to albus: “i wasn’t sure whether we should…” *looks up at albus, literal inches from his face* “in this new version of us…” *more gazing into each other’s eyes for a few seconds*

albus: “well…you better ask rose if it’s the right thing to do…” he sounded unsure? not as playful as before?

scorpius: *stares at albus for a few seconds* “a..aaha………..yeah right!”

he turns around and runs down the stairs. albus goes “i’ll see you at dinner!” and scorpius turns around, smiles at him, and walks off, albus grinning and gazing so lovingly as he departs i’m gonna c r y

i can’t think of anything else to say about the show itself? but my sister has given me a lot of material so i’m gonna talk about what went on with her because it’s relevant to our stage door interactions.

as we ate, she described how she would rewrite cc. she has valid and absolutely invalid suggestions. she would keep the father/son issues, make scorbus canon, remove or rewrite rose, and rewrite delphi’s backstory (valid). she would remove the sorting hat and the dark timeline (not valid).

during the intermission between acts 3 and 4, we started looking through the playbill and she started gossiping/venting about how much she hates the people in her school’s theatre (valid, since they’re bullying assholes). i brought up a meme i sent her that i saw on twitter about how no high school theatre guys can sing, act, dance, and not be sexist. somehow this discussion went back to nicholas podany? she was like, “i’ve been listening to his songs and deep blue is a low-key bop.” i asked if she heard his most recent song, telling myself. she hadn’t and she immediately went to soundcloud to listen to it. her reaction was PRICELESS. she absolutely adored it. she was dancing in her seat, going “okay this is actually really good??” like ofc it is? i don’t recommend bad songs? she tried to replay it but then her data ran out and the lyric theatre wifi is shit so she got very upset. then the lights turned off and she reluctantly took out her earbuds.

there was a little girl (around 6-7ish, i’d say) in the very first row dressed as hermione for part one--complete with a doll and a broom. for part two she was wearing a hedwig costume that looked homemade! she was very adorable, and bubba waved hello to her when he came for the curtain call.

stage door:

~sarita came out first! we told her that this was our third time at the show and second time seeing her. i congratulated her on being cast as polly and she was so happy! dare i say…..loml

~tom and antoinette were so happy to have been the first cover romione we saw! tom was like “ah, you saw the best ron (himself)!” we were in front of a man from the uk who had seen the london show five times, and he and tom struck up a conversation about where they were from.

~nadia brown was so happy to see us! she didn’t remember us lmao but she’s so friendly

~edward james hyland (amos/dumbledore) was…politically campaigning?? the people in front of us were from vermont and he was like “ah…vermont…do you support bernie??” just like that. they were caught off guard but i think they gave an affirmative answer, and he was like “and if he doesn’t get the nomination…?” they were still caught off guard and he just went “you’ll vote blue, right…? cause it’s the right thing to do….?” idk i’m firmly liberal but i thought this was a weird place to get political but okay

~EVERYONE was telling nicholas podany about how much they love telling myself. he was telling the people in front of us about how it was mastered/mixed by solange’s producer(?) and my sister and i exchanged :0 looks. she was getting shy, but i was like “tell him! he’ll love to talk about it, i guarantee it!” because even though i produce 0 content, i *am* an artist and i *do* know that we artists love validation

~so he came to us and she started talking about his songs! we’re fortunate that it was a more rock-y song so we’re…able to sound like we know what we’re talking about lmao. growing up our mom would play us classical music (check out beethoven’s wig yo) and our dad would play us the ramones. one of my earliest memories was arguing with my sister (probably around 4 at the time) about the lyrics to “i wanna be sedated” ahh… (she was correct btw)

~(don’t argue with me the ramones may not be poets but they’re valid)

~i was right! he was SO excited to talk to us!! my sister complimented the song and the production. she said “i ADORE your new song!! it’s a high key bop!” and he broke into the BIGGEST smile. she was like “i’m gonna play it until i hate it” and he said something along the lines of “i was in the studio listening to it nonstop for 8(??) hours i can’t stand it.” he was talking about how he made the song with his “own scorpius” but i forgot who…he said scorpius and my mind blanked lmao. he’s brought this person up before in interviews so i can probably find it. she complimented the fact that it was different from his usual stuff and he told us about how he had a rock band in high school. @nick where tf is your rock content pls deliver

~i actually spoke this time and cut in to tell him about how she was trying to listen to it on repeat but the signal gave out. she was trying to tell me to shut up but it’s my legal duty as the older sister to embarrass her.

me: “I told her about your song during the intermission—”

her: “don’t!”

me: “no, nO, i told her and she was listening and then she ran out of data—”

him: “aaAa noo!”

her: “I listened to it!”

~then i told him that we loved seeing how he played albus and that we’re going to miss him, that we were going to see the cast change show but we couldn’t get tickets (i kindly left off the reason why), and he was so sweet about it *clenches heart* he told us how much he loves being able to experience this, that we’ll be so lucky to have james romney take over, etc etc i kinda wasn’t listening bc I was too emo, but I remember going “…but I don’t want to say goodbye…” and he just. gave me a sad look like “I know.” there was so much pity in his expression. why is he leaving us.

~the uk guy behind us was talking about how he’d seen the london year 3 and 4. nicholas was like “oh, joe and dom? yeah i’ve spoken to joe and dom—wait, no, i haven’t met dom? i know he has an impressive social media presence” and they started talking about how different actors bring different things to albus and how the show allows them to explore different aspects to their characters and he just…wasn’t making any of this any easier for me lmao i’m mourning the loss of nick!albus and it’s not even march

~i feel bad that we weren’t able to speak with fiona reid (petunia/umbridge) because nicholas was talking to us.

~jonno roberts. this was the first time i’ve interacted w him at sd. his draco has made such an impact on me, he’s my favorite actor in the show, and what do i say? what great words come out of my mouth? “hi you were great.” my sister KICKED me with her heeled boots. good thing i’m a lesbian because my doc martens protected my feet from the force of her anger.

~james snyder was enraptured in conversation with the people in front of us and just took our playbills to sign as he spoke with them. then he went “hi,” passed over us to talk to the guy behind us. my sister was like “you were great!”

~tbh sd was kinda messy bc we were at the end of the line and the barrier things didn’t allow for the actors to get enough room to interact with the fans at the back. also jonno was standing there and he’s not a small man.

~saw several male actors leaving sd, waving goodbye at us and just walking away. MOOD. i was exhausted and i wasn’t the one running around on stage!

#ccsquad #cursed child #hp #i see cc

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