#the idea was to do a continuous shot of a piece of dialogue without cutting

[ragingbookdragon]

Let It All Come Crashing Down

Batbrother x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Assault/Abuse

Author's Note: One of my favorite episodes of Criminal Minds was always the one where Morgan came face to face with his abuser. The dialogue at the end of the episode fits Batbrother's past too. But, this does mention past assault. If this is a triggering subject, please don't read. -Thorne

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When he’d told Dick about the incident when he was seventeen, he didn’t expect it was going to come back full front. He’d kept tabs on the man whenever his former CO would move bases, when he promoted, when he eventually retired and relocated to Gotham City, opening a military assistance center. It was a farce, and he knew it. A place where the old CO could still continue his reign of fear on those still in the military and those outside.

***

He stared at the screen in the Batcave, ignoring the bickering of his youngest sibling and his father’s oldest friend, recounting every moment that led to the mission. A woman his age found dead, murdered, the brother charged with the crime. All evidence supported the facts, but (Y/N) knew. He knew deep down something else was going on, especially when he learned that the brother had attended the center in Gotham.

“Isaac Keegan is going to be sent to Blackgate tonight,” Bruce murmured. “He won’t last the night.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “He didn’t do this.”

His father glanced at him. “How do you know?”

“Doesn’t matter how I know,” he retorted with mild annoyance. “But I know who really did this.” He turned, glancing at Ghost-Maker. “Think you can get Isaac out of the armed van and back here without anyone dying?”

The vigilante cocked his arms over his chest. “Of course. But why do you wanna talk to him?”

“I don’t. But I need him alive long enough to get a confession out of the real killer.” (Y/N) answered, looking at Tim with a gaze that had his younger brother’s spine going straight; he could feel the seriousness ebbing from his older brother. “And I’m going to need your help with this.”

***

He didn’t like stepping into enemy territory without protection. He felt naked without his nano suit, even more so without his sidearm, but the last thing he needed was for the metal detectors in the building to go off and let the remaining people inside know he was there.

Slipping down the halls, he took a moment to catch his breath before he turned the corner into his old CO’s office.

“Davis.”

The older man looked up, eyes widening at the sight of his former subordinate. “(Y/N)? Is that—you’re alive?”

“I am,” he answered and Davis’ face split into a fake smile.

“I thought you’d died years ago in Afghanistan.”

“Not exactly.” (Y/N) kept away from the desk, away from close contact; he knew he could take the man, but he wanted the confession first before they came to blows, if they did. “I heard about Jessica Keegan.”

Davis frowned. “It’s a shame what happened to her. Even more so a shame that Isaac was the one who did it.” He shook his head. “I thought he was doing to well with his treatments too.”

(Y/N) tapped the device in his pocket. Now Tim. “Except that Isaac didn’t kill Jessica.”

“Excuse me?”

“All these years, I’ve kept my mouth shut,” (Y/N) said. “I’ve let you go on being a hero. Admiral Davis, the great war hero.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Davis questioned, face contorting in confusion and the younger man scowled.

“God, I was so afraid of you when we were in Afghanistan,” he admitted. “I was afraid of going to Command about it all. Afraid of losing every promotion and achievement I was being given.” (Y/N) stepped forward, expression shifting to anger. “But that’s how you’ve always worked, isn’t it? You made sure there was a helluva lot to lose if someone came forward, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you think you remember about Afghanistan,” Davis said. “But—”

“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “See it’s not what I remember that’s going to hurt you, Davis. The business between us has been over way too long ago to matter.” (Y/N) explained. “You’re protected by a statute of limitations and that’s my fault.”

Davis shrugged. “Then good evening.”

He glared. “You set Isaac up! You knew his sister wanted him to call someone about you. So you killed her and framed him as a distressed veteran?” (Y/N)’s face pinched as he accused, “You killed her because you knew someone was going to piece it all together and come after you, didn’t you?”

“Now you’re just throwing accusations around.” Davis replied and (Y/N) slapped a decoration off his desk.

It shattered and he shouted, “God, I should’ve told someone about you when I was in Afghanistan! When you were ‘training’ me.” He took another step forward, voice lowering dangerously. “Well, you know what happens in cases like this? Once that dam breaks, the flood comes.”

He raised a finger. “One servicemember stands up, just one. And then another one, and another. Because they’re not afraid of your repercussions anymore—they know they’re not alone.” (Y/N) tipped his head up. “Isaac Keegan is your dam.”

For the first time since they’d started speaking, Davis showed his anger as he barked, “Whatever lies Isaac told you—”

“THEY ARE NOT LIES!” (Y/N) yelled. “YOU DID THE SAME THINGS TO ME!”

“I didn’t do a damn thing to you or to Isaac—”

“One by one, they’re going to pile up until there’s so many accusations, you can’t say that they’re all lies!”

Davis thrust his hands to his chest. “Do you have any idea how many men and women I helped promote? How many lives I’ve saved with my service?” He gestured to (Y/N). “Look at you! You would’ve been dead in a shallow grave if I hadn’t helped you.”

“Yeah, well that shit wasn’t for free, was it?” (Y/N) demanded, throat tightening with emotion.

“I pulled you out of the gutter.” Davis murmured.

He shook his head, the tears of anger flashing the pain from his voice. “I pulled myself out of the gutter! All the way to the top military squads! I did that!”

“You’re saying I had nothing to do with making you who you are?” Davis questioned, a look of offense on his face.

(Y/N)’s rage cooled, shoulders sinking back as he raised his head and admitted, “No Davis. Actually, I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am.” He gazed at the man. “Because of what you did to me, I’m the man who’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure abusers of power like you face the consequences.”

“(Y/N),” Davis comforted. “I never meant to hurt you.” His expression turned sympathetic. “You could’ve said no.”

He turned his head away, jaw clenching so hard it hurt, then he looked back at him, and two men turned the doorway. (Y/N) watched Davis’ eyes widen in shock.

“Quinton Davis, you’re under arrest for the rape and murder of Jessica Keegan.” The two military police officers walked around (Y/N), and each took an arm.

Davis shifted. “I’ve helped a lot of veterans and service members.” He started thrashing. “Nothing in this goddamn city is going to be the same with me. Without the center, who’s going to look after them?”

His expression hardened. “Wayne Enterprises will. I will.”

“Wait a minute damnit!” he looked at (Y/N), pleading, “(Y/N), please, isn’t there anything you can do for me?”

(Y/N) got in Davis’ face. “You can rot in hell.”

He watched the MP’s drag away the screaming man before letting out a shaky breath and reaching up to his chest, yanking off the necklace that had the camera built into it. Tim had no doubt cut the feed by now and he shoved it in his pocket, free hand coming up to wipe away the tears in his eyes.

***

“What happens now?” the young man asked, dark circles under his eyes making him seem wearier.

(Y/N) sighed. “There’s going to be a trial. Davis will face the consequences.”

Isaac frowned. “I’m going to have to testify, aren’t I?”

“Yes. But I know who the prosecutor is. She’s good. She’ll nail Davis to the wall for everything.”

“I…I don’t know if I can do it.”

He reached out and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Then do it for Jessica.”

“I miss her.” Isaac whispered, head lowering as he sniffed. “I should’ve spoken out sooner.”

“I know,” (Y/N) murmured. “I feel the same.”

His head cocked up, teary eyes gazing into (Y/N)’s. “Will you be there?”

“I’ll probably be called by the prosecutors to testify.” He shrugged. “But with the statute of limitations, I don’t know how much it’s going to weight in our favor.”

“But you already told the world about your past with Davis?” Isaac said. “We—we all watched it live.”

“That was just the start.” (Y/N) said. “We have to see it to the end. For all the servicemen and women he abused over the years.” He turned, looking at Nightwing and Red Hood. “They’ll take you back to your apartment.”

Isaac nodded, starting to follow, then he stopped and looked back at (Y/N). “How’d you go on after Afghanistan?”

He met the young man’s eyes, then he glanced at his family. “I was still needed. Still am.” (Y/N) turned back to Isaac. “You never forget it…but it does get better.” He stuck his hand out. “And I’ll be there when you need me.”

They shook hands and he watched Isaac walk off with his brothers before he turned and moved to the railing overlooking Gotham Bay. A multitude of emotions swirled in his chest, but a sense of relief rested on his shoulders, and he let his head drop, the tears starting to drip down his cheeks.

Someone’s hand rested between his shoulder blades, followed by a deep voice comforting, “It’s okay, son.”

He shook his head. “I should’ve said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce affirmed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

(Y/N) looked up, gazing at his father. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the man murmured, expression soft. “But why didn’t you come to me?”

He paused, inhaling shakily as he said, “It only lasted for a short time. I was promoted and inducted into the super soldier program.” He shrugged. “By the time I finally wanted to tell someone, Davis had already left the compound and too much time had passed for it to matter.”

(Y/N) gazed out at the water. “It’s not over…but the world knows what he really is now. And all the people who suffered are going to see justice.”

Bruce leaned on the railing next to him. “You don’t show many signs of a survivor,” he noted. “You keep it all under wraps.”

“I learned during the super soldier program that there are worse things than what happened to me.” (Y/N) sighed. “Davis��� abuse might be what makes me so hateful of abusers, but when I started the team, I refused to let it control me and my life.” He raised his head. “I was going to live my life to the fullest, with whoever I wanted and even if I never told anyone, that was going to be the one part of me no one would ever take away.”

His father observed him for a moment then he stood, nudging (Y/N) until he did too; they looked at one another, a father and a son, and Bruce said, “I’m proud of you, (Y/N). For everything.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opened and snapped shut once, twice, a third time, then he raised one hand to cover his eyes as the lower half of his face twisted in pain, the other fumbling blindly for Bruce. His father caught him, one strong arm wrapping around (Y/N)’s back, the other pressing his son’s head to his shoulder.

“I’m here son,” he murmured. “I’m always going to be here.” He pressed his lips to the young man’s temple. “And I love you son. So much.”

“I love you too, dad,” he choked out, holding onto his father for dear life.

[early20sfailingplenty]

I want some good days // Bo x Reader 

(Remodelled from a personalised piece)

Summary: Nick shoots Bo, and you run to your Sinclair like your life depends on it. Bo’s most certainly does. You fought like hell to be with him, to stay with him, and you’d be damned in more than one way if someone dared to take your Bo away from you. You do everything you can to help him, to be there for him, and in this way do you only strengthen the life bond between you. Bo was shot, like a wounded animal was he, but you were there to ground him, to keep him safe, to love him. You wouldn’t stand for anything else, and Bo wouldn’t expect anything less.

TW; reader is morally grey, Bo is injured (CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE WITH A CROSSBOW, BLOOD, DEPICTIONS OF SEVERE PAIN), swearing, graphic descriptions of the aforementioned triggers, LOTS of swearing. THERE IS FLUFF I 100% PROMISE!!! THIS IS A FIX IT FIC!!!💞💞💞💞💞

PLEASE NOTE: Vincent doesn’t verbally communicate, so his dialogue is indicated with ‘speech marks’ because he uses hand gestures.

Gender neutral, no coded language, “you” and Y/N.

Word count: 3, 968.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This entire night had gone so wrong in so many ways that even thinking about where it had all started was making you dizzy. Was it when Lester had set his sights on a larger group of people than normal? Was it when he had only sabotaged one fan-belt so there was a higher chance of the tourists being able to get out of the situation they had found themselves in? Was it when Bo had antagonised the group so that they were already on edge and wary of strangers even before they had arrived in Ambrose? Was it when Bo and Vincent’s communication wasn’t as clear cut as it usually was, so they were split up and apart from one another without realising the danger they were placing themselves in? Was it when Bo had underestimated the tourists and vice versa? Maybe the twins had had an off day and it had impacted their entire performance? Maybe you were the one at fault...?

You never stayed around when the twins were killing people. You loved them, you did, and you had found your forever home with the Sinclairs, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to hide away when their fun and games began. You didn’t fear them, the very idea was ridiculous to you; so deeply did you love them. Especially Bo. But even so, you didn’t like being on the hunting grounds. You knew what happened. You knew. You were no stranger to Vincent’s tracking, to his cruelty or to Bo’s brutality. Having seen them up close and personal when they worked, you much preferred to wait in the house, keeping yourself busy with the general upkeep of the house and performing your various other responsibilities and duties. You made things easier on the brothers by keeping yourself safe and out of the way, which gave them less to worry about. Especially Bo; protective almost to the point of possessiveness was he. It was a trait he shared with Vincent, among many others.

They were more alike than they liked to admit to, most especially in the ways which defined who they were as people. They were wild, untamed, as enigmatic as the ocean and just as deep in their complexity. When one thought they knew a Sinclair, something was said or done to completely flip that idea on its head; impossible was it to fully know someone. Most humans barely knew their own selves and spent their lives filling up quiet moments with distractions so that they didn’t have to face their own realities, but the Sinclairs reveled in who they were. They knew who they were, they knew what they were about, and they dedicated their lives to their mother’s vision. It was more than simply paying respect; it was finishing what she started, continuing her legacy in the only way they knew how. And, oh, what fun they had while they did it.

It was already getting dark, the streets quickly becoming more ominous and foreboding. The neon lights which kept the streets alive in the twins’ illusion of a quaint but welcoming town made you wince, so bright were they and so sensitive were your eyes. It seemed as though those wide lanes were closing in on you. You began to feel constricted, anxiety and panic building within you rapidly as your steady paces began to speed up until you were running, your feet pounding the pavement.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

This wasn’t your usual level of anxiety and worry. This was bone deep chills, a sense that you had to get to the cinema now because something awful was happening. In one hand was held your phone, Bo’s mobile number already dialled. If this feeling persisted, you would phone him. You had to know that he was all right, that he was safe... that he was alive. Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Bo was your everything. He had, in the time you had known him, become your ultimate comfort. He was your safe space, your home, the love of your life. He was so much more than even you knew how to articulate, especially to yourself,  and you didn’t know what you would do if you lost him. If something or someone took him away from you, there wouldn’t be anything left to hold you here. You needed him, you wanted him... you loved him.

The urge to cry out for Bo was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to make any more sound than you already were. It would advertise your whereabouts even more than your footsteps did, and it wasn’t something you could risk doing. You knew not where Bo was, but something in you, something truly primal, was telling you to go to the cinema and you willed your legs to get you there faster. Your lungs and legs burned alike, oxygen deprivation making your body burn, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The burn in your body right now was nothing compared to the physical and emotional agony you would feel later on if something terrible happened to Bo.

Your Bo.

Yeah... he was your Bo. The grip you had on your phone tightened as you tried to clench your fists, and the sudden mental grounding which came from realising that you were holding onto something helped you to somehow push your legs faster, further. You rounded the corner and sped towards the cinema, getting there just as a sickening thwack followed by a pained noise and the sound of a body hitting the carpeted floor greeted your ears. Your every nerve was on fire, your senses overwhelmed and your emotions in overdrive. You were overstimulated and you needed a minute to breathe, a moment to gather your senses, but reality would grant you no such favour.

You knew before you were fully inside the cinema that Bo was the one who was injured, and you wasted no time in running to his side. You whimpered as if his injuries were your own to see that he had one arrow digging into his arm and one in his chest. His injuries were severe, the pain beyond measure, the need for you stronger than it had been in all the time the two of you had known each other, loved each other. A sob ripped from your throat to see him like this, and you dropped to your knees beside him. Tears poured hot and fast down your face and ran down your chin, falling onto his prone form like rain. Oh, but it hurt to see him as he was. Groans and grunts of pain were all that you could get from him, until his head suddenly lolled to the side and Bo moved no more.

Your heart was in your throat obstructing your every breath as you dialled Vincent’s number with hands that trembled so badly it took you five attempts to get his number right. He picked up on the second ring, a question, no, a demand in his silence. “V-Vincent. B-bo’s... hurt and I don’t know if he’s alive and I - “  A pained whimper came from the other side of the phone and you heard everything that the younger twin was saying. He didn’t interrupt you again, so you just said, “Cinema. Please, Vincent, I - I don’t - Bo!” You broke down into full bodied sobs, almost screaming into the phone. It was too much. It was all too much. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the love... Over the roaring of blood in your head could you hear Vincent’s rough rumbling voice; it sounded like he was trying to shush you, mimicking the ‘tch-tch-tch’ noise which Bo always made whenever he was comforting you. How Vincent knew that sound and what it meant to you, you had little idea, but in the grand scheme of things did it work as you then heard the roaring of an engine.

Vincent was on his way.

Things would be okay.

Right.

Right?

It was fifty-fifty, stood were you three at a crossroads.

There were no second chances this night. There was only the here and the now, the do or the die.

You felt sick to your stomach, but you and Vincent stayed on the line with one another; giving and receiving comfort in the other’s presence in equal measures, until a yellow pickup truck came screaming around the corner and screeched to a halt. Vincent was out of the truck in seconds, running over to you and to Bo. You had the presence of mind to end the call while Vincent’s hands fluttered over his brother’s body, fingers wiggling as he tried to determine the extent of his twin’s injuries.

You both knew this was bad.

Your body dropped, slumping forward and down until your forehead was resting against Bo’s stomach. You inhaled deeply, one of your hands coming to squeeze Bo’s own. A hand landed gently on the back of your head as Vincent stroked along your scalp in solid, slow movements. He was comforting himself and you at the same time, showing you as best as he could that he was there with you while his critical eye examined his brother. No touching until he had made a diagnosis; he couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk further injuring his brother. You weren’t alone. None of you were. You all had each other. Of the three of you, Vincent was the one with the medical knowledge. He was the one who had always patched Bo up in the past, and this situation would be no different. Between Vincent’s clinical approach to injuries and your own quick thinking, Bo would pull through.

He had to.

You and Vincent wouldn’t allow anything else.

The fingers in your dark hair tapped against your scalp, and you shifted your head just enough to be able to look at Vincent. Once he saw that he had your full attention, he raised his hands and began to sign slowly and clearly. There could be no room for mistakes or miscommunications; not when Bo was so badly injured and the stakes were so damn high.

‘He’s not dead, Y/N. Unconscious. Pain too much.’

As if to contradict his brother, such was his character, Bo moved his head and groaned lowly. You and Vincent froze and then sprung into action. You stood up, moving away from Bo so that Vincent could wrap his arms around his brother and bring him home, holding Bo tightly to his chest. Bo moaned at being jolted despite how slow and tenderly Vincent was touching him, and Vincent let out a pained noise of his own.

“It’s gonna be all right, Vincent,”

One blue eye looked at you with intent, Vincent’s every nerve fixed on you. Were you anyone else, he would have immediately dismissed your words. But you were Y/N. You were Bo’s Y/N, and as such, Vincent gave you the honour of being listened to. He needed you just as much as you needed him, just as much as Bo needed the both of you. Who would he be to ignore you in a time of great need and impending doom?

He’d be no one, just as he would be without his twin.

“We’ve got him now. He’s safe with us.” Your eyes were rimmed red, the surrounding flesh puffy. You looked so pretty in your pain, matched ounce for ounce was it by Vincent. He wore it better than you did, if only because he internalised everything and did very little to give his distress away. It was only the slight tremor in his hands, the speed of his movements and the reverence with which he touched Bo that told of his true feelings. Vincent was as torn up as you were; the both of you felt Bo’s injuries like they were your own. It was just how you three worked; you shared so much of yourselves, and what happened to one was felt by all.

No Sinclair was ever left behind or alone.

Not anymore.

A decisive nod by way of thanks (for what? You were unsure, but the time for thinking was over. There was only actions. Everything else could wait when the situation was time critical) and then Vincent was gone, rushing towards the truck. He laid Bo across the backseat just as soon as you joined him to wrench the door open, throwing yourself gracelessly over the back of the passenger seat so that you could get there quicker. Vincent was moving just as quickly as you, and he took the roads he knew to be the smoothest until the three of you arrived back at the house. The journey was silent, your nerves alight just as Vincent’s were. The only sounds you could hear were Bo’s strained whimpers and quiet groans, which only made Vincent white-knuckle the steering wheel and caused tears to continually fall down your face. You didn’t think you had cried this much in a long time, and, oh, how a conscious Bo would have hated to be the one to make you cry when the meaning behind it was a negative one.

In what seemed like forever and yet simultaneously was it no time at all did you and Vincent have Bo laid out on the pool table in the living room, the balls thrown carelessly onto the sofa. It was the nearest surface and it would have to do. Bo was time critical and you were both painfully aware of that.

Vincent gestured for your attention and then signed, ‘bathroom, cupboard next to toilet. First aid kit. Hurry.’

You were gone, rushing to get the necessary supplies; you moved quicker than you thought possible and you were back beside Vincent so fast with the first aid kit in hand that you felt physically dizzy as your mind struggled to keep up with your feet. You swiped a hand impatiently over your face and held the same hand which you had clutched on the dirty cinema floor while Vincent injected Bo with a local anaesthesia before pushing the arrow in Bo’s arm all the way through, the feathers sticking to the wood as Vincent made a clean hole. Arrows tore more flesh and caused more damage if they were pulled out the way they entered the body, this Vincent knew, so to push it through to make a clean hole was more pain, yes, but it was less damage and easier healing. He had to be brutal, quick and sure in his movements. He had to be strong for his twin and stronger still for you, who was doing everything they could.

Vincent took strength from you as much as he gave it, and when it came time to surgically remove the arrow in Bo’s chest did the injured man begin to scream. You choked on a sob, panic rising in your chest, your hands shaking and your body aching. Vincent, too, was struggling, but you could see even with the mask on his face that his jaw set, his shoulders straightened and he looked like the last thing most tourists to the town saw as he made his incision and dug the arrowhead out of Bo’s flesh. Bo was screaming, even with the anaesthetic (which hadn’t been given enough time to settle into his bloodstream), and begging. He spoke your name over and over like a prayer, your name Bo’s only grip on reality as Vincent was brutal, clinical. Finally, when the three of you couldn’t take it anymore and desperation, panic and fear was becoming a deadly concoction capable of causing fatal mistakes to one already so severely injured, it was done, and Vincent slammed the knife down and threw his hands up, as if to say, done, it’s done.

Bo was sobbing and you matched him in every aspect of it as you cupped his face in your shaking, trembling hands. Your thumbs dashed away the tears on his cheeks and you bent down to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - “ Who was Bo apologising to? For what? Neither you nor Vincent knew (though there were suspicions, even he couldn’t say for sure), but you assumed your places at either side of Bo’s head. You pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheek, one hand tightly gripping one of Bo’s and the other one in his hair, sticky and matted with sweat and other oils, and Vincent had a hand on his brother’s lower arm, stroking up and down in smoothing motions and making quiet noises to placate the older twin. He still had to bandage the chest wound, but Bo’s comfort and safety was slightly more important to your thinking, and indeed Vincent’s, too.

Vincent got your attention again with a hand gesture and thrust the bandages at you before he signed, ‘take care of Bo. Got some work to do. There won’t be anything left of them’. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage and bloodthirstiness and you shuddered to think of what the bodies would look like. Vincent would catch up to them, and the teenagers would rue the moment they stepped into Lester’s pickup truck. Before Vincent left, he signed once more, ‘please take care of Bo. Very special to us. Trust you.’

You smiled, the gesture watery and shaky at every possible stage. “I trust you too, Vincent. Please be careful! I’m scared for you - for all of us.” Tears dripped from your beautiful eyes and your voice trembled just like your body as you admitted to arguably the scariest Sinclair just how affected you were. Any of you could still die tonight and you were feeling more fear than you had ever felt in your two decades of life.

‘We’ll keep you safe. Please keep Bo safe, too.’

“What about you, Vin?” You were almost pleading with him to stay, but Vincent’s mind was made up. His blue eye, soft when he looked at you, hardened into ice, and he signed,

‘I can take care of me. They won’t see me coming. Won’t be anything left for the animals when I’m done with them.’

A cold shiver ran up your back and you nodded at Vincent, accepting him at his word. He was so much like Bo, especially when he was pissed off or insulted somehow. This was the worst slight for the man; he feared nothing more than having Bo taken away from him and he would not say such things unless he meant them. “Give ‘em hell for us, Vin!” The nod Vincent gave you before he turned and left made you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. You knew that the tourists would get what was coming to them. You felt a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to see it, but that was okay; you could just ask Vincent later, or even get Lester to show you the bodies if you really wanted to see what the younger twin had done.

You were ripped out of your silent reverie as you worked on bandaging up his chest by Bo coughing and then groaning low in his throat, his hand weakly patting at your hip. You turned and gave him the full extent of your attention, and Bo smiled. “Ya’ look like an angel w’the light behind ya’ like that.”

Confusion met his words until you realised that the harsh white light overhead made it look like you had a halo. With a shaky smile did you say, “The halo is held up by my invisible horns.”

“Invisible? Don’t’cha mean - “ Bo chuckled but then winced and your hands fluttered over his body much like Vincent’s had earlier that night as you sought to comfort him. Bo’s hands came up and caught your own and he interlaced his fingers with yours, holding them as tight as he could. His grip was strong despite the overwhelming amount of pain he was in, and you took that as a good sign that he was going to be fine. It would be a rocky road to a full recovery, though. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Gone on a well deserved murder spree.”

Bo whistled as best as he could, “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hard, your jaw aching, your body trembling, your eyes sore, your heart pained, and Bo’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were hazy with pain and with the anaesthetic that was now beginning to absorb into his bloodstream, but he still had it in him to squeeze your hands, tugging you closer to him, and closer still until you felt compelled to climb up on the pool table with him. You were physically uncomfortable but you dared not move around too much, not wanting to jostle Bo even though you were on his uninjured side. You cuddled into him lightly and Bo made a noise of discontent. You heard him, so attuned to him were you, and you allowed your head to rest fully on his broad shoulder, any hair you had spilling over him like a halo.

You melted into Bo and he allowed it to happen without making any sarcastic comment. He needed the comfort, the touch, the reassurance just as much as you did, and you peppered his face with kisses, leaning over slightly so that you could better reach all of Bo’s face. There was no side of him you didn’t love, no part of him you didn’t know intimately literally and metaphorically, and there was nothing he could say or do which would ever change the way you felt about him. Bo welcomed every touch, every kiss, every sigh of relief, everything you offered him. His good arm wrapped around you and he pulled you down, down, so that you could nuzzle your face in his neck, where again did you bestow hungry kisses to every inch you could find. You wished you could climb atop him, your thighs straddling his hips and your upper body looming over him so that you were all he could see, feel, touch, taste, but with his injuries as they were, you could only do half of what you wanted to. It was better than nothing, for this night could have taken a much worse turn, but it was enough.

It had to be.

Alive, alive, alive, my Bo’s alive. A mantra did you repeat in your mind, trying to come to terms with the night’s trauma, and Bo soaked up your affections, needing them just as much as you did. Every time you pulled away, he would only pull you back, wanting you there with him. He matched you grip for grip, kiss for kiss, as best as he could. The adrenaline crash soon got the better of the both of you, though, and you together drifted into uneasy naps right there on the pool table in each other’s arms, where a blood-soaked Vincent would discover you hours after he had left the house, trusting you to look after his brother. Though he knew his trust in you was never misplaced, he couldn’t help the overwhelming relief to know that you had done as you had promised, Bo’s face creased in pain but very much alive. He would leave you both there, only throwing a blanket over your bodies. It was just too risky to move Bo, and you were exhausted. Vincent crashed on the couch, staying with his family, with Jonesy atop Vincent so that she could get her cuddles. She had missed her human.

Come hell or high water, the Sinclairs stuck together so fiercely that even Death bowed out of the way.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

You’ll Have To Come and Find Me - fic

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne Summary: Damian runs into someone on his way to the League of Lazarus’ tournament. The last person he wanted to see. The last person who should have been looking for him. A/N: Just a thought in my brain that wouldn’t quit. Dialogue heavy. Shittily written idk. ‘Polarize’ by TwentyOne Pilots is such a Damian song to me, and was in my head while writing this, so inspired the title. Might continue this idea a little bit as the Robin series continues, who knows.

~~

He was counting the money from his fight with King Snake as he walked into the café. That’s why he didn’t notice. That’s why he didn’t see.

That’s what he told himself.

But after he walked in the door, he found himself freezing as he looked up.

No.

He’d been so careful, so deliberate. He didn’t leave any traces. He knew he didn’t. There was no way they could find him.

And of course, he couldn’t even back out now. Couldn’t sneak back out of the restaurant, back into the darkness. Because Timothy Drake was already lowering his cup of tea and raising his head to look at him.

They stared at each other for a second. Two. Three. Four. Five. Faces blank, mouths shut.

Then Tim smiled, turned towards the café’s counter and waved. The barista nodded and started on a drink.

Nope. No turning back now.

“How did you find me?” Damian demanded as he stomped forward. Tim motioned to the empty, waiting, chair across from him. A glass of water was already there, as was an empty plate.

Tim shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Liar.” Damian spat. “I covered my tracks. I made sure-”

“You made sure Bruce couldn’t find you.” Tim countered, pulling his napkin onto his lap. “And I am not Bruce.”

“…Oracle is smarter than you.” Damian tried.

“Absolutely.” Tim took another sip of his tea. “But I know you better.”

“You don’t know me at all.” Damian crossed his arms. He nodded a thanks to the waiter as he brought Damian’s drink, and a basket of bread. It was tea, like Tim’s, and he could see two sugar cubes dissolving in the bottom.

…His preferred preparation.

He never told Tim how he liked his tea. He never told Tim he liked tea at all.

He glanced up to the elder. Tim smiled behind his own cup and raised his eyebrows. See?

Damian huffed, taking the drink. “What do you want?”

“To find you. Duh.”

“To what, mock me? Remind me of my failures? Rub it in my face that once again you prove you’re better than me?” Damian listed. But as he spoke, Tim’s amused face fell back into stoic, blank.

“No. I wouldn’t do that in the first place. Not…” He lowered his cup once more, stared into the liquid. “Not now, anyway.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, gaze bouncing around Tim’s face, trying to read it. Trying to figure his predecessor out.

“Really?” Damian drawled in disbelief. “So, you’re not here to gloat about how Father gave you Robin back?”

Damian was surprised to see Tim’s face darken, just a little. “I didn’t want it back. He forced it on me in a weird grief-fueled crusade after you disappeared.” Tim glanced up. “A lot’s happened since you left.”

“I’ve been back since I renounced Robin. All this tracking me and you didn’t know that?”

“No, I mean, even since then.” Tim sighed. “…Did you know Dick had regained his memories before you helped save him and the family?”

Damian pursed his lips, stared at the basket of bread. “…No.”

“…How are you feeling about that?” Tim asked softly.

“I don’t need your pathetic brand of therapy, Drake.” Damian snapped.

“I’m not trying to play therapist, I’m just trying to make sure my little brother is okay.” Tim shot back just as harshly. “Especially since he’s running off to some secret tournament that he could die in.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut then, and Damian watched him. “…How did you know about that?”

“That’s not important, here, okay, I just-”

“It is to me.” Damian countered. “Tell me or I’m leaving.”

Tim glowered back at him. “I’ll follow you.”

“Not if I break your leg.”

“Why do you…!” Tim cut himself off in a sigh, slumped back in his chair. “I got word Talia was in town, followed her tracks. Saw the security footage from her apartment when you went and met her. Heard about that League of Lazarus thing and looked into it.”

“How did you look into it?” Damian asked. “Even I didn’t know about it. And if Mother wasn’t forthcoming with me, I can’t see her being a source of information for you.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to cross his arms and look away.

Damian studied him for a moment, then let his eyes go wide. “…You didn’t.”

“Look, I said it didn’t matter-”

“You did not contact Grandfather for information.” Damian practically begged. “Drake!”

“You know as well as I do he’ll give me anything I want if I’m the one to reach out to him.” Tim reassured quickly. “And sorry if my brother’s safety is a good reason for me to contact an enemy!”

Damian glared at him for a moment before looking at the clean white plate. “…Stop calling me your brother.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Damian-”

“Because after what I’ve done, I don’t deserve the title.”

Tim paused then, stared right back. Sighed and leaned forward to grab his tea again.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.” Tim whispered. “Definitely not Dick, not Alfred…especially not Alfred…I know you think it is, and trust me, I get that. I felt the same back when my dad died. Bruce.” A moment. “…You.”

Damian glanced up at him.

“I get that you think it was. Because you were there, because you’re supposed to be a hero, that’s what the world thinks you are, but…It’s not, Damian. It never was. You’re just a kid. A kid in a shitty, traumatic situation.” Tim hesitated, and Damian watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “And we just want you to come home.”

“Why?” Damian asked quietly. “I’ll do nothing but hurt all of you.”

“Can I make a counterpoint to that?” Tim asked. “What do you think you’re doing to us now? Disappearing? We don’t know how you are, or if you’re even alive. Don’t you think that’s hurting us too?”

“…It shouldn’t.”

“Well. It does.” Tim sniffed. “That’s why I’m here. That’s part of why Babs became Oracle again. That’s why Dick wants to use the fortune Alfred left him to find you.”

“Forget about me.” Damian shook his head. “You’ll all be better off. Grayson especially.”

“A matter of personal opinion. An opinion I highly disagree with.” Tim shrugged. “And just because Dick, arguably, loves you the most, therefore is the most heartbroken with you not there, doesn’t mean he’ll be better off if you just…vanish from his life like you weren’t ever there in the first place.”

“He thrived without any memories of me as the cab driver, so we have proof that he would be.” Damian explained. “Besides. Time heals all wounds. Or whatever. You’ll all forget about me if you give yourself the chance to.”

“And I think you dying is proof that we won’t, and can’t.” Tim leaned forward more, reaching for Damian’s hand. Damian allowed him to take it. “Which is why I’m here.”

“I’m not going back to Gotham, Drake. I can’t.” Damian murmured, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m not…I can’t be there. Right now.”

“I know. I know I said we want you home, but I never said I was taking you back. I told you I’m out here to find you.”

“Well. Congratulations.” Damian said bitterly. “You did.”

Tim smiled. “Great.” He squeezed Damian’s hand and released it. “So, where’s this island? For the tournament?”

Damian furrowed his brows. “What?”

“I’m not taking you home. I promise.” Tim let his grin widen, become just a little too shit-eating. “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

“…You’re not serious.”

“My goal was to find you. And not lose you again. The only way to do that is to not leave you, in my deductions.” Tim winked. “Besides, you were right – this Lazarus Tournament sounds interesting. And concerning. You’re gonna need backup. More than the folks we know who are gonna be there already, anyway.”

“…How do you know who’s in the tournament?” Damian asked slowly. Tim just pursed his lips, blinked, and grinned. Damian sighed. “After this tournament, I’m making sure my grandfather never contacts you again.”

“Hey, sometimes it’s nice having a super-villain obsessed with you.” Tim shrugged. “Helped me get you back, after all.”

“All the more reason I’ll have to kill him.”

Tim laughed at that, took a piece of bread for himself. “…You okay with me tagging along?”

Damian sipped his tea. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good.” Tim glanced at his watch. “About an hour until your boat arrives. That’s enough time for you to rest a little while we figure out an outline of a plan to take out this League of Lazarus.”

At that, Tim turned, digging in the backpack he had hanging off his chair. Damian watched him as he pulled out papers and notebooks, dropping them on the table between them.

And he didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it. His family deserved better. Drake deserved better. Drake had better things to do than chase him, a failure, across the world, and hardly for either of their own sakes. All for the sake of their family. Because Tim loved them. Because Damian loved them. Because Tim loved Damian too.

“…Drake?” Damian whispered. Tim glanced up. “…Thank you for finding me.”

Tim blinked, and let his face drop into a smile. “Any time, little brother.”

[writertothemaximum]

hiii i just wanted to say that your writing makes my day and it has always been delightful to read some of your pieces to the point i'm re-reading them ;o;;

do you mind if i ask what your writing process behind one shots and longfics are?

;w; omg thank you so much, the fact that you are taking the time to reread makes me so happy, I always wonder which pieces of my writing stand out to people more than others...It's useful info for me to continue improving, as well.

My process of writing longfic and oneshots is relatively similar, but with a few key differences!

(More under the cut)

For writing program, I just use Google Docs, but I have it a bit customized so it looks like this:

The main thing that helps me is the dark mode, and the endless page, because I only post online, so page view doesn't really help me, much.

Either with longfic or oneshots, my inspirations usually come from art that I see, but I always try to think of a distinct "theme" whenever I write anything, and have every single point connect back to that "theme" or idea, no matter how trivial it is. This theme can be literally anything, but usually it's something like "I want to write about the different ways people handle loss of control" or "I think fingering buttholes is hot, so I'm going to try and make it as hot as I possibly can, so that other people can understand how hot it is."

I see characters as tools to tell a good story, and regardless of how much porn is there, it still needs to be a good story, you know! If you just wanted senseless fucking, why would you read it when you could go watch porn? I need to give the reader that reason.

I also really like to write themes that subvert expectations, or force the audience to see a new perspective that they might have not otherwise considered. My femdom works as an example of that, as I would often read femdom self-insert fiction I felt was......."wrong"? idk, it wasn't hot to me, and it didn't feel like my kind of femdom. So I put my skills to where my mouth was and! I think it turned out well!

So once I have that theme or general idea (and by this point, it's usually pretty easy to select/create the characters that fit that), I make a rough outline. For oneshots, this is usually just in my head, unless there's a really specific scene in mind? But for longfic, I plan out....a lot. Not everything, but my outline for Niki's (Morbid) Kitchen was around 5.5k before starting so uh.

My outline usually consists of bullet points so, it'll be like this:

-This is the location/conflict

>chara does something

"Hey, you should probably use this dialogue"

-this happens next (oh no)

Or something along those lines.

Then, after that, I just fill it all in!

Occasionally, I will write without an outline but uh...yeah it can get messy, so I prefer to use one.

I've been told that I edit as I go, and I usually reread as I write. I hate completed drafts sitting there, so I often miss a lot of stuff when I do a light proofread, so I apologize for any typos you've seen. Feel free to point them out in my comments or in an ask here.

When it comes to the prose itself, I write in third person limited, past tense so uh—Third person, but also from a character's perspective. I like to see it as them telling me the story.

Additionally, something that helps me a lot is to think about "Show, not tell," so if a character is stressed, instead of just. saying that they're stressed, they will cross their arms, their heartbeat increases, and they start saying meaner things. Something like that.

I like to think about how I, or people I know would react to a situation, and also what reaction would help connect best to that theme I decided at the beginning.

If you don't already know, I am working on a longfic called Niki's (Morbid) Kitchen, featuring Niki as a cannibal and Hiiro as a budding yandere. If you'd like to read it, you can here:

Well, I hope this gave you some insight, and thank you again for reading!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

with this unruly heart of mine

in which we all wish our parents reacted the same way as Alcina does when one of her daughters comes out to her

title is from Unruly Hearts from The Prom because it fit

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

MERCUTIO

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye doth cote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

Alcina read that line over and over again, but she still had no idea what the hell any of it really meant. She sighed and leaned back into the cushions of her seat. If she kept getting caught up on the literary meaning of every other paragraph then she would never finish this damned book.

She picked up the teacup sitting on the stand beside her chair and took a long sip. The tea was of sweet cinnamon on her tongue. It left a much better taste in her mouth than the rather gross relationship between Romeo and Juliet in this book. If the short amount of time the two knew each other wasn’t bad enough, the age gap made her teeth bare and nose wrinkle in disgust. What the hell was this William Shakespeare guy thinking when he wrote this?

The soft sound of bare feet padding against hardwood brought her back to the surface of complete awareness, her focus shifting away from the book and to the late-night arrival watching nearby.

A certain fly child stood, arm on the doorway. Her hair was shaggy from seemingly just waking up--or maybe she hadn’t slept at all in the first place. Unruly blonde locks were sticking up in various directions around her head, framing her face like an adolescent lion’s mane. The nightgown she wore was a size too big and drowning her thin frame.

The light from the fireplace made her golden-amber eyes look hollow.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

“May I sit with you?”

“Of course.”

Slower than she’d ever seen her move before, Bela inched her way onto the cushioned chair beside Alcina’s. She pulled her knees up her chest, bare toes poking over the edge of the seat, and Alcina regarded them with a scrunch of her nose.

“What have I told you about going around the castle barefoot?” Alcina chided gently.

Bela didn’t look away from the flickering fire in the fireplace. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Something was bothering her.

Bela was a rather fickle little thing. Some days, she wanted to tell Alcina everything, every little fact of the new knowledge she had obtained from her books, all the small details of her latest stories or ideas. Other days, she put up walls and gave vague answers to questions prodded into her sensitive skin, curling into herself like a frightened snail afraid of being interrogated. This seemed to be something of the latter, and Alcina made a mental note to tread lightly to avoid upsetting her daughter.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Alcina said, waggling the book in her hands, trying to make small talk with her distressed child. She didn’t want to pry and further put Bela on edge more than she clearly was, but she couldn’t not do something about her bitter mood. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t at least attempt to help with her kids’ problems?

“I can hardly make heads or tails of anything they’re saying,” she continued, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

Bela raised her head from her knees slightly. “What book is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

There was a morbid snort. “How coincidental…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bela shook her head. “Lemme see. What part are you at?”

Alina pointed out the current line she had reread at least five times over without being able to discern the Shakespearean into modern-day language. Bela, however, looked it over once, scanned the other pieces of dialogue for context, nodded, then explained, “In this scene, Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio are sneaking into a party thrown by the Capulets by wearing masks to disguise themselves. Romeo is upset over Juliet and says he isn’t going to dance. Mercutio then teases him over this and turns all of Romeo’s words into gratuitous sexual metaphors to poke fun at him. Mercutio ends up going on this whole rant about Queen Mab of the fairies, who visits people in their dreams until Romeo and Benvolio cut in to get things back on track. Romeo also kinda foreshadows the entire play at one point. See? Right here: ‘I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death.’ I do believe that is hinting at his eventual fate of death.”

Alcina blinked at her for a moment before smiling fondly and rubbing her head. “Such a smart girl,” she cooed. “I could have never gotten that out of this .”

Bela smiled, but then it quickly disappeared, and she leaned back into her chair, curling up and watching the fire once again.

Now Alcina was really concerned. Bela was never one to let go of praise and affection so easily. Usually, she savored it a bit longer before moving onto something else, but here she was, brushing off Alcina’s words and touch as though they were nothing.

Something was very, very wrong.

However, before she had the chance to take the risk and attempt to ask questions, Bela spoke up.

“Have you ever been in love, Mother?”

Surprised, Alcina asked, “And what brought this up?”

Bela shrugged, not making eye contact. She kept looking at the fire as though she wanted to throw herself into it. Her voice was small, so small. “Just curious.”

“I see,” Alcina nodded. She looked up, thinking for a moment as she wracked her brain of the memories of her past life. “I have been in love before. Many times, actually.”

Bela gave her a curious look, finally pulling her gaze from the flames. “Really?”

“Indeed,” Alcina confirmed. “Though, I do believe that just comes with growing up. You gain lovers, you lose lovers. Some were real, some were fantasies I made up. Some lasted a few days, some a few months, some a few years.” She took a sip of her tea again. “None of them really mattered in the end, though. Clearly.” Another sip.

Bela nodded faintly. “Okay.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Alcina decided to ask.

Strangely, Bela went rigid. Her claws clenched around the sides of her calves as she stared forward with pupils that were constricted into pinpricks. Sweat beaded along the golden crown of her head.

“I-I-- umm…”

Alcina furrowed her eyebrows in worry. She closed Romeo and Juliet with a bookmark to mark her page, then set a hand on Bela’s back. Her daughter was trembling.

“Bela?” Alcina said, keeping her voice soothing and low to avoid setting off the poor girl even further. “Is everything alright? You don’t look well.”

“Yes, yes,” Bela answered her, much too quickly for it to be convincing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Before Alcina could prod further, Bela shot up to her feet. She began to chew on one of her claws, flexing her free hand at her side in visible agitation. Pieces of her skin broke off into flies and buzzed around her head madly. She seemed to be dissociating in panic.

“Bela,” Alcina rose to her feet slowly, not wanting to accidentally frighten her daughter. “Bela, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bela said, even when she was so obviously far from fine. Her chest was beginning to heave.

“Darling,” Alcina said, and that seemed to get Bela to crack a bit.

With a tight whimper, Bela shook her head. “Hard-- hard to breathe--”

Instantly, Alcina loosely took Bela by the arms and lowered her to the ground. In the firelight, she could see the pallor of her daughter’s increasing panic as it morphed into a complete attack on her anxiety. Bela grabbed her wrists with her claws dug in for desperate grounding, and Alcina let her, even when it stung her skin. Her comfort was far from important in that moment.

“Alright, honey,” Alcina said. “We’re going to do the thing we’ve been practicing, alright? Do you think you can do it?”

Wordlessly, Bela nodded.

“That’s my strong girl,” Alcina said. “Alright, give me five things you can see.”

“Y-you,” Bela stammered. The words shook when they left her lips. “Your hair’s kinda bushy.”

Alcina rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Thank you for pointing that out, Bela.”

Bela’s fight instantly gave in at that and she hunched her shoulders in, looking ashamed. Quick to correct herself, Alcina lifted her chin so they could make eye contact.

“I was only teasing you, honey,” Alcina said. “Keep going.”

Bela nodded. “The fire; it’s really pretty. Your-- your, umm, chair; it looks soft. The book; not the best of Shakespeare’s works. And, ah-- the teacup; it has doves on it.”

“Very good,” Alcina praised. “Four things you can feel.”

“The fire’s-- the fire’s warmth. My heart in-- my heart in my throat. The floor under me; I should have worn socks.”

“I told you,” Alcina cut in playfully.

Bela swallowed thickly. “A-and, umm-- and my anxiety. It’s like a Lycan in my chest.”

Alcina frowned at that but quickly wiped it off her face for now. She stroked Bela’s cheek, gaining a spark of hope when Bela leaned into her hand.

“I feel you, too,” Bela said.

“You only needed to name five, little moth,” Alcina said, bopping her on the nose.

Bela just shrugged.

“But you’re doing so well. Can you give me three things you can hear?”

“My heartbeat in my ears; it sounds like thunder. I don’t like thunder. Umm-- the fire crackling; I like that. And-- and a raven outside. I think that’s Merlin. His cawing is kinda raspier than the other birds’. I think he may have hurt his throat at some point.”

A small smile grew onto Alcina’s lips. She continued caressing Bela’s cheek as she talked to her. “Now two things you can smell.”

“Fear,” Bela said almost instantly. Her nose twitched. “I smell fear.”

Alcina could smell it, too. The thickened dread wafting off of her shaken daughter was acrid, bitter, and unsettling.

“Umm--” Bela’s claws fidgeted, clicking against each other softly. “And your tea. Smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon makes me sneeze.”

“One more. One thing you can taste.”

“Fear.”

“Fear?” Alcina echoed, one eyebrow raised. “Again?”

“Yes.”

“What does fear taste like?”

Bela stared down at her claws, which she splayed open before herself. “It-- it has a slightly dull metallic taste that’s mixed with urea, I think. Sometimes it tastes like popping a bloody, pus-filled blister in your mouth and squeezing every drop out with your teeth and savoring it on your tongue. Sucking the wound clean and swallowing it down.” She clenched her fists. “But it doesn’t get clean. It doesn’t dry out. The blister just keeps oozing and oozing until all the discharge comes pouring out of your mouth, but even then it doesn’t stop. Because you can’t force it all down. You can’t just swallow and think it’s done. That’s not how anxiety works. It keeps coming, even when you thought it was gone, and it leaves behind this awful flavor of bitter bile. It’s acidic, too, you know? It melts your chest and stomach and makes you feel like you’re sinking in your own skin.” She looked up at Alcina, and her eyes were shiny and blank. “I taste fear, Mother.”

There was silence between them for just a moment. Bela wasn’t looking at Alcina anymore; she seemed to think the floor was very interesting at that moment. Alcina was still considering her daughter’s dark words, replaying them over and over again until the subtle taste of sour gall spread across her tongue. She swallowed it down and winced when it drooled over the back of her throat like rancid molasses.

“You did it, baby,” Alcina finally said, smiling despite her worry, despite the flavor of fear in her mouth. “I’m so proud of you.”

Bela just nodded. Though she was no longer having a panic attack, she didn’t seem any less upset. Alcina considered letting it go, especially after just having calmed her down, but if something was bothering her daughter so much that she couldn’t breathe when she thought about it too hard, she knew she couldn’t just leave it be. It could escalate into something much, much worse, and she knew damn well that Bela was willing to go to such extremes, if her explanation of fear and the way she kept looking at the fire wasn’t enough proof of that.

“Now,” Alcina saw Bela tense, but she plunged anyway. “I need you to tell me what’s bothering you so I can help.”

Bela shook her head with a strangled whimper.  “I can’t tell you.”

“Bela, I’m your mother. You can tell me anything.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t hate you.”

Bela was quiet. Then, slowly, she dragged her gaze up to Alcina. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Bela. I would never hate you.”

Bela nodded. “Okay.” Her claws clenched into fists against the floorboards, knuckles shaking and turning white. She took several deep breaths before forcing out, “I-- I don’t-- I don’t like people like that. Like how I’m supposed to.”

Silence.

Tears flowed freely from Bela’s eyes and she choked on a sob. Her head hung in shame as her entire body quaked. The poor girl looked terrified, and the sight hit Alcina right in the heart--though she didn’t quite get it.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“No, no-- you don’t understand,” Bela’s breath was coming out thin and raspy again. She sat up straight, claws now knotted in her nightgown, tensing and pulling. “I don’t-- I don’t like people, Mama. The way other people do. The way everyone does. I’ve-- I’ve tried, but--” She cut herself off with a whimper, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Alcina asked. Trying to discern Bela’s vague words was like trying to discern Shakespearean. “Do you think you can explain it to me, hun? Like you did with the book and the fear. I want to help you.”

Bela sniffled, then nodded. “I-- I, umm-- I don’t feel anything towards people. Like-- like that. Romantically. And sexually.”

Finally, it dawned on Alcina.

“When I read those cheesy romance books Daniela likes, I don’t get the characters’ feelings at all. Just the thought of being in a relationship like that makes me so uncomfortable and I don’t know why, and that scares me, Mama.” Bela continued, her anguish oozing into every word she spoke. “I don’t like the thought of being tied down to someone like that, but it still feels like something has been stolen from me. That promise of a future with true love and marriage and a fairy tale ending that Daniela always talks about is gone, even though I still want it. Or, at least, I think I want it. I don’t know what I want.” She sniffled, looking miserable. “It’s the same for sexual stuff. When I come to scenes with sex in them in books, it makes my skin feel all weird, like severed hands are crawling all over my body. I get embarrassed and awkward and uneasy, and I don’t understand that, either. It just makes me feel so sick to my stomach.”

There was a pause. Bela was taking several shallow breaths and digging her claws into her legs, so Alcina reached out and took one of her hands, stroking her knuckles with her thumbs.

“Breathe, baby,” Alcina murmured. “Breathe.”

“I’ve-- I’ve tried to force myself to be like everyone else before,” Bela said unexpectedly.

Taken aback, Alcina said, “What?”

Bela swallowed thickly. “With-- with a maiden. You know how I am with them- too nice, too polite. I befriended one of them. We were kinda close. After a while, she started making moves on me. I knew what she wanted for so long, but I kept avoiding it because I was uncomfortable or scared. But then I had this revelation: maybe if I did this with her, I would finally feel something! I would be like everyone else! So I did. With her. And I didn’t like it.”

“Bela…”

“It hurt,” Bela whispered. “Like I was being scraped raw. Or my body was being turned inside out. I felt so sick. Humiliatingly, I started crying during it, but I don’t think she noticed. If she did, she didn’t stop. Not until she was finished. When she was, I threw up after she left. I was so sore.” Alcina squeezed her hand, and she sucked in a sharp breath, “But-- but I had to have liked it! I got, umm--” Her cheeks began to turn red with embarrassment, though Alcina didn’t blame her. Having to explain your sex life to your mother would be awkward for anyone. “I got…wet. And-- and that happens when you’re aroused! So-- so I do like sexual stuff!”

“Oh, sweetie…” Alcina sighed sadly.

Bela hunched her shoulders in. “R-right?”

“Honey, ‘getting wet’ doesn’t always mean you’re aroused,” Alcina said gently. “Simply viewing something erotic, like a naked woman, for example, could trigger this bodily response. It’s also a way for the vagina to lubricate itself to help dull the pain of penetration. You can be in a sexual situation and be wet, but not want to have sex. That’s completely normal and one hundred percent okay.” She lifted her hands to cup Bela’s cheeks. “Wetness is not an acceptable body language for consent. Who were you trying to convince: the maiden or yourself?”

Bela stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and damp, breath hitched in the back of her throat. Then, she began shaking her head, pulling her hair, and weeping, “No, no-- I wanted it, I wanted it-- I know I did. I’m normal, I’m normal--”

It was truly heartbreaking to see her child in such a way. Bela seemed downright devastated over her own sexuality, to the point where she thought she was disgusting and unnatural for something that was actually completely normal.

Taking her daughter’s hands to keep her from hurting herself, Alcina went to say something, but Bela cut her off, getting to the words first.

“What’s wrong with me?!” Bela cried. “Why-- why am I like this, Mama? Am I broken? Am I heartless? I-- I love you and Cassandra and Daniela! I love Uncle Karl and Uncle Moreau and Auntie Donna and Angie and the Duke! I love reading and animals and writing, but-- but when I-- when I try to-- when it comes to sex and romance, I--” She finally gave up and sobbed.

“Oh, Bela,” Alcina said sadly. “Oh, my poor, sweet girl…” She pulled Bela into her lap and held her close, rocking her back and forth to help comfort her. Her fingers gently ran through Bela’s messy hair. “Shh, shh… You aren’t broken or heartless, sweetheart. This is an okay thing to feel.”

“You-- you don’t think I’m wrong?”

Alcina’s heart twisted at the way Bela looked up at her to say that, her eyes holding so much sadness and pain. She tucked her daughter’s head back under her chin and tightened the embrace.

“Absolutely not. Do you think you are?”

Bela answered in a strangled whimper. Alcina couldn’t help but wonder what put such a thought in her daughter’s brain--though, this was Bela she was dealing with. her anxiety was a wild, bestial thing that made her worry about the most obscene things.

“Did you really think this would change anything?” Alcina asked. “That I could ever possibly love you any less?”

Bela shrugged weakly.

“I-I just…”

That deep shame from before seemed to return and Bela’s head dipped. Alcina felt like she was going to try and pull away, so she tightened the embrace and used one hand to lift the girl’s chin.

“Hey, hey,” Alcina murmured, brushing away fresh tears on Bela’s cheeks. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with you, either. And if anyone says otherwise, tell me. I’ll eviscerate them.”

That got a tiny, watery giggle out of Bela.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Alcina went on. “Sex and romantic relationships… They aren’t for everyone. And that’s okay. It certainly doesn’t make you broken or heartless.”

“B-but--”

“Hun, look at me. Do I really look like someone who will judge you for being this way?”

Bela shrugged a little. Her little body seemed to have exhausted itself of all its efforts to argue.

Alcina rocked her gently, stroking her hair the way she knew she liked it. “How about I explain something to you, hm?”

Bela looked up at her blearily.

“Your love may not be arousing or romantic, but you want to know what it is like?”

“What?” Bela asked softly.

“Your love is warm and fuzzy, like being wrapped in a blanket during a blizzard. It’s safe and reassuring. Your love is security and shelter. Your love is noticing all the little details, like my bushy hair because it’s late at night or your Uncle Karl’s finger twitching because he’s nervous at the meetings with Mother Miranda but is trying to hide it or Cassandra’s leg bouncing because she’s full of pent up, restless energy. Your love is knowing what makes each of us tick and doing everything in your power to make us feel better when we’re upset. Your love is like the first flower showing up in the snow as winter melts away and the beginning flickers of a tender flame and the gentle fluttering of bird wings.” Alcina let out a soft laugh. “I’m nowhere near as good at details as you are, my darling. But, most importantly, your love is normal and natural and what makes you you. And you shouldn’t have to try and change that for anyone, no matter what.”

Bela stared up at her in silenced awe, tears trickling down her cheeks. Alcina squeezed her reassuringly.

“I want you to know that I’ll always support you, okay?” Alcina said. “I’m always going to be here for you.”

Bela nodded, hiccuping softly. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered through tiny whimpers. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bela,” Alcina said. She kissed the top of Bela’s head and purred to her softly. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

[lover-of-queens]

Farah Dowling is Alive Part 2

The follow up to Part 1 or as I like to call it: look mom, I told you this degree would have uses in the real world! 

If you haven’t had a chance to read it yet, you can find Part 1: Here 

You know the drill, under the cut cause this is probably going to get long!

Episode 4: Some Wrecked Angel

Episode opens with our favourite trio. If you’ve read the first part then you’ll be familiar with my argument that it could be possible the writers are leaving Farah x Saul threads to pick up at a later date. I think this scene has some interesting ones. There’s a lot of effort in this scene to set Farah and Saul up as parallels - in a way that also makes them stand apart from Ben. We have them saying his name together, but also, when they discover Callum’s body, both Farah and Saul are in sync as they move into a kneeling position. 

I don’t necessarily know if this could be considered an argument for them bringing Farah back, however, in the scene with Farah, Stella and Luna, Stella brings up an interesting point about Farah’s pedagogy. We’re told that Farah chooses care and time over “solely results” when it comes to teaching. In the next episode we learn Rosalind’s own teaching style involves putting her students “through hell”. I don’t necessarily know when the change will happen but given this, I don’t see any way Rosalind can remain Headmistress, especially when they’re taking pains to show Farah as better suited for the role.

Also important in this scene is Farah and Luna’s last exchange. We know what appearances Luna has helped Farah maintain - the barrier/illusion that stops Aster Dell from being seen. So, what’s interesting is Farah’s next line:

Farah: “Yes, we’ve both done a great deal to preserve Solaria’s reputation.” 

This does not get addressed during the remaining episodes. Personally, this line and the amount of tension between Farah and Luna also strikes me as a potential thread that could be picked up later. I’m going to wager that I’m not alone in wanting to know what exactly they did to “preserve” Solaria’s rep. And my guess is, because Brian has mentioned that they’re going to expand on the winx world, we’re going to be finding out more about Solaria in S2. Theoretically, I suppose whatever event that is being referenced here could be dealt with without Farah on screen, but then we’d miss out on all the fun tension! Also, as of right now, fan response to Luna is nothing compared to Farah (at least from what I’ve seen). 

Tattoo theory, several people have already spoken on this and I don’t want to speak over them. I’m still sorting out my own thoughts on whether it’s Farah’s or Eve’s but I will say that Farah is always wearing rings so it seems to me that if they wanted it covered they could easily do it with a ring (or makeup). If the tattoo is purposely put there then I’m going to assume its for a reason that the writers may want to deal with at a later date (hint, hint: bring back Farah). 

Episode 5: Wither Into the Truth

I may do another post on this at some point if I can find enough to say to warrant it but Farah’s eye colour when she does magic. Up until now every time Farah’s done magic her eyes have glowed blue and yet in the scene where she questions Beatrix they glow light orange. Now I’d always assumed that the colour of the glow = element, which was why I didn’t know why Farah’s glowed blue to begin with; she’s a mind fairy so I would have expected the purple that Musa has. And actually the confirmation of her being a mind fairy comes from Fate’s IG page shown below, I don’t know if it’s ever explicitly stated in the show? Further, to my knowledge, Farah is the only fairy we’ve seen whose eyes glow different colours. So, a thread to pick up in season 2, perhaps? 

Also I’m very interested in the use of the word “Once”. In this instance I would almost take it to mean ‘no longer is’ but the tense is present perfect (I think?) which can suggest the continuance of an action. But now I’m being overly nitpicky and technical. Also I don’t know how ‘principle’ made it through what I’m assuming are several stages before making it onto IG, but it gave me a laugh!

“Incredibly powerful” yet loses to Rosalind without a fight? Not buying it. Additionally, the use of “other forms of magic” is interesting and I figure could be taken to mean other elements. But I wonder if there’s more to it than just that. Farah shows knowledge of archaic Fairy Magic with the Nettle Amalgam, so maybe there’s more archaic knowledge out there that she knows ... that could prove helpful. 

Now, back to the episode. When Farah and Hologram Luna are talking, the fact that there are two burned ones travelling together is cause for concern. 

Farah: “There are two of them travelling together. That hasn’t happened since … In a long time.” 

Once again we are left with a thread of something that has happened. In the same IG post as above, in the section for Saul, it mentions that he and Farah became confidants “after experiencing the Black Woods Massacre”. I wonder if that could be what Farah’s referring to here? I know the massacre has come up once or twice in conversation and correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t believe it’s ever been properly explained? To me, it looks like a great bit of backstory to get into at a later date. It may not confirm Farah being alive necessarily, but you could take it as a sign that we might see Eve again. 

Lastly, for this episode, is the scene between Farah and Bloom. Specifically this part: 

Farah: “I will help you get the answers you need. I give you my word.” 

You can probably guess what I’m going to say at this point, a thread that can be picked up in season 2! You could counterargue that Rosalind could help Bloom with answers (as she offers in the next episode) but in my humble opinion, I don’t think it would offer narrative satisfaction. First, because we’ve been shown what a terrible mentor Rosalind is. Second, they’ve spent the first season showing how Farah and Bloom’s mentor-student relationship has developed (bloomed?) so it seems a waste to go through all of that development for nothing. 

Episode 6: A Fanatic Heart

Rosalind has her little prison break. Personally, I still think there’s a lot of unanswered questions about what happened after Aster Dell, how they imprisoned Rosalind, etc. And I do hope that we get some answers in Season 2 - again these answers may not necessarily involve Farah on the screen but as every writer gets told the age old advice of “show, don’t tell”, I think there’s potential for that. 

Farah immediately tries to disprove my points about her intelligence by wandering alone in the woods at night. But she’s pretty, so I’ll allow it. 

Rosalind gives Bloom some answers but not all, so I do think that my point above about Farah helping Bloom find more answers still stands. Further, I find the Farah is Bloom’s mother theory to be unlikely for several reasons (this is not the post for them) but I do want to draw our attention to several lines of dialogue here. 

Bloom: “You hid me from Miss Dowling.” ….

Rosalind: “The guidance you needed was love. Farah couldn’t give that to you. Vanessa and Michael could.” 

There are SO many reasons why this exchange is fascinating. I’m interested in why Bloom brings up Farah to begin with - her other points could stand alone to the same affect. I’m also really interested in the direct comparison between Farah and Bloom’s adoptive parents -- if Bloom hadn’t gone to them, she would have gone to Farah? It almost seems as though the direct comparison implies that. Also, considering Bloom’s relationship with her adoptive parents, I really doubt the validity of the statement. Plus, I wouldn’t trust Rosalind’s idea of love in general. 

Also, Rosalind is just so certain that Farah couldn’t love Bloom … can’t love in general? There’s just so much of Farah and Rosalind’s relationship that hasn’t been explored that I think really needs to be. 

Now, the scene that always makes me cry! Farah and Bloom have had a difficult time this season and it’s all lead up to this moment of trust and vulnerability - on both sides. If you ask me, this season has been setting Farah up to be the mentor figure that Rosalind was not - Rosalind’s opposite. And they’ve worked hard at it, even when they were trying to convince us Farah might be the evil one which like lmao. I find it hard to believe that they would go through all of that work just to discard it by leaving Farah dead. Especially because what Farah admits to Bloom in this sequence feels like a changing moment for her - she recognizes things she wishes she would have done differently (being less of a figurehead, being more open) and I think its only fair that Fate allows her to follow through on those things. 

And onto the scene that I really don’t want to rewatch but I’m going to do it for y’all. I’ve touched on Farah x Saul moments so it’s only fair that I touch on Farah x Rosalind ones. There is tension here (looking at each other’s lips, Rosalind getting closer to Farah, Farah grabbing her), I mean the cast has joked about shipping them. But there are several different ways to read this and you are more than welcome to your pick! It doesn’t really change my point, which is … thread to pick up in season 2? Have you started taking a shot every time I’ve said that (please don’t <3). 

Farah who has shown herself to be incredibly intelligent and cautious when it comes to Rosalind turns her back on her. And we get what is probably the most important piece of evidence: the eye glow. It can mean absolutely anything, but I’d wager one of the reasons its there is to have people do exactly what I’m doing here. Theorizing about whether Farah could still be alive. I’m going to take that as a sign there’s hope (mainly because I think it would be cruel to suggest a ‘could she come back narrative’ and then … not have her come back). Also, in the Fate novel, it describes Farah’s death as “too easy”. I absolutely refuse to believe that it could be easy to kill Farah when she’s proved time and time again how powerful she is. 

That finishes my episode by episode analysis. It totals well over 2500 words. If you can believe me, I still have more to say on this topic (discussing general counterarguments and possible logistics of Eve’s filming), so stay tuned for a Part 3?

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on Episode 6--On the Inside

Very appropriate title by the way.  Works in a multitude of ways.  

As always, my randomness is going beneath a cut again to spare the eyeballs of those of you that don’t want to see it at all and also?  Help those of you that have somehow stayed spoiler-free in this brand-new age of early release episodes.  It is still so wild to me that I’m a full episode ahead of half the fandom.  I don’t know what I’m going to do when we get to the final episode and they decide to make us all suffer together--because somehow I do feel they will do exactly that after spoiling us for the first 23 episodes.  It is going to be agonizing.  

Anyway.  Without further ado, Shae’s stream of consciousness review (of sorts).  

Not fair, Angela.  Opening the episode with that shot of that big ass spider.  I hate those suckers.  So naturally, they’re an easy sell for setting the horror scene to me, lol.  

Okay.  Who the hell’s chasing Virgil and Connie?  Walker No-See-Ums?

Barely a minute in and the atmosphere for this episode is moody AF.  

What is this?  Tara Jr. The Walking Dead?  LOL.  Where’s the Scarlett for this mini plantation house?  Anyway.  First three minutes of this episode?  Just as attention grabbing as the first five episode openings this season.  I don’t think people out there are giving our writers enough love for that.  Every episode so far has opened like a mini movie.  

With the way the Walking Dead logo keeps crumbling away with each successive episode, somehow it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the Carol and Daryl spinoff was eventually titled The Living and had flowers growing out of each letter, lol.  I mean, there would be a certain sort of life-affirming symmetry in a show that’s been promised to be much lighter in tone doing just that.  

More Carol and Aaron?  Yes, please.  I don’t necessarily like Carol staying at home and sitting the sidelines like a figurative happy little homemaker in the B story while the rest of the mains are trying like hell to sell the A story, but if she’s going to be totally prohibited from the main storyline until it’s time to blow shit up?  I’m going to continue enjoy getting to see her do what she should have been doing for seasons--interacting with others in the community, especially Aaron and the ladies.  

Truly.  I really am loving my girl getting some quality Aaron and Rosita time.  It’s so long overdue.  

Bless sweet Kelly.  Riding off to her sister’s rescue.  

Why isn’t Lydia shown as part of these plans?  For someone that could barely read last season, I doubt that big ass map was a piece of cake for her and it’s all just guesswork anyway without her guidance.  I mean, why does it feel like they are cutting some of this stuff that might not seem like much plot-wise but would go a long way toward establishing different character beats?  Personally, I would have loved to see her involved in the search and sharing scenes again with Carol and bonding with Kelly. 

Virgil be having that “I always feel like somebody’s watching me” feeling.  Don’t you hate that, lol?  

“You haven’t slept in days.”  But how many days, Virgil?  I’m going to need a number because I’m confused AF about this timeline at this point.  What we’re seeing and what different pieces of dialogue is telling us is not exactly lining up.  I’m going to find it awful hilarious if it hasn’t even been two weeks since the cave in.  For reasons.  

Connie’s spidey senses are clearly tingling.  

Alrighty, then.  She’s clearly got PTSD.  Understandable.  They’ve all had it.  Some have been treated more sympathetically than others, though.  

I mean, it never seems to cross anybody’s mind how Carol probably sees Henry’s head on that pike, Mika’s pale and bloody body, Lizzie crumpled face down in a bed of yellow flowers, Sophia with a smoking bullet hole through her undead head whenever she closes her eyes but whatever.  

Okay though.  But what if Connie had really shitty, impossible to read handwriting?  AKA doctor’s  handwriting.  What then?  

Leah’s face honestly twists my insides whenever I see it, lol.  It’s quiet a visceral thing.  No, that does not make me a horrible person.  Not everybody wants or has to drink the awesome, great, redeemable villainess Kool-Aid.  IMHO, she’s got a face meant for a Walker.  Perfect makeover idea.  Eh.  Mostly it’s her expression and the deadness of her eyes.  

Anyway.  Why is it always the fingers?  Eff that.  

Listen.  If ya’ll can’t tell Daryl’s conflicted AF with the situation he’s landed in, you don’t know how to read NR’s face and eyes.  He’s not a masterclass like MMB but he’s pretty darn good when he wants to be.  

I honestly feel sorry for Redshirt Frost.  

“You do what you gotta do.”  Frost knows what’s what and he’s willing to walk the walk for Maggie.  Impressive loyalty.  I’m left wondering how the current, colder incarnation of Maggie inspired it because I’m still struggling to see it.  Anywho.  My point is the dude knows the score and just gave Daryl the okay.  

Daryl taking off his angel vest before stepping into the role of torturer/interrogator=him shedding the persona/the man Judith and RJ and Lydia and Carol know him to be.  Pushing away his man of honor status so he can just survive somehow.  

Pope never quits chewing whatever the hell he’s got in his mouth.  It’s kind of distracting.  

Ohhh.  We’re back to the Haunted Mansion.  I mean house.  Where are the Hitchhiking Ghosts?  

All the eyes scratched out of those creepy pictures=spooky.  

The good old fogged up bathroom mirror shot.  Somebody’s been watching and studying their horror movies, lol.  Not gonna lie though.  I’m legit bracing myself for the jump scares I know have to be coming.  

I’m loving the music/score in these scenes.  

Truthfully, I could care less about these Reapers.  But they are hella attractive, lol.  Listen.  Angela knows what she’s doing.  

Kelly’s horse is so pretty.  Prayer chain for that baby.  

More dead horses?  Why?  

Connie’s slingshot?  Sorry.  I maintain, no matter how much I like these two, that they have the lamest weapons ever.  Endless supply of Virginia rocks or not.  

So.  Did Virgil and Connie enjoy a little equine for dinner?  Did they kill it before the Walkers fed?  What monsters!  Yeah, no.  Not if they were starving even if I personally could not have.  The more probable story is they fled the camp in a panic and left the horse behind and then it went down.  Sorry.  I didn’t exactly study the wounds on the poor animal because it is so traumatizing to me to continue to see them meet such dastardly ends on this show.  I don’t know who the hell has such a score to settle with horses but stop it.  

Days.  It’s only been days.  Not weeks.  So many times with all that Daryl and Company have had to contend with since the cave in?  Those do not exist, lol.  They’re just a convenient, appeasing piece of dialogue thrown at a fanbase primed and ready to read everything into not much of anything.  There’s just not been enough time for it to happen unless Daryl has literally been up 24/7 for all of them.  You know, strategizing how to attack the remainders of Alpha’s horde, figuring out how to defend Hilltop before it fell, healing from the wound he sustained at Alpha’s hand, sitting on that log all damn night with Negan waiting on Carol to come home, having a lover’s quarrel with his best damn everything, taking care of the Grimes babies and Lydia, being the reluctant leader.  Kang, why you playing them like that?  Daryl’s a super guy but he’s not a superhuman with clones.  So many times my ass.  

Seriously.  Who been watching Connie and Virgil?  The MIA Oceansiders?  Beta’s Fee Fi Fo Fum Ghost?  

Nice.  A Michonne mention.  Maybe the truth will start to trickle out.  

LMAO at Connie’s “I’m not staying here.”  Me neither, girl.  I would be outta that house so fast.  

They really “Quiet Placing” this episode.  Honestly?  I’m kinda loving it.  

WTF was that?  I know she can’t hear but you telling me all the little hairs on her arms, legs, and neck didn’t stand the fuck up and say fuck this shit, I’m gone?  Pardon my language, lovelies, but that moment had my heart kicking up several beats.  

Okay, okay.  To be fair to Connie, every hair on her body been doing that since the front door closed.  Maybe they’re desensitized.  

Gollum’s chasing Connie!!!  He/She wants their Precious!!!

The knee jerk reactions about this episode sight unseen are OTT, honestly.  And I mean no disrespect by saying that.  I can understand completely where they’re coming from because we’ve been burned so long in this fandom.  But it’s obvious the spoiler source has their particular biases and reads into things in such a way that don’t line up with what’s actually being shown onscreen.  Daryl’s loyalty in this episode and all along quite clearly lies with his family and his community.  He’s been playing Leah since the start and is truly just trying to survive somehow.  

Awful thought.  The Reaper that’s so suspish of Daryl--haven’t quite caught his name or really cared to.  I feel like he might try to get to Daryl somehow.  When he realizes that Daryl cares no more for Leah than any human would care for somebody (they thought) they used to know?  He’s going after Dog.  Or Carol should she finally join this story. 

I refuse to believe Carol isn’t going to be a part of this story.  Because they messing with her mans, lol.  

“You’re ever with us or you’re not.”  Now where have I heard those words before?  I wish I could find that Daryl gif because that had to be one of the funniest things ever, lol.  

Unrealistic suggestion to Daryl, Leah?  Breathing oxygen seems to piss off Carver.  Oh look.  He finally has a name for me, lol.  

I love how all three of the ladies--Carol, Magna, and Rosita--look at Kelly with such indulgent, adoring “little sis, you alright?” eyes.  

They are seriously the most beautiful quartet of characters.  I mean all of them are lovely but Carol and Rosita this season?  Ugh.  The unfairness of the pretty.  

Human bones.  Terminus callback, lovelies.  How it all would have eventually gone down if Gareth and Co. hadn’t met the business end of Rick’s red machete.  

So many horror movie homages in this one.  

Virgil’s like “let’s leave this Texas Chainsaw Massacre behind.”  

Connie and Virgil have obviously bonded, ya’ll.  I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying their scenes together when the character mostly got on my nerves with Michonne.  He’s a good actor and the core of his character is sympathetic, but I’m not going to lie.  I wasn’t super enthused when he was the one that rescued Connie because I didn’t know how their scenes would play out. But there’s a nice synergy there.  

Okay.  Does Carver want Leah for himself?  Because I’m sure Daryl at this point would love to scream “take her, I know where I fucking belong!”  

Daryl’s digging in deep because Carver has shown him Leah’s potential weak spot.  Nuance is truly lost on some people, LMAO.  He cares about Leah as a human being probably.  He’s Daryl, after all.  The sweet one.  But he sees her as his way outta this and he’s going to exploit it.  

It’s nice to have a silent Negan for once, lol.  I can pretend he didn’t take my baby Glenn away from me and enjoy JDM’s pretty.  

So.  These cannibal people were the watchers?  Hmm.  

I’m really digging Virgil 2.0.  Yeah.  Nobody’s surprised more than me.  

Sweet, sweet scene between Virgil and Connie.  His determination to reunite her with her family brings back the sympathy I felt for him when he told Michonne “I promised her flowers.  Every day.”  

Damn.  How many of those creepy crawly cannibals are there?  

How brave of Connie to confront her fears to save someone she’s obviously grown to care about.  

The Kelly/Connie reunion gave me chills and made me cry.  Thank fuck Angela didn’t cheapen that moment by having it focus on literally anybody else.  Kelly is the most important person in the whole world to Connie and vice versa.  Just like Carol is the most important person in the whole world to Daryl and vice versa.  Angela fucking knows.  Everybody does.  Except the people busy building castles out of sand while the waves of Carol’s and Daryl’s converging stories keep crashing closer and closer to shore.  

Such a beautiful moment given to us by Angel Theory and Lauren Ridloff.  So authentic and sweet.  Kelly and Connie are home to each other.  

Poor Frost.  That’s all I gotta say about that.  

WTF, though.  Was Mel just not available or what?  I want to see more of the ASZ characters that I care about, not the Reapers.  Like I’d be fine with the story if all the characters not named Maggie, Negan, or Daryl weren’t surviving on crumbs during it.  Especially the 2nd billed actress on the entire show.  Angela.  Please.  Fix this.  

One last WTF.  Seriously.  WTF has Maggie done to inspire Pope’s obsession?  It better be juicy after all this shit.  

Overall impression of the episode--

One of my favorites of the season so far.  The horror aspects were fantastic, IMHO. I truly didn’t expect to like Connie and Virgil’s scenes as much together so that was a nice surprise.  She got the reunion that felt most true and earned for the character and her story and I thank Angela from the bottom of my heart for that.  

I would have loved more Carol but I always want more Carol.  I’m okay with her taking a backseat because ultimately?  This was Kelly’s moment with her sister.  Carol and Connie will eventually have their time to sit down and talk.  And pick back up their blossoming friendship because I truly do not feel Connie blames Carol at all.  

I do wish Lydia had been included with the girl group.  Last episode felt like it was leading up to that.  

The Reaper storyline continues to be the weakest link because every time we see them the dialogue and interactions feel totally recycled from the time previous.  I feel like it would have totally been helped by a tighter focus and less stretching out because 8 episodes of this is really diluting what I feel like Angela and Co. are going for.  I’m not here for Leah being redeemed or being a bigger focus in any of the episodes because she does nothing of interest for me.  I’m just peeking in on that story for the Daryl of it all.  

Speaking of the Daryl? You lovelies out there gotta stop taking that spoiler source’s recaps at face value because it’s obvious to me at least that there’ some bias at work.  Every action and word coming from Daryl is coming from a place of loyalty to his family and wanting to protect them, no matter how he has to dirty his hands.  Leah is just a means to his ultimate end.  She’s not his future.  She never was.  His future’s already spoken for and 2023 can’t get  here soon enough.  But like Daryl, we have to just survive somehow.  

Oh goodie.  More Maggie and Negan next episode and looks like no real follow up on Connie and the ASZ reunions.  Hopefully, this is yet another instance of the previews being deceiving but I’m not holding my breath.  

Until later, lovelies.  

Hope my word vomit didn’t bore you too much.  

[woodchuckvirus]

Screenshots of Fave OBQ Comic Panels (circa ~2004 - 2005)

So like ten years ago or so, I drew a webcomic for about like two years until life just kinda soaked up all my time and I lost my motivation to keep the comic going. And I also made the mistake of trying to “wing it” without having anything actually really plotted out, which meant that the comic’s plot went nowhere fast and just dragged... But even all these years later, I still really like how some of the panels came out, and although I have always thoroughly subscribed to my self-proposed philosophy of “never look at your archives,” I’m just gonna go look at my archives and screenshot and post my favorite panels here just because.

Back then, I had NO idea at all about how to draw backgrounds, so like 80% of the time, the backgrounds were severely photoshopped images of cities that I pulled off the internet. Knowing what I know now about copyright and stuff, pfffff lol, wow my webcomic was a copyright nightmare. But one thing that I was inexplicably good at was drawing hands, sort of, for some reason. So like, in this second upper right panel, I always liked how Ruethin’s hands turned out. In this left panel, I just like how this drawing of Ruethin came out in general.

[[This post got longgg so to save dashboard space, this post continues under the cut!]]

This is a small panel but for some reason, Tumblr’s blowing it up a bit to fit the full width of the post, so the quality looks way worse than it actually is on the page, but I liked this panel, although for a silly reason. I really made this one table look distinct because of the small crowd of people standing around it. I just really liked how I was able to show that there was some noticeable BS going on with this one particular table apart from all the other ones.

NEVER LOOK AT YOUR ARCHIVES lolololol oh my god look at that horrible face. But when I drew and CG’d this at the time, I was like “AW MAN, THIS LOOKS SO PROFESSIONAL. But let’s just forget about that face. because the REAL reason why I love this panel is because of the CREATURE’S face. That expression is glorious.

This panel was also a banger. In addition to Good Hands for Some Reason, I also fuckin’ loved making things glow and adding lighting effects. Even though my light sources were always completely inconsistent, but look at those fucking live wires and the hint of the hollow structure of the android, this is dramatic af. And, once again, that expression is doing the work.

Apart from Good Hands Sometimes, lighting effects, and very good animal expressions, blood was also a specialty because of course it was. My fave part about this panel is the implication that the pieces of wall are literally bouncing off of this guy’s bloody face, it’s just *chef’s kiss*

Look at this dramatic, edgy-ass reveal lol

Another tiny panel being blown up, but I liked this one because of the “camera” angle and the moody color scheme, and in general it just looks “mysterious”. Plus, I think I actually drew and CG’d the rooftop that they’re standing/sitting on, so 50% props to me on this one. We’re not going to comment too hard on the dialogue, tho, lol

I fuckin’ loved lighting effects, man. And coloring transparent cloth. This plot thread was one of the many unfortunate ones that never got to really take off before my “hiatus.” But this girl was possessed by a demon and had murdered her own brother while the demon was in control, so that’s her dealy here. But the way the light falls on that plush cat, it almost looks like a screenshot from an anime to me.

Honestly, props to the humor, expressions, and the mirror reflection in the background for this one. I don’t know what was going on with the design of the lamp but yeah it’s like The Future or something.

This honestly just epitomizes Nomed’s character so much. And also, that terrible looking ramen looks very tasty.

This top panel, honestly, was not too shabby for an Anime Face. And the shot of her in a stretcher is at a different kind of angle. This was another plot thread that never got a chance to get off the ground. She was going to be resurrected, like a zombie or something, and then we’d get into the existential horror of being undead but not the sexy-cool vampire kind of undead. 

Ruethin smushing his face into a table. Once again, I think the real reason why I like this panel is because of the “camera angle.” These kinds of shots were more of a challenge for my drawing skills, so they’d either turn out horrible or turn out looking pretty awesome actually. And I think this one definitely leaned toward “pretty awesome.” I mean ffs look at those bowls.

Nomed’s face looked absolutely hideous in earlier pages, which is why his face is only starting to show up now, where it’s starting to actually look a little better and not, like, mutated.

That glowing blob is cigarette ash, but when you KNOW it’s cigarette ash, then it looks pretty fookin’ good. Behind it is a depiction of Dracula as described in the Bram Stoker novel. Also displaying my forever miffed opinion that vampires should be able to walk around in daylight, because Dracula definitely was up and moving around during daylight in the original novel. In fact, the only thing that happens to vampires in daylight is that their abilities and powers diminish. The whole “vampires can’t be out in sunlight” came across in the early Dracula movies. It was just made up for the big screen so vampires would be even spookier, maybe? But yeah, as far as I can tell, the daylight thing was never really part of the original Dracula story, so it always annoys me when vampires can’t hang around in daylight. Anyway, that was the rant that I was expressing through this panel. It did introduce this neat commentary on how people can be told something through propaganda for so long that it becomes difficult to discard the beliefs that were cultivated through that propaganda. I liked the whole “vampires afraid of sunlight” concept as being linked to that idea.

So I admit this is literally the whole damn page save for just the two first panels, but there are a couple of reasons why I like this page. It first shows some of the vampiric ability to turn into mist, also red glowy eyes hell yeah, and also pretty boy does cool edgy move and then immediately gets punched in the face.

Pretty boy immediately recups from this setback by setting the whole place on fire using his cigarette.

Very sp00ky dog face. Teeth was just another thing that I really liked to draw.

When I actually drew the backgrounds and applied that moody atmospheric lighting, it hella paid off.

A panel that adequately epitomizes Nomed and Ruethin’s relationship. Also dang I love metro stations for some reason.

A few things about this panel. Once again, I just really liked the “camera angle” on Ruethin in this left panel. The phrase printed on the yellow shirt in the background is something that my mom came up with. We were talking about people who try to say mean things to other people, and my mom was like “you should just say to them ‘you is a ugly person!’“ and I just thought fuckin’ lol that should be on a t-shirt. Adding to that is this kind of cluster of people having random conversations, and then Ruethin accidentally coming across as a creeper.

I couldn’t always draw people, but I could draw some sp00ky demon creatures. This one is a combination of a rat and a flea. But with wings.

Not entirely perfect, but I did like how this dude with a sandwich turned out here. And sometimes I just really liked these far shots, too.

Suddenly took a hard turn toward Edgar Allen Poe.

This guard with an air-pressurized crossbow attached to his arm guard. In practice it seems like a pretty cool design. He pulls an arrow from his satchel, clicks it straight into the crossbow, then after quick pressure build up, he turns his fist down which pulls a cord that releases the arrow and FFFWIP!

This is probably one of my top fave panels. People were really impressed with it, but lord all the time I spent on it trying to get the saw device to look round. The reality is that all of this CG work that I did was done entirely with a mouse. I didn’t have a tablet until years later, and I barely used it even then. Sure wish I’d bothered to learn, though, because I think it would have saved me a LOT of time and effort!!!

Showing the severe pressure from the arrows and not a bad sketch of Ruethin in this one.

Reaching peak CG work here in this panel tbh

I just really dug the special effects lighting on these panels and also that BOOM is so good.

Shit gettin’ super real and more KABOOMS!

Electricity is another super fun thing to CG.

wewwwwwwwwwwww! Once again, loved to produce crazy lighting effects.

Almost forgot this panel, but this is another Moment that kind of encapsulates Nomed and Ruethin’s relationship. It was just the thing that when they were kids, usually Nomed would be going off somewhere while Ruethin would be tailing after him. It’s just an endearing moment to me that shows how those old childhood habits survive into adulthood for the two of them.

Nomed gettin’ kicked in the face with a shoe. When this page posted, I was critiqued on the erroneous physics being portrayed here and well they were right but I still tried to defend it by claiming the skinny kid would fall faster than the larger surface-area’d demon with big ol’ wings. I think she was still right and this kid should have never been able to catch up with Nomed on the way down but eeeeeh it still looked cool and I love Nomed’s face right before he gets bonked in the chin with a foot.

Part of my World Building for this comic involved inventing a new handheld game device and a game to go with it. So I came up with the NecRo90 by Watchrabbit. The game involved a cast of critters that battled large monsters like winged dinosaurs apparently. Anyway it was cute and I’d play this game.

Proooobably my most favorite panel of Nomed, where he is lookin’ pretty dang intimidating.

The lighting, AAAAAH THE LIGHTING!

bL0OD oooooooooOOOoooooooOOOOOOoooo

So this was sadly where my stint as a webcomic artist ended. I took a “hiatus” after doing this page and then just never got back to it. What’s disappointing is that I had like five or six more pages already drawn, but I could just never regain my drive to ink, scan, CG, and edit the pages. I won’t lie, tho, I do miss doing webcomicing like this. It was always a fun time creating panels with amazing and fun lighting. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier now that I have a screen display tablet but idk, I think it would still take me so much time... I think a large part of why I was able to get so many pages out was because I’d started this comic during my senior year of high school. Often I spent my lunch hour drawing and inking pages, then I’d have so much time to get them scanned and CG’d after school. In college, I had arguably even more time since classes didn’t take up the entire day.

But the story just wasn’t mapped out well enough and it crawled to the point that I just became impatient and frustrated. But it was still fun, and one fellow webcomic artist who also posted to the same site I did (DrunkDuck.com) had mentioned that a webcomic was like “artist steroids,” in that you end up drawing so much that your style improves much more quickly, and I do believe webcomicing did that for me.

Who knows, tho, maybe some time later I’ll do a post that’s all the horrific panels as a contrast because oh my lord are there some fugly ones that I could riff on after all these years. Anyhoo, this was a nice stroll down memory lane for me! Now to guzzle down some coffee and get back to some dang writing.

[early20sfailingplenty]

I want some good days // Bo x Lily // PERSONALISED fic ~ 💖

For @imbleedin-out​ (lots of these forehead kisses for you because Bo loves you lots and that’s that!!!!🥺🥺🥺💞💞💞)

Summary: Nick shoots Bo, and you run to your Sinclair like your life depends on it. Bo’s most certainly does. You fought like hell to be with him, to stay with him, and you’d be damned in more than one way if someone dared to take your Bo away from you. You do everything you can to help him, to be there for him, and in this way do you only strengthen the life bond between you. Bo was shot, like a wounded animal was he, but you were there to ground him, to keep him safe, to love him. You wouldn’t stand for anything else, and Bo wouldn’t expect anything less.

TW; Lily is morally grey as FUCK in this (sorry honey, you gotta be to survive in Ambrose!), Bo is injured (CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE WITH A CROSSBOW, BLOOD, DEPICTIONS OF SEVERE PAIN), swearing, graphic descriptions of the aforementioned triggers, LOTS of swearing (Lily, Bo). If you couldn’t stomach that scene then I’d skip this entire piece, really. THERE IS FLUFF I 100% PROMISE!!! THIS IS A FIX IT FIC!!!💞💞💞💞💞

PLEASE NOTE: Vincent doesn’t verbally communicate, so his dialogue is ASL, indicated with italics to distinguish it from others’ speech.

Word count: 3, 966.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This entire night had gone so wrong in so many ways that even thinking about where it had all started was making you dizzy. Was it when Lester had set his sights on a larger group of people than normal? Was it when he had only sabotaged one fan-belt so there was a higher chance of the tourists being able to get out of the situation they had found themselves in? Was it when Bo had antagonised the group so that they were already on edge and wary of strangers even before they had arrived in Ambrose? Was it when Bo and Vincent’s communication wasn’t as clear cut as it usually was, so they were split up and apart from one another without realising the danger they were placing themselves in? Was it when Bo had underestimated the tourists and vice versa? Maybe the twins had had an off day and it had impacted their entire performance? Maybe you were the one at fault...? 

You never stayed around when the twins were killing people. You loved them, you did, and you had found your forever home with the Sinclairs, but that didn’t mean that you weren’t going to hide away when their fun and games began. You didn’t fear them, the very idea was ridiculous to you; so deeply did you love them. Especially Bo. But even so, you didn’t like being on the hunting grounds. You knew what happened. You knew. You were no stranger to Vincent’s tracking, to his cruelty or to Bo’s brutality. Having seen them up close and personal when they worked, you much preferred to wait in the house, keeping yourself busy with the general upkeep of the house and performing your various other responsibilities and duties. You made things easier on the brothers by keeping yourself safe and out of the way, which gave them less to worry about. Especially Bo; protective almost to the point of possessiveness was he. It was a trait he shared with Vincent, among many others.

They were more alike than they liked to admit to, most especially in the ways which defined who they were as people. They were wild, untamed, as enigmatic as the ocean and just as deep in their complexity. When one thought they knew a Sinclair, something was said or done to completely flip that idea on its head; impossible was it to fully know someone. Most humans barely knew their own selves and spent their lives filling up quiet moments with distractions so that they didn’t have to face their own realities, but the Sinclairs reveled in who they were. They knew who they were, they knew what they were about, and they dedicated their lives to their mother’s vision. It was more than simply paying respect; it was finishing what she started, continuing her legacy in the only way they knew how. And, oh, what fun they had while they did it.

It was already getting dark, the streets quickly becoming more ominous and foreboding. The neon lights which kept the streets alive in the twins’ illusion of a quaint but welcoming town made you wince, so bright were they and so sensitive were your eyes. It seemed as though those wide lanes were closing in on you. You began to feel constricted, anxiety and panic building within you rapidly as your steady paces began to speed up until you were running, your feet pounding the pavement. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was really, really wrong.

This wasn’t your usual level of anxiety and worry. This was bone deep chills, a sense that you had to get to the cinema now because something awful was happening. In one hand was held your phone, Bo’s mobile number already dialled. If this feeling persisted, you would phone him. You had to know that he was all right, that he was safe... that he was alive. Oh, but that was it, wasn’t it? Bo was your everything. He had, in the time you had known him, become your ultimate comfort. He was your safe space, your home, the love of your life. He was so much more than even you knew how to articulate, especially to yourself,  and you didn’t know what you would do if you lost him. If something or someone took him away from you, there wouldn’t be anything left to hold you here. You needed him, you wanted him... you loved him.

The urge to cry out for Bo was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to make any more sound than you already were. It would advertise your whereabouts even more than your footsteps did, and it wasn’t something you could risk doing. You knew not where Bo was, but something in you, something truly primal, was telling you to go to the cinema and you willed your legs to get you there faster. Your lungs and legs burned alike, oxygen deprivation making your body burn, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The burn in your body right now was nothing compared to the physical and emotional agony you would feel later on if something terrible happened to Bo.

Your Bo.

Yeah... he was your Bo. The grip you had on your phone tightened as you tried to clench your fists, and the sudden mental grounding which came from realising that you were holding onto something helped you to somehow push your legs faster, further. You rounded the corner and sped towards the cinema, getting there just as a sickening thwack followed by a pained noise and the sound of a body hitting the carpeted floor greeted your ears. Your every nerve was on fire, your senses overwhelmed and your emotions in overdrive. You were overstimulated and you needed a minute to breathe, a moment to gather your senses, but reality would grant you no such favour.

You knew before you were fully inside the cinema that Bo was the one who was injured, and you wasted no time in running to his side. You whimpered as if his injuries were your own to see that he had one arrow digging into his arm and one in his chest. His injuries were severe, the pain beyond measure, the need for you stronger than it had been in all the time the two of you had known each other, loved each other. A sob ripped from your throat to see him like this, and you dropped to your knees beside him. Tears poured hot and fast down your face and ran down your chin, falling onto his prone form like rain. Oh, but it hurt to see him as he was. Groans and grunts of pain were all that you could get from him, until his head suddenly lolled to the side and Bo moved no more. 

Your heart was in your throat obstructing your every breath as you dialled Vincent’s number with hands that trembled so badly it took you five attempts to get his number right. He picked up on the second ring, a question, no, a demand in his silence. “V-Vincent. B-bo’s... hurt and I don’t know if he’s alive and I - “  A pained whimper came from the other side of the phone and you heard everything that the younger twin was saying. He didn’t interrupt you again, so you just said, “Cinema. Please, Vincent, I - I don’t - Bo!” You broke down into full bodied sobs, almost screaming into the phone. It was too much. It was all too much. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty, the love... Over the roaring of blood in your head could you hear Vincent’s rough rumbling voice; it sounded like he was trying to shush you, mimicking the ‘tch-tch-tch’ noise which Bo always made whenever he was comforting you. How Vincent knew that sound and what it meant to you, you had little idea, but in the grand scheme of things did it work as you then heard the roaring of an engine. 

Vincent was on his way.

Things would be okay.

Right.

Right?

It was fifty-fifty, stood were you three at a crossroads. 

There were no second chances this night. There was only the here and the now, the do or the die. 

You felt sick to your stomach, but you and Vincent stayed on the line with one another; giving and receiving comfort in the other’s presence in equal measures, until a yellow pickup truck came screaming around the corner and screeched to a halt. Vincent was out of the truck in seconds, running over to you and to Bo. You had the presence of mind to end the call while Vincent’s hands fluttered over his brother’s body, fingers wiggling as he tried to determine the extent of his twin’s injuries.

You both knew this was bad.

Your body dropped, slumping forward and down until your forehead was resting against Bo’s stomach. You inhaled deeply, one of your hands coming to squeeze Bo’s own. A hand landed gently on the back of your head as Vincent stroked along your hair in solid, slow movements. He was comforting himself and you at the same time, showing you as best as he could that he was there with you while his critical eye examined his brother. No touching until he had made a diagnosis; he couldn’t - wouldn’t - risk further injuring his brother. You weren’t alone. None of you were. You all had each other. Of the three of you, Vincent was the one with the medical knowledge. He was the one who had always patched Bo up in the past, and this situation would be no different. Between Vincent’s clinical approach to injuries and your own quick thinking, Bo would pull through.

He had to.

You and Vincent wouldn’t allow anything else.

The fingers in your dark hair tapped against your scalp, and you shifted your head just enough to be able to look at Vincent. Once he saw that he had your full attention, he raised his hands and began to sign slowly and clearly. There could be no room for mistakes or miscommunications; not when Bo was so badly injured and the stakes were so damn high.

He’s not dead, Lily. Unconscious. Pain too much.

As if to contradict his brother, such was his character, Bo moved his head and groaned lowly. You and Vincent froze and then sprung into action. You stood up, moving away from Bo so that Vincent could wrap his arms around his brother and bring him home, holding Bo tightly to his chest. Bo moaned at being jolted despite how slow and tenderly Vincent was touching him, and Vincent let out a pained noise of his own.

“It’s gonna be all right, Vincent,” 

One blue eye looked at you with intent, Vincent’s every nerve fixed on you. Were you anyone else, he would have immediately dismissed your words. But you were Lily. You were Bo’s Lily, and as such, Vincent gave you the honour of being listened to. He needed you just as much as you needed him, just as much as Bo needed the both of you. Who would he be to ignore you in a time of great need and impending doom?

He’d be no one, just as he would be without his twin.

“We’ve got him now. He’s safe with us.” Your eyes were rimmed red, the surrounding flesh puffy. You looked so pretty in your pain, matched ounce for ounce was it by Vincent. He wore it better than you did, if only because he internalised everything and did very little to give his distress away. It was only the slight tremor in his hands, the speed of his movements and the reverence with which he touched Bo that told of his true feelings. Vincent was as torn up as you were; the both of you felt Bo’s injuries like they were your own. It was just how you three worked; you shared so much of yourselves, and what happened to one was felt by all. 

No Sinclair was ever left behind or alone.

Not anymore.

A decisive nod by way of thanks (for what? You were unsure, but the time for thinking was over. There was only actions. Everything else could wait when the situation was time critical) and then Vincent was gone, rushing towards the truck. He laid Bo across the backseat just as soon as you joined him to wrench the door open, throwing yourself gracelessly over the back of the passenger seat so that you could get there quicker. Vincent was moving just as quickly as you, and he took the roads he knew to be the smoothest until the three of you arrived back at the house. The journey was silent, your nerves alight just as Vincent’s were. The only sounds you could hear were Bo’s strained whimpers and quiet groans, which only made Vincent white-knuckle the steering wheel and caused tears to continually fall down your face. You didn’t think you had cried this much in a long time, and, oh, how a conscious Bo would have hated to be the one to make you cry when the meaning behind it was a negative one.

In what seemed like forever and yet simultaneously was it no time at all did you and Vincent have Bo laid out on the pool table in the living room, the balls thrown carelessly onto the sofa. It was the nearest surface and it would have to do. Bo was time critical and you were both painfully aware of that.

Vincent gestured for your attention and then signed, bathroom, cupboard next to toilet. First aid kit. Hurry. 

You were gone, rushing to get the necessary supplies; you moved quicker than you thought possible and you were back beside Vincent so fast with the first aid kit in hand that you felt physically dizzy as your mind struggled to keep up with your feet. You swiped a hand impatiently over your face and held the same hand which you had clutched on the dirty cinema floor while Vincent injected Bo with a local anaesthesia before pushing the arrow in Bo’s arm all the way through, the feathers sticking to the wood as Vincent made a clean hole. Arrows tore more flesh and caused more damage if they were pulled out the way they entered the body, this Vincent knew, so to push it through to make a clean hole was more pain, yes, but it was less damage and easier healing. He had to be brutal, quick and sure in his movements. He had to be strong for his twin and stronger still for you, who was doing everything she could.

Vincent took strength from you as much as he gave it, and when it came time to surgically remove the arrow in Bo’s chest did the injured man begin to scream. You choked on a sob, panic rising in your chest, your hands shaking and your body aching. Vincent, too, was struggling, but you could see even with the mask on his face that his jaw set, his shoulders straightened and he looked like the last thing most tourists to the town saw as he made his incision and dug the arrowhead out of Bo’s flesh. Bo was screaming, even with the anaesthetic (which hadn’t been given enough time to settle into his bloodstream), and begging. He spoke your name over and over like a prayer, your name Bo’s only grip on reality as Vincent was brutal, clinical. Finally, when the three of you couldn’t take it anymore and desperation, panic and fear was becoming a deadly concoction capable of causing fatal mistakes to one already so severely injured, it was done, and Vincent slammed the knife down and threw his hands up, as if to say, done, it’s done.

Bo was sobbing and you matched him in every aspect of it as you cupped his face in your shaking, trembling hands. Your thumbs dashed away the tears on his cheeks and you bent down to press a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - “ Who was Bo apologising to? For what? Neither you nor Vincent knew (though there were suspicions, even he couldn’t say for sure), but you assumed your places at either side of Bo’s head. You pressed kisses all over his forehead and cheek, one hand tightly gripping one of Bo’s and the other one in his hair, sticky and matted with sweat and other oils, and Vincent had a hand on his brother’s lower arm, stroking up and down in smoothing motions and making quiet noises to placate the older twin. He still had to bandage the chest wound, but Bo’s comfort and safety was slightly more important to your thinking, and indeed Vincent’s, too.

Vincent got your attention again with a hand gesture and thrust the bandages at you before he signed, take care of Bo. Got some work to do. There won’t be anything left of them. His hands shook with barely suppressed rage and bloodthirstiness and you shuddered to think of what the bodies would look like. Vincent would catch up to them, and the teenagers would rue the moment they stepped into Lester’s pickup truck. Before Vincent left, he signed once more, please take care of Bo. Very special to us. Trust you.

You smiled, the gesture watery and shaky at every possible stage. “I trust you too, Vincent. Please be careful! I’m scared for you - for all of us.” Tears dripped from your beautiful eyes and your voice trembled just like your body as you admitted to arguably the scariest Sinclair just how affected you were. Any of you could still die tonight and you were feeling more fear than you had ever felt in your two decades of life.

We’ll keep you safe. Please keep Bo safe, too.

“What about you, Vin?” You were almost pleading with him to stay, but Vincent’s mind was made up. His blue eye, soft when he looked at you, hardened into ice, and he signed, 

I can take care of me. They won’t see me coming. Won’t be anything left for the animals when I’m done with them.

A cold shiver ran up your back and you nodded at Vincent, accepting him at his word. He was so much like Bo, especially when he was pissed off or insulted somehow. This was the worst slight for the man; he feared nothing more than having Bo taken away from him and he would not say such things unless he meant them. “Give ‘em hell for us, Vin!” The nod Vincent gave you before he turned and left made you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. You knew that the tourists would get what was coming to them. You felt a bit sad that you wouldn’t get to see it, but that was okay; you could just ask Vincent later, or even get Lester to show you the bodies if you really wanted to see what the younger twin had done.

You were ripped out of your silent reverie as you worked on bandaging up his chest by Bo coughing and then groaning low in his throat, his hand weakly patting at your hip. You turned and gave him the full extent of your attention, and Bo smiled. “Ya’ look like an angel w’the light behind ya’ like that.”

Confusion met his words until you realised that the harsh white light overhead made it look like you had a halo. With a shaky smile did you say, “The halo is held up by my invisible horns.”

“Invisible? Don’t’cha mean - “ Bo chuckled but then winced and your hands fluttered over his body much like Vincent’s had earlier that night as you sought to comfort him. Bo’s hands came up and caught your own and he interlaced his fingers with yours, holding them as tight as he could. His grip was strong despite the overwhelming amount of pain he was in, and you took that as a good sign that he was going to be fine. It would be a rocky road to a full recovery, though. “Where’s Vincent?”

“Gone on a well deserved murder spree.”

Bo whistled as best as he could, “That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hard, your jaw aching, your body trembling, your eyes sore, your heart pained, and Bo’s gaze sharpened. His eyes were hazy with pain and with the anaesthetic that was now beginning to absorb into his bloodstream, but he still had it in him to squeeze your hands, tugging you closer to him, and closer still until you felt compelled to climb up on the pool table with him. You were physically uncomfortable but you dared not move around too much, not wanting to jostle Bo even though you were on his uninjured side. You cuddled into him lightly and Bo made a noise of discontent. You heard him, so attuned to him were you, and you allowed your head to rest fully on his broad shoulder, your hair spilling over him like a dark halo. 

You melted into Bo and he allowed it to happen without making any sarcastic comment. He needed the comfort, the touch, the reassurance just as much as you did, and you peppered his face with kisses, leaning over slightly so that you could better reach all of Bo’s face. There was no side of him you didn’t love, no part of him you didn’t know intimately literally and metaphorically, and there was nothing he could say or do which would ever change the way you felt about him. Bo welcomed every touch, every kiss, every sigh of relief, everything you offered him. His good arm wrapped around you and he pulled you down, down, so that you could nuzzle your face in his neck, where again did you bestow hungry kisses to every inch you could find. You wished you could climb atop him, your thighs straddling his hips and your upper body looming over him so that you were all he could see, feel, touch, taste, but with his injuries as they were, you could only do half of what you wanted to. It was better than nothing, for this night could have taken a much worse turn, but it was enough.

It had to be.

Alive, alive, alive, my Bo’s alive. A mantra did you repeat in your mind, trying to come to terms with the night’s trauma, and Bo soaked up your affections, needing them just as much as you did. Every time you pulled away, he would only pull you back, wanting you there with him. He matched you grip for grip, kiss for kiss, as best as he could. The adrenaline crash soon got the better of the both of you, though, and you together drifted into uneasy naps right there on the pool table in each other’s arms, where a blood-soaked Vincent would discover you hours after he had left the house, trusting you to look after his brother. Though he knew his trust in you was never misplaced, he couldn’t help the overwhelming relief to know that you had done as you had promised, Bo’s face creased in pain but very much alive. He would leave you both there, only throwing a blanket over your bodies. It was just too risky to move Bo, and you were exhausted. Vincent crashed on the couch, staying with his family, with Jonesy atop Vincent so that she could get her cuddles. She had missed her human.

Come hell or high water, the Sinclairs stuck together so fiercely that even Death bowed out of the way.

[mst3kproject]

Beast from Haunted Cave

I’ve actually received a couple of requests for movies to review, and I am looking into them.  I just have a few others I want to get through first… like this one.

Beast from Haunted Cave begins with a familiar tune – over the credits we hear the same jumpy ‘suspense’ music that opened both Night of the Blood Beast and Attack of the Giant Leeches.  It seems to have been a favourite of Gene Corman (Roger’s brother), who produced all three movies.  The writer, furthermore, was Charles B. Griffith, who did the same job for half a dozen MST3K movies, including It Conquered the World, Gunslinger, and Wizards of the Lost Kingdom II.  Finally, Beast from Haunted Cave has the strange distinction of being the only movie I’ve ever seen that thanks ‘the people of South Dakota’.

A master criminal and his drunk, stupid henchmen (one of whom is a drunk, stupid henchwoman) have decided to rob a mining operation.  In the process they annoy some kind of giant bug monster that was living in the mine, and it stalks them and their guide through the wintery mountains until they reach a cabin where they hole up to wait out a blizzard. Between the monster lurking outside and the fact that the gang are all getting fed up being stuck indoors and starting to hate each other (a familiar scenario in 2020), it’s a good bet that no more than two of them are getting out alive.  Probably the henchwoman and the guide, since they were kissing earlier.

Beast from Haunted Cave is a typically cheap Corman production.  The familiar music persists through the entire film, and gives the same impression it did in Blood Beast – the soundtrack people were given a set of pre-existing pieces and did what they could with them.  A terrible winter storm is represented by howling wind noises, but it never actually snows.  The monster is dreadful.  The webs draped over everything demonstrate that it’s a spider, but all we actually see is a featureless head and a couple of flailing arms that resemble nothing so much as one of those inflatable tube men at a used car lot.  When all we’re seeing is one leg reaching out to grab people it’s not awful, but as soon as we get a good look at the whole creature it’s clear that this is some kind of repurposed Hallowe’en decoration.  The gold bricks the thieves came to steal are just… well, bricks painted gold.  The paint isn’t even shiny.

Outside of that, however, the movie isn’t really that bad.  Everybody on the crew seems to have known what they were doing, and did their best to work within their meagre budget.  The photography is surprisingly competent.  The lighting rarely qualifies as atmospheric but there’s always enough of it – even in scenes set at night or in a dark cave, I never found myself squinting and wondering what’s going on.  The snowy landscapes are shot on location and look suitably hostile (although they could often only do one take, since after that the snow wouldn’t look pristine anymore).  You can see the actors’ breath, which gives a visceral sense of the cold.  The writing is mostly just serviceable but every so often there’s a little gem tucked within it.

The two places where this shows best are in the character of Marty and in the relationship between the mastermind, Alex, and the henchwoman, Gypsy.  Marty is a drunken buffoon but there’s more to him than that.  Early in the film he invites a cocktail waitress from the ski lodge, Natalie, to make out in a cave with him.  They disturb the monster, and Marty escapes but leaves Natalie behind.  For the rest of the film, even as he continues to be a drunken buffoon, it’s clearly eating him up that he abandoned this woman.  There’s an ambiguous moment when he finds Natalie’s still-living body webbed to a tree in the middle of the woods – perhaps it really happened, or maybe he’s having a nightmare.

Gypsy has clearly been working for Alex for some time, as secretary, girlfriend, and as a way of distracting the targets of his robberies. She’s an alcoholic sad sack who looks ten years older than her stated age of twenty-six, and clearly regrets her self-destructive life.  She cannot leave, however, because Alex is controlling and violent, and because she wouldn’t know what she wants or who she is without him.  When he beats her up for kissing Gil the guide, she later says Alex had a perfect right to slap me.  At the same time, the film hints of happier times between the two in a running gag, never explained, where Alex and Gypsy call each other ‘Charles’.  This seems to have once been an endearment, but is now a passive-aggressive insult.

One character whom I wish had done more is Gil’s housekeeper, Small Dove.  She rarely speaks, but she carries an axe and spends a lot of time judgmentally watching the stupid white people.  She could have been this movie’s Eulabelle, but she ends up getting eaten by the monster without ever doing anything badass.  Shame.

Let us now return to a familiar question: who is the main character in this movie?

I guess Gil is the ‘hero’.  He’s the hunky male lead, who gets the girl at the end. He never does much to further the plot, though, except for urging Gypsy to leave Alex and figure out how to lead her own life. Although she seems romantically interested in him, Gil may not return the sentiment – it’s hard to say.  He doesn’t kill the monster, Marty actually does that by setting it on fire with a flare gun.  Gil is just sort of there, a cardboard cut-out in the ‘handsome guy’ box all movies must have.

Gypsy has a much better claim on the protagonist role.  The script takes much more interest in her situation than in anybody else’s, and we are encouraged to sympathize with her feeling lost and trapped.  She survives at the end to run off with Gil, though we’re not given any indication of what they’ll do now or whether the budding relationship between them will last.  Like so many other movies of its era, Beast from Haunted Cave has no denouement.  We simply fade to black from the monster on fire (another thing they could only do once, since they actually burned the prop).

Gil is the one who describes the cave as ‘haunted’, but this never has anything to do with the story.  There is not even a hint of a ghost or even a ghost story connected with the cave.  I assume the word is in the title mostly because Beast from Cave sounds like a dinosaurs-and-cavemen movie made by the cavemen, and having put it there, Griffith felt he had to justify it with a line of dialogue.

The character who had the most potential to go through an arc is actually the antagonist, Alex.  He’s been pulling heists like this for years, and is proud of his success.  He has no reason to think this job will be any different, and yet as the movie progresses, Alex has to watch his plans fall apart all around him.  One of his henchmen is going mad from terror and guilt.  The other, Byron (who you can tell apart from Marty because Byron is The One In The Stupid Hat), is developing a crush on Small Dove and thinking about getting out of crime and settling down.  Gypsy is kissing Gil right in front of him, and Alex worries what she might have told him about the real purpose of the ski trip.  Then there’s the storm, which means the plane that was supposed to take them to Canada can’t get to them, and the lurking monster.  At the end of the film, Alex is still trying to regain control of the situation, even as the monster closes in on him.

Criminals on the run getting menaced by a monster seems to be a surprisingly common plot for a movie.  Voodoo Woman and Killer Fish were both variants on the theme.  I’m guessing this serves two purposes within the plot: the first is that it means we’re not too sad when the main characters die, since they were already bad people.  The second is what I think Beast from Haunted Cave was going for – it means that the characters cannot ask for help with their situation.  The group know, from hearing it on the radio, that they’re being hunted by the authorities.  If they were to call for help, whoever came to the rescue would find the gold bars in their bags, and they’d go straight to prison.

This idea is mostly implied.  Nobody ever actually suggests calling for help, or even trying to contact the people who were gonna be flying their getaway plane.  It also seems that they had no contingency plan for bad weather, which makes the whole operation look very poorly-planned.

One thing I did find myself thinking about is that the radio news mentions the police looking into the theft, but we never actually see the cops investigating.  This applies to the other movies I mentioned above, as well… in Voodoo Woman we’re in an area that doesn’t seem to have much by way of police, but in Killer Fish, too, law enforcement is entirely absent. This is a good choice on the part of the writers and directors, because it allows us to focus on the monster plot. If they were to include detectives, that would unnecessarily complicate things and require a resolution of its own.

Then again, if they had two resolutions, they might have had to include some ‘wind-down’ time.  I don’t like it when movies end abruptly after the monster dies, because it tends to leave dangling subplots.  Gil and Gypsy are still in the middle of nowhere, and must now shelter in the cave until the storm ends.  Are they going to be okay?  Last time we saw Small Dove she was weakened from blood loss but not yet quite dead.  Can they save her?  Will Gil and Gypsy stay together, or will he encourage her to go find herself? So there’s another lesson for aspiring film-makers: don’t end your movie until the story’s actually over.

[ambidextrousarcher]

Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews-Episode 22: In which horny deer rishis set off a chain of events.

Hello everyone! I’m back after a VERY long hiatus, had some real life issues to deal with, along with the aggravation of changing an url and some online drama too. And I’m right in time for Diwali, too, yay! Happy Diwali, people! Also Happy Children’s day!

Tagging my usual taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @hermioneaubreymiachase @hindumyththoughts @chaanv @ratnas-musings @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @justahappyreindeer @milesbianmorales @allegoriesinmediasres @pratigyakrishnaki @iamnotthat @adishaktis @ratnas-musings. Enjoy your day, everyone!

Review is under the cut.

PS: Nila updates- The Sarcastic StarBharat review of episode 18 is missing from my blog for some reason, I’ll reupload it. Also, for anyone who’s listening to my song covers, the next items are Karam Ki Talwar from Arjun the Warrior Prince, Moh Moh Ke Dhage from Dum Laga Ke Haisha and Jo Beji Thi Dua, from Shangai.

 Okay. Rehash is in order, along with some new nicknames. Till the last episode, Madri has reached Hastinapur, the precap of the last episode makes it clear that this is the episode with horny deer rishis.

I had made a numbering mistake in counting the number of canon fails, my bad, so, as of now, we’re at canon fail #49.

Here’s the nickname rehash and additions to be made-

1. Bhishm-Mr. Paragon of Perfection

2. Dhritrashtra- Mr. Drama Queen (Honorary mention-DisasterRashtra, courtesy of @iamnotthat)

3. Pandu-Honey Boy/Lord of Cheesy Lines

4. Gandhari-Ms. Always Patnidharma

5. Shakuni-Mr. Ominous Music/Mr. Annoying Poseur

6. Karn-Mr. Glitterwash

7. Kunti-Ms. Melodrama/Lady of Cheesy Lines

8. Amba (deceased)-Psycho Princess

9. Satyavati-Psycho Mum

10. Vichitraveerya (deceased)-Drunk Kid

Here are the new additions:

11. Vidur (finally)- Picking the line where he likens himself to a thorn during Pandu’s coronation, he’s Mr. Weepy Thorn.

12. Madri-Ms. Smarmy Tears

13. Krishn-(Parody version, anyway, also, FINALLY) Mr. Excess Gyaandaan.

Now, let’s get to business.

Alright, so, last episode, Gandhari was told that Drama Queen wants her in his chambers. Being the aadarsh, Ms. Always Patnidharma that she is, she goes immediately, and that’s where today’s episode of choice begins.

She stumbles in and stutters out her usual ‘Husband?’ (International viewers, please note, Hotstar has rolled out the English subtitles for your most unfavorite show. It translates ‘Arya’ as Lord, but I’m keeping the ‘husband’ variation, because no.)

Anyway. He shushes her. ‘Don’t say anything, Gandhari, just listen. The mind is so weird, isn’t it?’ Okay…why this sudden volte face? Ah, he’s trying to apologise, I guess? He says that he was absorbed in his negative emotions of hurt, grief and jealousy, but when no news of Honey Boy came from the battlefield, he realized that he still worries and cares for his little brother, and that he was merely unfortunate, not conspired against, concluding that he was unjust to Honey Boy. O…kay? Should I count this as a canon fail? Canon Dhritrashtra can be two-faced, so eh, leave it.

Ms. Patnidharma is shaking her head next to him, because of course, she’s that much of a doormat. ‘I was unfair to you too. I had rejected you, Gandhari, but if I realise my mistake, will you accept me?’ Ah. I see what this is. Anvil-shadowing. Just before Pandu ‘loses’ his ability to ‘be a husband’ Drama Queen and Patnidharma make up with each other. Newsflash, writers: Nothing is this clean cut.

Of course, that was precisely the opening Ms. Patnidharma was waiting for, so she feels her husband up as they hug. Drama Queen’s heart, apparently, very anomalously, is overflowing with happiness, now that he has unloaded his weakness onto Patnidharma, or so he says. Don’t believe him, though, don’t be the naïve idiot Patnidharma is, because that weakness of his wreaks bloody wrecking ball havoc in the future.  

‘So what if I don’t become the King?’ Excuse me. I just choked on my water. What’s up with this volte-face? Just what? ‘I have more respect here than the King himself!’ I think I’m gonna count this as canon fail #50 because nah, he ain’t gonna say this in any adaptation that’s sane. And of course, since he’s randy too, it seems, he goes ‘When you give me a son, he’ll be the eldest son and King after Pandu. I’ll also get the pleasure of being a King. Will you give me the gift of such a talented son?’ Ah. So that’s what the volte-face is for. Canon fail #50 cancelled. Drama Queen would say anything at all to get his way, that’s right. Patnidharma, predictably, goes all gushy. ‘Yes, husband, for your sake, I’ll go to the portals of Yamlok themselves!’ Ah, sheesh, sometimes, watching this show makes me think that I should projectile-yeet myself to Yamlok.

He laughs. ‘When the time comes,’ he says, ‘we’ll go to the portals of death together, Gandhari.’ Well, that, at least, is true. He continues that they still have many happy moments to experience. She nods, melting into his embrace.

Scene changes to a green vista, the whickering of horses heard. Madri, henceforth known as Ms. Smarmy Tears, is laughing, Ms. Melodrama being stony faced and stoic. (That’s a change, though the music manages to make even THAT dramatic) The camera focuses on a deer, and Smarmy asks Honey Boy to stop, because it’s a beautiful deer. Okay…I know what’s coming up next. Anvil-shadowing, anyone? I realise it was very long ago when we were introduced to Ms. Melodrama, but I’ll give you a short rehash. She was introduced saving a deer from hunters. Anyone got the hint? It’s an obvious ‘Madri is an evil witch!’ gambit. Please do not take it. I know that in canon, Kunti and Madri probably had a fractious relationship given the whole fracas over the boon, but I refuse to believe Madri would be this transparently biatch-y.

And…bingo! Smarmy says that the deer is absolutely unique, and follows it up with a request for its skin. Melodrama, of course, is having none of it. She passionately launches into defence of the deer’s children who’d be orphaned, basically echoing her very first piece of dialogue on this show. Do you think there’s a chance that they dubbed it in? I mean…I wouldn’t be able to say that twice with a straight face. But, whatever gives, I guess. Fawn get orphaned often, goes Smarmy. It’s not like I’m asking you for the position of the Queen, can’t you do this much for me? Since StarB has a thing of making women either bitches or doormat ditches, its Honey Boy who cuts in. ‘Speak of good things alone.’ Did this guy get a theology class between the ‘war’ and this moment? ‘I’ll get the deer for you, the rest of you please stay here.’ And then the show takes yet another opportunity to set Melodrama as good and Smarmy as bad, as Melodrama tries to give Smarmy a moral lesson about abstaining from killing for no reason, and Smarmy going all casteist (not sure if that’s the right word, since afaik Kunti’s maternal family are also Kshatriyas? Yadava is not one family. It’s an entire dynasty.) And here’s canon fail #50 and #51. #50 is the fact that Pandu, in canon, hunts the deer because he wants to. Madri has nothing to do with it in the text. #51 because the jibe about Yadavs being shepherds that Madri makes smacks of a misconception about politics in the MBH. The idea of ‘Yadavas’ being shepherds is present because of the lore of Krishn and Balaram in Gokul. While I’m sure there might be some branches of the family that may dabble in those pursuits, typically, considering the social structure of that time, Kunti’s family is of quite royal pedigree.

The scene switches to Honey Boy looking for deer, listening attentively to the rustling leaves. Really, this question goes for canon too, haven’t these guys learnt a thing at all from the whole Dashrath/Sravan Kumar fracas? That it is TOTALLY not a good idea to just randomly shoot in a random forest, anyone? At least sight the prey a little, no?

Regardless, he shoots an arrow, the tell-tale thunk is heard, followed by a human scream (the typically serial-ish ‘nahi, nahi!’ aka ‘no, no!’). Alarmed, he sets off in pursuit of the sound. The camera focuses on a bloody arrow then showing us a rishi and a rishin. ‘Maharishi Kidam?’ exclaims Pandu. ‘It was you?’ ‘What have you done? You shot an arrow without recognizing me! I was dallying (read: deer hanky-panky-ing) with my wife in the form of a deer, and you shot an arrow without considering that the grace and the form of the deer could only mean it is such?’ Okay, for all that I want to call this canon fail #52, I’ll be honest…because such a scene, at least one of Pandu killing Kidama when he’s in sexual congress with his wife in the form of a deer does happen. Sometimes, *sigh* canon itself is quite strange.

But…in the whole of this thing, I have an observation to make, a few questions to ask, in the context of this serial:

1. Madri saw only one deer? What was the deer rishi doing, a deer mating ritual of some sort? Where was the wife then?

2. Does what he said mean that there might be…other rishis doing deer hanky panky?

3. Kidama was a rishi, right? He’d have figured out Pandu wants the ‘deer’ when he saw them and vanished? He could have, IDK, sprinted off real quick, or turned back into human, or just vanished once more. Why escalate it this much?

Honey Boy is very contrite and begs for forgiveness. Canon fail #53. In canon, he basically goes, well, Kings hunt deer, why cry about it? (That is, the dialogue given to Madri to establish her as ‘bad’)  The deer rishi brings up the Dashrath point I gave above and says that Honey Boy’s crime can’t be pardoned, that he shouldn’t have killed a man in congress with his wife, so he curses him that he’ll die the moment he’ll have congress with any woman. Canon fail #54. The original curse specifies ‘his loved one’ not any random woman.

Cue dramatic panoramic shot and dramatic title bgm. Honey Boy is in tears. The rishi dies.

Scene changes and we’re back in Hastina, where the court fool is entering. He says he has a lot of questions. Mr. Weepy Thorn prompts him to ask his questions. So there’s this long drawn out riddle session that’s set up to predict that Gandhari is pregnant, and Drama Queen will be experiencing the love of a son soon. There’s happiness all round, lots of hugs too. Of course, this show takes no rest from anvil shadowing either, so exactly at this moment enters Honey Boy with his wives. Honey Boy is welcomed with joy and immediately apprised of the news. In his head, the dying deer rishi’s words echo, even as his wives smile by his side. (Ah, apparently, there’s anvil juxtaposition, too! Whee!)

Anyway. Satyavati notices he ain’t looking happy and she asks him if he got what she said. He manages to sponge her off, hug his brother and congratulate him. When he does that, Annoying Poseur closes his eye.

As he ascends the throne, deer rishi’s words come back to him, asking what kind of a King he is. Honey Boy refrains from climbing the final stair, turning. He says that he has something of great importance to announce, confessing that he has killed Kidama and is no longer worthy of being a King.

His announcement is met with shock all around, as he renounces the throne of Hastina. Cue dramatic title bgm again. Camera focuses on Satyavati (who’s quite less psycho nowadays), then panning one by one to Drama Queen, Paragon of Perfection, Smarmy, Melodrama, Patnidharma, Ambika, Ambalika, a grinning Poseur (both eyes open), back to Honey boy and Mr. Paragon as he drops his angvastr limply.

Scene changes as Mr. Perfection walks inside Honey Boy’s chambers and they have an argument about his responsibilities. Honey Boy puts forward that for all that Satyavati wants a worthy King, he is no longer worthy, that even Indra renounced heaven for the killing of a sage and meditated for eons, that mere charity and abstinence as suggested by Mr. Thorn and Kripacharya won’t be enough. He continues that the duty of a King, the man who holds the royal scepter is to dispense justice to his people. He asks who would mete justice out on a King? The camera pans out to Mr. Perfection, standing mute, ending the episode.

Alright, this whole thing is canon fail #55. Pandu does not go back to Hastina, he sets out immediately to atone. Also #56, his wives know everything as he does. He doesn’t keep it hidden from them.

Precap: ‘But the crime was ours’ says Smarmy. ‘the punishment, however, has to be borne by our yet unborn children!’ ‘You can’t ever have children.’ Announces Honey Boy, going on to inform them of the curse.

[katedrakeohd]

My Own Favorite Dialogue and Why

Drake and Liam may be best friends in TRR canon, but for me the dysfunctional bromance that I've created between Maxwell and Drake is my favorite friendship. For this one from The Lake I loved the angsty/comedy so much I couldn't just select a small part, so I had to post all of it.

From The Lake

Out in the middle of the lake the air is still, the water smooth like glass. It's been an hour since the men cast their fishing lines, and for Maxwell an uneasiness was setting in.

"Are you sure there are fish in this lake?"

Drake looks up from the magazine he's reading, his last bite of sandwich in his hand. "Of course I'm sure. I oversaw the stocking of trout myself."

Maxwell looks down at the half empty can of low alcohol beer in his hand, resenting the lack of buzz he was feeling because of it. "I thought we would have gotten a nibble by now."

Drake shrugs, popping the last piece of his bread crust into his mouth. "You just have to be patient, Max. Sometimes they bite, sometimes they don't."

Maxwell shades his eyes with his hand and gazes off toward the Manor in the distance, it was so tiny and the shoreline seemed so far away. He tried not to imagine how deep and cold the water was beneath them, but it still gnawed at him anyway. He squeezed the backpack between his feet, its contents giving him a slight sense of reassurance.

Drake glanced down at Maxwell's backpack sitting in the belly of the boat. Since leaving the shore he's seen him take out a tube of sunscreen, a granola bar, his mobile phone to take pictures, and repack his sweater when he got too warm. Each time he set it back down there was a strange heavy thump against the wood, and so far it didn't seem to belong to any of the things he'd seen.

Drake shifted his ass on the boat seat, trying to combat the numbness he was feeling. The boat rocked slightly, causing ripples in the water, and for Maxwell to snap at him.

"Hey, man. Don't rock the boat."

Drake rolls his eyes, "Jeez, Max. Paranoid much?"

Max rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen up but he can't, "Seriously, you don't find it creepy? The whole time we've been out on the lake I haven't heard or seen a bird, you'd think there would be some ducks or geese or something."

Drake takes a deep breath and looks around, squints up at the sky, and then looks over to the mountains and trees in the distance. He listens for anything other than the sound of the water lapping at the side of the boat.

 "I suppose it is a little odd. Just yesterday there were lots of geese and ducks paddling along or flying and honking over the lake."

Maxwell lifts and bobs his fishing rod and line in the water. Looking down into the depths he's struck by how it goes from clear to pitch black so quickly. He scoffs and makes a joke, feeling uneasy as the words leave his mouth, "Maybe Gaga ate all the fish, and scared the birds away."

Drake chuckles, "Say, what now? Who or what is Gaga?"

Maxwell's eyes go wide and he looks at Drake with disbelief, "You mean you haven't heard the legend of Gargantua? The monster of Lake Valtoria?"

Drake shakes his head and opens the cooler to get another beer, "You can't be serious, Max. Not every big lake has a monster living in it."

"Trust me, Drake. My house sigil is a giant squid remember? I know my monster legends. How many years have you been stocking the lake, and have you ever caught any of the fish afterwards?"

"As a matter of fact, I caught a fish standing on the dock yesterday. So I know there are fish in the lake." Drake insists as he opens his beer and takes a long swallow, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Ok, well what about the lack of birds?"

Drake sets his beer down with a sigh, scrubbing his forehead with his hands and then raking them back through his hair, "So, now you think some monster is yanking ducks down into the water from underneath?"

Maxwell shrugs, "You never know. Maybe Gaga has a taste for water fowl and fish?"

"Now you're just sounding crazy, Max."

Maxwell shifts forward in his seat, causing his pack to fall forward and make another thump, Drake looks at it again and frowns. Maxwell points an indignant, angry finger at Drake. "Don't you dare call me crazy!"

"You're the one talking about lake monsters, when there's probably some logical reason to explain everything." 

Maxwell picks up his backpack again and hugs it in his lap, his hand finds the weighty item from the outside and shifts it carefully. Drake looks at him suspiciously, "Max?"

"What?" he asks, nervously.

"What's in your backpack?"

Maxwell shrugs, "You know, just the usual 'day out on the lake' sorta stuff."

Drake's eyes narrow, "Why don't I believe you?"

Maxwell hugs the backpack a little tighter to himself, he tries to avoid looking at Drake. Off in the near distance, behind Drake, there's an odd rippling splash on the surface of the lake. Maxwell gasps, trying to swallow the sudden fear constricting his throat.

"Why won't you believe me when I say there's something creepy about this lake?" Maxwell croaks out, pointing over Drake's shoulder.

Drake sighs, turning in his seat to see what Maxwell's pointing at. "I don't see anything."

"There..there was a ripple and a splash on the water. Like..like something big moved it."

When Drake turns back around Maxwell has his hand buried in the backpack, fishing for something. "Max, what are you doing?"

Maxwell's eyes are wide and he's scanning the surface of the lake for more movement. "Ssshh, Gaga will hear you."

Drake frowns with concern and then sits up straighter in the boat to look around again.

"It was probably just a big fish, Max," he says quietly. "Maybe we're finally going to catch something."

A breeze ripples the surface of the lake, and the boat tugs at its anchor line. Maxwell jumps when their fishing rods shift as well. He jerks his hand out of his bag and pulls out an antique pistol.

Drake braces his foot against the end of his fishing rod and puts his hands up and waves them back and forth frantically. He looks at Maxwell and can't believe what he's seeing, "What the Fuck?! You brought a gun on a fishing trip?! Put..that...away."

Maxwell breathes rapidly as he searches the water, swinging the antique firearm from his home's armory back and forth. "It..it was Bertrand's idea. Remember his bachelor party all those years ago, when we met up with that bear, he insisted I take it with me." 

He imitates his brother's voice as he quotes him, "No Beaumont will ever go out adventuring in the wilderness again without protection."

Drake ducks as Maxwell swings the gun back in his direction, "Seriously, Max! You know how I feel about guns. I've already been shot twice, and I'll be damned if I'll let you shoot me by accident while we're fishing."

Maxwell's hand shakes as he continues to look around nervously. Drake reaches forward with fear grinding at his stomach, he pleads with him quietly.."Max....just hand over the gun, okay? We'll pull up the anchor and just go back to shore. We don't have to fish anymore."

Nodding, Maxwell loosens his grip on the weapon as Drake wraps his hand around the barrel. Something splashes the water nearby, making Maxwell jump, causing them both to let go and drop the gun. It hits the bottom of the boat and fires. Drake screams out in pain as the bullet tears through the side of his rubber boot and lodges in the wood of the boat beside him. Water starts to trickle in, and warm blood starts to run down into his boot.

Drake yanks his boot off and pulls his foot up onto the seat and clamps his hands around his bleeding calf. "What the fuck?!" he screams, glaring at Maxwell angrily. 

Maxwell picks up the gun from the bottom of the boat and throws it overboard. "I..I'm so sorry Drake!"

Drake leans to the side, his hand shaking as he gets his pocket knife out of his back pocket. Maxwell panics and chops at Drake's wrist with his hand, causing him to drop it when Drake pries the blade free. 

"What are you doing?!" Drake barks at him with surprise and reaches for his knife again, it's now wet from the lake water pooling in the bottom of the boat.

Maxwell folds his hands over his chest, feeling embarrassment flooding his face with heat, "Oh..oh my God, I thought you were going to stab me with it, or something."

Drake grumbles as he cuts open the bottom of his bloody pant leg below the knee with the blade, "There's still time. Now either get with hauling up that fucking anchor, or calling for help before we sink goddamnit!"

Maxwell trips over the drink cooler, and soggy picnic basket as he stands up, trying to pull the anchor rope up out of the water. It won't budge, and his efforts are now causing him to rock the boat side to side dangerously. 

Drake curses to himself as he cuts a strip of denim and wraps it around his bleeding leg tightly. "Careful now, Max."

Both fishing rods teeter into the water and disappear. Drake keeps a close eye on the oars, praying they don't go next. Maxwell tries again to pull the anchor up by the rope but the nylon burns at his hands and he hisses in pain and then lets go. He stumbles back to where he was sitting and flops down heavily, wiping his sore palms on his thighs.

"I...I ca..can't. What the ..heck..did you..anchor...us to?"

Drake rinses his bloody hands in the lake, and then dries them on the sleeves of his denim shirt. "Ok then, I'll try the anchor and you try calling or texting for help."

 He cuts strips from his denim sleeves and then wraps his hands for padding. Wincing in pain he swings his leg over to straddle his seat and then reaches for the anchor rope.

Maxwell holds up his phone trying to find bars of service, "You've gotta be kidding me! Oh, wait there's a blip. I'll try sending a text to see if I can get through. Who should I try?"

Drake grunts as the rope finally starts to come up out of the water, but it was a lot heavier than it should be. Sweat bloomed on his brow and stung at his eyes, he swiped his face against his shoulder, "Preston... is standing by..in case of emergencies."

"What's his number?"

Drake rhymes off his number and grits his teeth, pulling the wet rope inch by inch into the boat. The burn in his calf muscle is intense and he wonders what ancient dirty projectile that antique pistol was loaded with. He could see Maxwell frowning down at his phone. 

"Well, did you get through?"

He shrugs, "I sent it, but don't know if it went anywhere."

Drake looks down into the water, wondering what his anchor could be tangled around to make it so heavy. He pauses to catch his breath, and feels the rope vibrate in his hands and then go still. It's almost as if something rubbed up against it and then moved on. His heart starts hammering in his chest and cold fear creeps into his gut. His throat goes dry as he takes a deep breath and drops the rope back into the water. He didn't want to see what was down there anymore. Maxwell was still trying to send panicked texts to anyone who could receive them.

"Fuck it," Drake mutters and uses his knife to cut the anchor free. 

The nylon rope floats on the surface of the water for a few seconds and then disappears into the darkness as if it were yanked. Drake jumps back with surprise and then watches, holding his breath, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Several feet down at the deepest point that was reached by sunlight, where the clearest water went dark, an even darker shape slowly sank beneath the boat and then disappeared.

............

I've written many first time moments for Drake and (MC) Kate in various timelines and stories. But it wasn't until I started writing "What Happens in Paris.." from Kate's point of view that I found my favorite passionately charged moment between them. Feeding off the emotional evening with Drake that included Liam's second bachelor party and the never have I ever scenes, I found a way to push Drake over the edge and succumb to the mutual attraction between them.

From What Happens in Paris..

"Uh, Darling?  What do you think you're doing? You know we can't..." he says, although the look in his eyes betrays the way he really feels.

"We can't what, Drake?" I say, stepping away from the door and pressing my body up against his. He's still holding onto my hands, and now our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. 

"Darling…" he warns, as I flex my hands out of his grasp and undo the next button of his shirt. It's such a tease how he's already left the top button undone for me. My thumbs push the material aside and I slide my hands in. He takes a sharp breath in when I touch him, and I feel his chest rise and fall along with the rapid beating of his heart.

I pop another button out of its hole, and lean in to kiss his throat as my hands continue to explore his chest, tugging his shirt out of the waist of his pants. He hasn't stopped me yet, and I look up at the darkness in his eyes and the pained expression on his face. 

"Kiss me, Drake." I plead. "I know you want to."

Cupping my head in his hands, he tilts my chin up and leans in. I close my eyes. But instead of feeling his lips on mine he plants kisses along my jawline and I hear his voice rasp in my ear, hitching with desire, "And if I want to.. do more than kiss you?"

I gasp, bunching the fabric of his shirt in my fists as his nose traces the shell of my ear, and his stubble bristles against my cheek. "Ye -..."

But my reply is swallowed up by his mouth as it captures mine, and he presses me up against the door.

His kisses are hungry and I struggle for breath as he grabs my wrists again and pins them up above my head. His knee parts my thighs and I can feel how hard he is underneath his jeans.

When he finally releases my mouth, and presses his forehead against mine we're both panting. "Tell me.. to stop," he groans between breaths.

....

Drake is my favorite Choices character and thus he's the one I abuse and make suffer the most. 🤣 This next dialogue is from Cordonia 1885 between Drake and a hotel employee when they share a "holy/what the f*ck" moment that confounds them both.

Because of the grisly, graphic nature of this vampire fic I will just post a link and you can read it if you want. Cordonia 1885 - Chapter One

...

There are so many other favorite scenes/dialogue that this post could go on forever..LOL

Thanks @dcbbw for the tag, it's been so much fun to revisit some of my older stuff and experience it again. I look forward to next week's Monday Funday prompt.

[midnight-marimba]

Mar’s DQXI Fic OCs

It’s Dragon Quest OC And NPC Week, and I’m going to approach it from the other direction than what’s described in the event proposal, because I rarely end up inventing a detailed character without context, but I often find a specific need for a character in a piece of fanfiction and build them up out of that prompt into something better than a footnote. So I’m going to take the opportunity to talk about some of my fics and the original characters and NPCs who wandered into them and made themselves interesting enough that I’m eager to share a little extra detail or commentary about them.  (Under the cut)

Hair Tie That Binds

A comedic story about Hendrik recruiting Erik for a heist to help fix his own mistake. (9k words)

I needed a minor villain, so I invented Lady Druzy (named off of an obscure corner of a gem list, so as to suit a minor Heliodoran noble).  She is petty, spiteful, vengeful, and apparently my favorite archetype of OC to write.  She is awful and I loved writing her.

After Rain, The Sun Will Shine

A Sylv/Hendrik one-shot involving Hendrik’s memories of Sylv’s mother. (8k words)

When I wrote this, I had not yet heard the detail from the voice drama (please somebody translate the whole thing?? <3) that Sylv's mom's given name was Gerbera and her stage name was Sylvia (that is, exactly the same stage name Sylv took in the Japanese version of the game).  I had only heard a broader rumor about the drama and Sylv choosing a stage name in honor of their mother.

So when I went to write a story about her, I looked at a list of Dutch names (to match Arnout and Hendrik — Zwaardsrust is Dutch) and hunted for one a name with a "Syl" sound.  I landed on Silke, which is also satisfying from a word association perspective (since it looks like "silk" which sounds highly appropriate for a "famous Zwaardsrustian beauty" — one of the few canon details we get for her).

I tried to make her stubborn and determined, inspiring and willfully optimistic for the sake of the people she had under her leadership.  Sylv-like, but with a slightly more intense philosophical flavor than canon Sylv, as she’s walking out of an arguably even greater tragedy (or at least more personal at a larger scale?)

Silk and Swagger

Faris/Reader, from the point of view of a Heliodor guard. (1.7k words)

The guard is nameless and the fic is relatively short, but my goodness it was fun inventing someone who is instantly smitten with Faris and believes the best of him at all times.

When Home Isn't Marked on the Map

A Sylv/Erik longfic set a couple years after the end of the game, in which Erik is coming out of a period of self-imposed isolation after a disastrous attempt at confessing his one-sided romantic feelings for the Luminary, and he begins by going looking for Sylv, the one old companion he dares hope won’t yell at him for his absence.  (74k words)

Since the ultimate seed of the idea behind this fic was "Erik would be protective towards orphans and Sylv would like that about him" I needed some kids to put in the story.  There are two sets of four that I named and included. 

First is the group from the rural area near Puerto Valor, and thus they have Spanish names: Isabella, Serafito, Paz, Ana.  I'm pretty sure I named the younger ones with shorter names to help myself keep them straight.  In my head, they have a darker complexion than the rest of the kids in the story, since I always wish the DQ world was a little more diverse on that front, but I fear that I forgot to actually write that detail in.  (Room for improvement...)

The second group is an expansion of the four child NPCs you can find playing hide-and-seek in downtown Heliodor.  I could only find a canon name for Cammo (the King of Hide-and-Seek) so I gave the rest of them stone related names, figuring the pattern from Cobblestone might extend around Heliodor into the poorer and less formal areas of the kingdom (Ruby the innkeeper notwithstanding). So they are Flint, Crystal, and Mica.

There are so many of them that it was tough to give all of them a lot of characterization, but I tried to distinguish each of them at least a little.  Isabella, the leader of her group, blunt in a way that reminds Erik of Mia and Veronica.  Serafito, a little bit of a self-sacrificing caretaker. Paz, young but outgoing, and Ana, even younger and a little shy.  Flint, the canny, cautious, and slightly manipulative leader of the Heliodor gang.  Cammo, sneaky and adventurous and clever.  Crystal, strong and brave and protective.  Mica unfortunately ended up being most notable for the ordeals he goes through.

My favorite among them ended up being Crystal, from the instant she decided she was after Hendrik's job.

Diamond

A Sylv/Serena and Sylv/Dave fic, from Serena’s point of view.  Set after Act 3 as Serena chooses a mission to research and perform healing around the world, travels alongside Sylv’s new circus troupe, and they both get to pursue some missing character development.  (118k words, technically 1 chapter short of an intended ending but may not be continued.)

Mind the tags and content advisory if you go into the fic itself, because (1) for reasons of 2020, a story about a doctor-hero was simply not an ideal story to begin in the year 2019, and (2) it is NOT a utopian style world — many characters have prejudices, others are closeted in some major ways, and not all of that is gone by the end of the story.  I 100% understand many folks not wanting to go roll around in that kind of fiction, and while there’s a discussion about Representation I could shoehorn in here, I’m going to set it aside for the sake of on-topic rambling about fun OC development.

For this fic, I wanted Sylv and Serena to be traveling the world together.  Serena was to be motivated in part by the allure of getting to meet more new people, and also, I think it’s useful for her personal growth to spend a little time away from her blood family and most of the people from whom she would naturally take direction.  I also wanted to explore Sylv as a leader in a way that’s not so easy within the canon party, and in general, I imagine Sylv both being friendly to every stranger and also having old friends pop up everywhere he goes.

Between the two of them, I ended up needing to plop in OC's left and right, both for Sylv’s new Act 3 circus troupe, and in every town they visited.  Because I’m a nerd, I expanded lore for some of the regions too, and I will mention some of those details here with the characters.

Sylv’s troupe:

Chill, a contortionist from Sniflheim, where people get kind of uncomfy about magic, especially when it looks too close to evil witchery.  Like, say, Zing.

Samir, a short, round bard from Gallopolis who can do amazing things with a variety of instruments, and his partner Grey, once a guard from Heliodor until he decided that job was even more bland than his name, and he ran off to Gallopolis to join the circus.

Maria and Mateo, a couple of quiet, short and slender dancers from Puerto Valor (in my head, Mateo is about 5 feet and Maria’s a couple inches shorter, though I keep gravitating away from talking in Modern Earth units of measurement when writing for this fandom).  Their kids, teenaged Leo and toddler Lena, aren’t (yet) performers, but are present because I thought it was interesting to plug some kids into a story about a traveling circus troupe, and because I wanted to give Sylv an excuse to interact with kids.

Francine. A classically beautiful acrobat from Octagonia, where the only work she could find was being a bunny girl handing out flyers.  She’s had a crush on Sylv, which didn’t work out, and in the aftermath she’s a little bitter and is predisposed to dislike anyone else getting too close to Sylv.  She is rude and spiteful when she does not like someone (though she may do so in an overly-sweet tone), and she awkwardly overcompensates when she wants to prove she’s moved on from something, and she ended up being my favorite OC here.

Some other notable OCs in the world:

In Sniflheim: Healer Heather, the doctor who would really rather not have any magic in her house, so she doesn’t get a mob coming after her next time the tide of public opinion turns against witches.

In Lonalulu: Nohea, the charming and handsome hula dancer who isn’t quite as nice as he seems, and Pika, the shy, plain, and clumsy but kind-hearted net weaver.  Both are there as potential love interests for Serena (and for contrast against Sylv, of course).

In the Inner Sea: Coral the mermaid, a singer.  She's here for advancing Serena's character development, but it was fun to have other OCs react to a mermaid, and trying to write plot-advancing mermaid dialogue raised my respect for the localization team 1000%.

In Gallopolis: Doctor Zel, who is very scientific and good at her job, never makes eye contact, and lacks a comforting bedside presence.  (Happily they have Faris to help with public relations during a health crisis…?)

This is only about half of the OCs and NPCs named in the story, but they’re most of the ones with the most screen time, and most of the ones that stand out in my mind.  But the outgoing and friendly Sylv and Serena I was trying to write, both of whom wanted to engage with the people of the world at large, just spawned new characters around them as they went.  You know those stories about mythical people where flowers bloom after them everywhere they go?  This pair was like that, only with OC’s instead of flowers.

[hireath24]

Everything wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant Part Three

Disclaimer: This is part three and will continue from pages 97 to 150. Part one can be found here. Part Two can be found here. Part four can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 99: Saying ‘wine will make you feel better’ really gives off the wrong impression when this is a book targeted at young kids. I mean, it’s written for the YA genre which is typically categorized for ages 12 and up. 

Page 101: I’m so fed up of people talking badly about Nesta. Having Amren say ‘That’s if she shows up sober’ when she has walked in to see Feyre, Cassian and Azriel all drinking wine? Feyre and Cassian being ‘drunk’? Double standard! Unfair! 

Page 102: So Elain managed to become a seer with the cauldron, right? So… Are there other people - sorry, Fae - who are seers? Why does the cauldron affect people in different ways? 

Page 107: Amren was turned into a High Fae in the last book, which means that she no longer has to drink blood as food. But why did she ever have to drink blood? I don’t think it was ever explained. Why?

Page 108: Elain asks Amren if she could have taken on a male form and Amren replies with ‘Before, in my other form, I was neither. I simply was.’ Was that supposed to be SJM’s cheap shot at adding some gender diversity? Because I would have loved to see Amren be this non-binary power house asexual dragon but who has time for that but she uses she/her pronouns throughout the entire series and this is the only mention of her being able to switch between genders. 

Page 112: ‘…A few drunk revelers spotted us and fell silent. Felt Rhys’s power, perhaps my own as well, and found somewhere else to be for a while.’ Why would they want to find somewhere else to be as soon as their High Lord and High Lady show up? Why are they showing fear at the feeling of their power? Aren’t Feyre and Rhys supposed to be the good guys? This reads a lot like the people of Velaris are scared of them…

Page 115: ‘Gentlemales’ GENTLEMALES. GENTLEMALES. GENTLE FUCKING MALES?!?!?!?!

Page 116: ‘Indeed, some people were turning our way.’ This is just… This word is useless in general but in this book? I don’t think it was edited properly. 

Page 118: ‘A scene. This was about to become a scene in the worst way.’ SJM does this quite a lot in this book. These little two sentences where she says something and then expands on that something. It was used twice before already and I didn’t write it down because I thought it was just a writing choice but… it’s a poor one. It feels like a way to get the word count up somehow and, quite frankly, it’s bad writing.

  Page 118: Feyre is annoyed that Nesta is asking for her to pay her rent? How else does she suppose that Nesta should pay for her rent? She had a home that was taken from her back in the human world (that was taken from her because of Feyre, mind you) and all she asks is that Feyre pay her rent because she doesn’t have a job in fairy land? That seems pretty reasonable. Feyre shouldn’t be mad. 

Page 121: ‘But those were her deaths to claim.’ Why does everything have to be paid with death? I think it would be a lot more empowering if Mor would meet with those who wronged her, say something about them and her and just walk out of their lives entirely? SJM should start preaching forgiveness a little bit more but, hey, that’s just my opinion. Plus, this is really making Rhys seem like a bad ruler. Wanting to kill his enemies? No. 

Page 122: ‘Keir is coming soon, isn’t he.’ Yeah, no, this wasn’t edited. 

Page 122: ‘When.’ 

Page 125: ‘Az has a list of kingdoms most likely to cross the line.’ I’m wondering why the Night Court is in charge? Why does Rhysand get to decide which kingdoms and courts cross the line? Why does he get to decide where the line is? 

Page 126: As I said for Page 118, Rhysand says: ‘Tempting. So damn tempting to tell…’ See what I mean? 

Page 126: If Rhysand deals with conflict by fighting fire with fire, then his court is going to fall apart. Why is he allowed to get away with attacking Tamlin the way he did? What are the basic rules of the court - any of the courts? Surely the people wouldn’t want an insufficient ruler so do they get a say in it? WHY ARE THE HIGH LORDS ALLOWED TO ACT LIKE BLOODTHIRSTY BEASTS?! 

Page 126: ‘Too long. She’d been cooped up within the borders of this court for too long.’ Wow, once you tune into it…

Page 127: I really want to make one thing clear. Not every piece of dialogue has to have a tag attached to it. Sometimes things work much better if you just use ‘I said’ or ‘he/she/they said.’ At least then it would mean less lines such as this ‘I laughed again. ‘Certainly not Amren. Not if we want peace,’ I added.’

Page 127: Also, Rhysand ‘want(s) peace’? Bullshit. Not seven paragraphs ago did he laugh about Mor wanting Tamlin dead and a page ago he was tempted to tell ‘the High Lord of Autumn that his eldest son coveted his throne.’ Do not think for one second that Rhys is a level headed ruler. SJM has a tendency to tell us that he is rather than show it. 

Page 128: ‘…Even the wine I’d returned home to drink couldn’t dull.’ Teaching young, impressionable people that alcohol might solve some of your problems. Great. And what - Feyre can say this but Nesta can’t drink? 

Page 129: ‘Decadent - it felt decadent…’ I really wished I had never picked up on this.

Page 129: Feyre keeps complaining about the amount of work she has to do but here she is shopping with Elain? When her people are scared, heartbroken, without a home and in mourning after the war?

  Page 129: ‘So different. This place was so different…’ ON THE SAME FUCKING PAGE?!??!

Page 131: So I guess that nobody ever told SJM that a character description goes beyond eye colour, hair colour and clothes? 

Page 133: ‘I might ease that grief, make the pain less.’ Feyre’s powers allow her to do that? When, why, how and fucking what?

Page 134: ‘I was lucky - so tremendously lucky.’ 

Page 134: Rhys was dead and he was brought back to life, right? It wasn’t like with Feyre’s death where she was still slightly conscious because she could hear what was going on, no. No, with Rhysand’s death, he really was dead. But he was brought back to life and somehow… feels nothing from this? I would love to see if there are times where his body becomes slightly misty and ghostlike, if his veins turn black under his skin because they had stopped working during that brief moment of death. I would have loved to see something other than just him feeling a little bit tired!

Page 134: ‘How.’ 

Page 135: I’s very clear to me that, for whatever reason, SJM wanted Feyre to be able to paint but she has no idea how to write about it. Whilst Feyre is painting, we only read about her need to create and what the end result looks like. Even during her process we hear nothing about light and perspective and I’m not a painter but there’s a true science behind it. And where is she getting the paints from? Rhys was able to give her some with his magic but from where?

  Page 138: It disgusts me that Feyre thinks that she can solve the people of the Night Court’s problems by teaching them how to paint. These people went through a war! And before that it was Under the Mountain! Painting and creating art in general can help with recovery from mental illness and trauma and PTSD and depression and everything else, but there comes a point where therapy is needed. Memorials are needed, ceremonies are needed. How are people supposed to paint what they feel when they can’t understand what they feel? It’s bullshit and, really, quite a childish thing to even suggest. How is this a ruler? 

Page 139: Why do jigsaw puzzles exist. Why are they called jigsaw puzzles. SJM is not a high fantasy writer. 

Page 140: ‘Good thing indeed.’ You guys know how I feel about this word by now, right? 

Page 140: ‘Indeed, each seemed like a different decade.’ So the fashion changes with time, does it? Great! Tell me more. Tell me why and how and when. Also, indeed.

Page 143: ‘The females bring their jewellery. I bring my weapons.’ But Cassian is a feminist, right? Yeah, no, guys, it’s alright. He’s a feminist, it’s all fine. 

Page 146: ‘You being too drunk to climb the stairs last night.’ I’m really not okay with the amount of casual drinking in this book - and not only that but the way it’s treated. Nesta is shamed for it, Feyre mentions that even wine can’t help her, Rhys makes jokes about his friends being drunk. It sends a really bad message. 

Page 147: ‘Illyrian baby indeed.’ 

Page 147: I’ve said this before but someone should really tell SJM that every scene in a book should further the plot. This has been three pages of bickering, useless drivel about a bed being too small for Cassian and cheap jokes about alcohol. The entire thing could be cut and the story wouldn’t change. 

Page 148: ‘Indeed, as Feyre emerged from the kitchen hallway…’

Page 148: ‘Strange - so strange to see…’

Page 149: ‘Indeed.’

Page 150: ‘Mor was instantly on her feet, offering - insisting on wine.’ This is just teaching kids that you need alcohol to be able to have a good time! Which isn’t true in the slightest! And it’s wrong on so many levels - especially insisting that everyone has wine! Peer pressure?? SJM deals with sensitive issues so badly (see what I said in another post about Rhysand and sexual assault) that it’s… It’s hard. Yikes.

[ericsonclan]

A Slippery Surprise

Summary: Louis and the others planned something extra special for A.J.'s birthday.

Word Count: 2310

Read on AO3:

“Can I open them now?” A.J. asked, his brows furrowing as he continued walking along the corridor in total darkness, his only anchor Louis’ voice.

“In just a second, kiddo. We just gotta round the corner and then we’ll be there,”

A.J. nodded. He trusted Louis completely, but the ten-year-old was at an utter loss as to where they were. He thought he knew the school like the back of his hand, but after following Louis through hall after hall with his eyes shut, he felt as though they were covering ground he’d never touched before, parts of the school that had been locked away and left for years.

Suddenly Louis’ footsteps stopped and AJ followed suit. “Alright, A.J., you ready for the best birthday surprise in the history of mankind?”

A.J. nodded eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Now!”

As A.J.’s eyes opened, quickly adjusting to the dim light, he could see they were standing in front of an open doorway and that Clementine, Willy and Prisha stood along the sides of it. Smiling at them all, A.J. began to look around for his present, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Where was it? The room in front of him seemed to be an empty classroom. All the desks and furniture were moved out long ago, only the chalkboard and random faded pieces of paper remaining on the walls. That wasn’t much of a surprise. But there was something different about the floor. It was shining, cold… “Ice?”

“Perhaps the surprise will make a bit more sense if I give you these as well,” Grabbing a parcel from Clementine, Louis placed it in the hands of the young boy.

A.J. ripped the wrapping off quickly, tossing it aside. In his hands were a pair of white shoes with black soles. Along the bottom of them were metal blades that had a smooth edge. A.J.’s nose wrinkled in thought as he tried to figure out what exactly they were for. A chuckle from Clementine drew his eyes to her.

“Try them on, kiddo. Then step into the room. But be careful,”

Following her instructions, A.J. sat down upon the floor and began to remove his shoes to put on the others. From the looks on everyone’s faces, they seemed excited for what was to come. With the skates on, A.J. struggled to his feet, needing some help from Willy and Louis as he wobbled. Looking to Clementine to make sure he was still doing this right, A.J. was heartened when she smiled and nodded. Now for the last step. Stepping onto the ice. Holding onto Willy’s hand and leaning against the taller teen for support, A.J. placed one foot upon the ice and then the other. Willy let go… and A.J.’s feet began to glide on their own.

A.J. looked down at his feet in wonder, watching them slide across the ice effortlessly. Turning back to look at the others, he smiled. “They move on their own!”

“It’s called ice skating, kiddo!” Louis replied with a grin. “Try moving your legs – you’ll go even faster!”

Taking Louis’ advice, A.J. moved his legs. Immediately his speed increased, the blades on the special shoes curving round on the ice. His audience applauded, all of them smiling happily as they watched A.J. circle the classroom. “This is amazing!” A.J. exclaimed, speeding up even more.

“A.J., wait-” Clementine’s protest was cut short as the toe of one of A.J’s blades caught the ice and the boy was flung forward, wiping out on the floor.

“Shit! You okay, buddy?” Louis asked, shimmying his way across the room to help A.J. up. Clementine hurried over as well, taking A.J.’s other arm.

“There’s a bit of a learning curve when it comes to ice skating,” Prisha observed as she glided across the ice toward them. A.J. noticed that she was also wearing bladed shoes, though unlike his hers seemed to be attached to the outside of her regular shoes.

Willy zoomed over beside her, stopping with a little twirl. “Prisha and I have been practicing on the home-made skates for a week now! We wanted to make sure we got the rink right before we shared it with you,”

“You made this?” A.J. asked, looking upon the shining floor and then them with admiration. “You guys can really make anything!”

Prisha smiled happily at the praise. “Louis was the one who came up with the idea and Clementine tracked down the skates. Then Willy and I worked to execute it. It took a tarp and some plastic scaffolding to keep the water in place and make sure it lay flat, but then it was merely a matter of flooding the room using the hoses from the pool and waiting for it to freeze,”

“Now that you’ve seen your surprise, everybody can join in!” Willy exclaimed, spreading his arms out excitedly. “We told the others to come as well so that way everyone gets a turn with the skates!”

“But as the birthday boy, those are yours to keep, bud,” Louis placed a hand on A.J.’s shoulder and smiled down at him fondly.

A.J. glanced down at his blades then looked back up at Louis. “Can you join me in skating? Please, please, please?”

“Definitely! I’ll just need to borrow some skates…”

“You can have mine,” Prisha offered, skating back toward the doorway. “We only have the two pairs of skates that we’ve crafted so far, and the other used pairs are meant for children’s feet, so you’ll be far too large,”

As Prisha and Louis were busy with the skates, the two newest members of Ericson showed up. “Wowee!” Renata exclaimed, sticking her head through the door and letting out an impressed whistle. “That’s quite the rink you’ve made!”

“Allison!” Willy exclaimed, zooming over excitedly. “Want to try my skates out? I can help you get used to them and then you’ll fly across the ice!”

Allison looked upon the skates with skepticism, then back up at Willy’s excited, earnest face. Shrugging, she gave a small nod. Willy let out a yelp of joy and immediately got to work taking off his skates to give to Allison.

A.J. looked towards Clementine. “Clem, are you gonna be able to skate too?”

Before Clementine could answer, Louis cut in, skating forward. “There is in fact a pair of skates that fit the lovely Clementine’s dainty feet,” He bowed dramatically, offering up a worn out pair of white skates.

His wife smiled at the gesture, fondly rolling her eyes before taking them. After taking a minute to get the skates on she was ready and all three were skating round the room arm in arm.

“This is the best!” A.J. exclaimed, happily tucked in between Louis and Clementine.

Willy and Allison had also made it out onto the ice, Willy without skates but happily jogging beside Allison as she skated forward. She seemed fairly steady but every time she flinched or paused Willy had his arms out, ready to break her fall. Those were the only moments that Willy’s non-stop dialogue was temporarily paused before he launched right back into his stories, Allison listening and nodding along to them. Meanwhile Prisha and Renata were chatting comfortably while watching from the doorstep.

“Will you look at that!” a familiar voice exclaimed. Ruby and Aasim had joined the group, each with a sleeping baby strapped to their chests. Ruby’s eyes twinkled as she took in the rink. “Look at the way it sparkles! Why, I haven’t been ice skating since I was just a teeny little thing!”

“Would you like to try now?” Prisha lifted up a pair of skates. “I believe these would fit you,”

Ruby looked down at Maisy, sleeping peacefully upon her chest.

“I can take her too,” Prisha suggested.

“And I can take Zach if you want to skate too, Aasim,” Renata offered.

The couple shared a look before nodding. The swap was made and soon the pair was out on the ice, Ruby on skates while Aasim strolled beside his wife.

“So this is what you’ve been so secretive about these past few weeks,” Violet’s voice caused Prisha to turn round with a smile, bouncing Maisy softly as she spoke.

“I figured it would be best to surprise as many people as possible. And I didn’t want to disappoint in case we weren’t able to get the plan to work,”          

“Looks like it worked out perfectly,” Violet observed. The rink was quite full now, the groups intermingling and twirling round each other as they skated. Louis tried to do a fancy twirl only to fall on his butt much to A.J. and Clementine’s amusement while Willy was spinning Allison round in circles as fast as she could go.

“Woo! Go, Allie!” Renata cheered, her smile bright as she watched the pair having fun. She looked around the room, then back out to the hallway. “Hey, where’s Omar? He’s the only one we’re missing, right?”

“He said he had a surprise of his own and that he’d be here in a minute,” Violet replied.

Ruby and Aasim came back over to the doorway. Ruby shot Violet a smile. “Vi, would you like a turn? I bet your feet would fit. I just got an idea for how to turn this rink into a total winter wonderland! Just gotta grab a few things,” Not waiting for an answer, she handed over the skates to Violet and bustled off down the hall, dragging Aasim behind her.

Violet stared dumbly at the skates in her hands.

“If you’d like, I could go out on the ice with you,” Prisha offered. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall if that’s what has you concerned,”

“…OK,” Violet sat down to put on her skates before looking up in realization. “Wait, who’s gonna take Maisy though?”

“That would be me,” Omar’s calming voice came from behind them, causing all three girls to turn round. Omar was standing beside his cauldron which was safely nestled atop the wheelbarrow he’d been given for his own birthday. From inside the cauldron, the smell of apples arose. “Thought I’d try my hand at apple cider this year. Take as much as you want – there’s plenty,”

The smell quickly drew the attention of the others, leading to a crowd round the doorway to the rink. Once everyone had their bowls of cider they dispersed again and Omar was handed Maisy while Prisha and Violet took to the ice hand in hand. Ruby and Aasim returned with paper, scissors and chalk and after a quick cider break they also took to the ice, though instead of skating their focus was on decorations: paper snowflakes and winter illustrations all across the blackboard.

Coming off the ice, A.J., Louis and Clementine removed their skates then settled in for second helpings of apple cider. Maisy had begun to stir and was taken by Clementine who gently rocked her daughter in her arms until she drifted off to sleep again. Taking seats along the far wall, the three sipped their apple cider and chatted happily while watching the continued fun on the rink.

Renata had switched off with Willy, going on the ice with Allison while Willy happily bounced Zachariah in his arms and chatted with Omar. Violet and Prisha skated together now that Louis had returned Prisha’s skates, the two of them gliding round the ice hand in hand before pausing from time to time to share a quick kiss. The room was covered in paper snowflakes now and the whiteboard had illustrations of snowmen, angels and Christmas trees from one end to the other.

“Well, little man, how did we do?” Louis asked, grinning at A.J. and ruffling his hair.

A.J. wrinkled his nose at the “little” part Louis still insisted on attaching to the nickname, but grinned nonetheless. “It was awesome! Best birthday ever!”

Clementine chuckled. “Wow, best ever? We’ll have a hard time topping it next year!”

“Good thing we have a year to plan then,” Louis quipped, winking at his wife.

A.J. looked between the pair and smiled over at Maisy asleep in Clementine’s arms. He watched all the fun happening inside the rink as well. Everyone was here, celebrating together and having fun. And the fun didn’t have to end today either; Willy had told him the rink would probably last till spring. This was the best possible present he could ever think of. He was itching to get back on the ice again. “I’m gonna go again – be back later!” With that he was off, scurrying back onto the frozen wonderland.

Louis and Clementine shared a knowing smile before snuggling close together, Louis’ arm wrapping protectively round his wife and child. “We done good, Clem,” Louis said with mock solemnity before his characteristic smile pulled at his lips once more.

“That we did,” Clementine rested her head upon her husband’s shoulder, happily watching the winter scene before them. “He’s growing up so fast,”

“Ah, he’s still a kid,” Louis observed, watching as A.J. let Allison and Renata swing him round and round. “And this? This is a memory he’ll never forget,”

“You’re right,” Clementine smiled as she saw the fun A.J. and the others were having. “You want to join in again soon?”

“Wild horses couldn’t hold me back,”

With that the couple got to their feet, heading over to wait their turn to get back on the ice. And so the festivities continued, the first of many days that were sure to be spent upon the Ericson ice rink.

[waitedforgarridebs]

Radio (1994): Merrison & Williams

The 3GAR adaptation that’ll shatter your heart into a million pieces

Clive Merrison and Michael Williams were the first pair of actors to play Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson who got to dramatise every single story of the entire canon – all four novels and 56 short stories.

In 1987, Bert Coules pitched a screenplay of HOUN to the BBC, which was greenlit and produced for radio with Roger Rees and Crawford Logan as the two lead actors. As this show ended up being a great success, Coules suggested to keep the series going, and the BBC agreed – however, they insisted on recasting. Eventually, the popularity of the show led to the decision to adapt literally every single canon story, and for the first time they actually managed to successfully achieve this feat over the course of the next 9 years. The Merrison-Williams-series ran on BBC Radio 4 from 1989 until 1998.

As Williams unfortunately died way too young in 2001, he could not continue his part as Dr Watson for the series of original stories written by Coules, “The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. This sequel still got commissioned during his lifetime, and while the production team set everything on hold to wait until Williams got better, sadly this never happened. He eventually was replaced by Andrew Sachs for the last 15 stories of this series.

While Coules remained as lead writer of the show, he was supported by various other writers for this quite massive project. The adaptations of the stories are in their core quite true to the books: The characters’ lines were updated to a more modern sounding language, and filler scenes were written to expand especially the shorter, less dense cases to the runtime of 45 minutes per episode.

For Coules and his team, the Holmes stories are not primarily detective stories. They are stories about a detective – and, more than that: They are stories about a detective and his only friend. Watson isn’t considered to be a bumbling sidekick, but an actual co-lead.

(And yes, I am basically quoting Coules himself from an interview done for the “I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere” podcast, so I do not know if Moftiss nicked that pitch from him or vice versa.)

In order to stay true to every story’s essence, the writers were “imaginatively faithful” to the original cases. They would, for example, sketch out the backstory and all the inciting incidents leading up to a client’s inquiry at 221b, and dramatise a bit of the story Doyle only mentioned in passing, but never actually wrote down. Or they would invent new scenes, sometimes even new endings, whenever they thought the original version wasn’t as effective as it could have been.

The reason I am putting all of this over the cut is to make you aware of the fact that the changes in the story were all done with a purpose – in this case, to amplify its emotional impact.

Because, without this background knowledge, their changes to 3GAR appear to be absolutely devastating. Cruel, even.

Can I just start by saying that I love Merrison’s Holmes and Williams’ Watson?

Their chemistry is incredible. They breathe so much life into these two characters! They banter, they laugh, they at times even mock a particularly annoying client when said client can’t hear them – and sometimes even when they can *coughs* Killer Evans – and I regret not having listened to their entire work as of yet. 

(But that’s a good resolution for the new year if there ever was one!)

And, one thing I can say for certain: This Holmes is 100% in love with his Watson.

It is the “desperately unspoken” dynamic of TPLoSH all over again, but maybe a little less repressed. Also, Watson – again – has his three-continent-reputation to defend. They are stupid idiot boys, they don’t fucking TALK to each other, and it’s driving me up the wall, but at least they do very much consider each other family, and that is a really great step into the right direction.

That being said, do not listen to this version of 3GAR if you don’t have the time to be emotionally compromised after finishing it.

This adaptation first aired on October 26, 1994.

As mentioned earlier, the writers – in this case David Ashton – did add a bit of backstory as well as some filler scenes to stretch the episode over the entire runtime: the introduction shows how Evans shot Prescott, featuring seemingly indifferent, almost John-Mulaney-esque barkeepers, who are so very chill about the entire murder-thing happening in front of their eyes. “Oh, what is it about Friday nights, ey?”

Ashton not only gives characters like Saunders lines, but writes whole scenes just for them, and even paces longer exposition bits quite nicely by, for example, having the American John Garrideb start the explanation about the search for the third Garrideb in Baker Street, and Nathan Garrideb finish it by excitedly rambling about his impending fortune at the exasperated Saunders.

Not only pleasant filler scenes like these were added, however.

You see, there is a running theme throughout this episode: At the beginning, Holmes is quite his usual self, and mocks the concept of love, human connection, and relationships. He and Watson see a young couple in the park, the bloke teasing the girl and playfully stealing ... her ... hat ... *muffled screaching noises* ... and Holmes compares the couple to pidgeons: “The male puffs out his chest and the female runs around in circles.” Watson, as ever, doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea of having a woman in his life, and Holmes simply ends up pointing out that the couple is having their date quite close to where the gallows used to be. Charming as ever.

Throughout the episode, Holmes is confronted with the idea of love and companionship again and again, in very different scenarios, and gradually warms up to it. Which, looking at where the episode is headed – Watson realising that there is a heart behind the cold mask – is actually a beautiful thing to do, and certainly does make sense.

However, one morning Watson has business of his own to attend to. And that’s where the heartbreak sets in: In an added scene, they show Watson ring-shopping. 

(Not for Holmes, obviously. He seems to have met someone and plans on getting engaged, again. Very rude.)

So, while Holmes keeps realising that being alone all the time is not good for him, that he actually wants someone in his life, the only person who could fill this void runs around with a little box hidden in his coat pocket.

But, it gets worse.

Remember when I teased in the post about the Hobbs-Shelley-adaptation (x) that there is yet another way to include Watson’s internal realisation after getting shot? As in, neither putting it as a summary at the beginning nor at the end of the episode?

I was talking about this one.

Merrison’s Holmes, in my opinion, has the most emotional reaction to Watson getting shot. He literally panics. 

(And the fact that there are a couple of seconds of complete and utter silence after he rushes to Watson’s side really does not help!)

HOLMES: Watson, you’re not hurt! For god’s sake, say you’re not hurt! WATSON, in pain: Ugh... oh... almost worth it.  HOLMES: ... what!? WATSON: The pain. To see that look on your face. A great heart... as well as a great mind. HOLMES: Nonsense... I was merely worried about the surgeon’s bills. WATSON, bellows out a single laugh. HOLMES, tenderly: Here. L-l-let me look. WATSON: Oh no, it’s nothing Holmes. I should know it. It’s just a scratch. EVANS, groans in the background. WATSON: Did you shoot the fellow? HOLMES: No. The second shot was his also. But I laid my revolver along the side of his head. Wild West, indeed. – Watson, you are certain? WATSON: It’s just a scratch, Holmes. Honestly.

Then, Holmes first turns into the Hulk and then towards Evans, and if I ever heard a man speak through gritted teeth, then this is it.

And that following exchange features, honestly, the best non-canonical line of dialogue in Holmesian history:

EVANS: Say, what did you hit me with? HOLMES, not missing a single beat: JUSTICE!

But... it gets worse.

Evans gets arrested, and we get to see Watson and Holmes in Baker Street after the incident, where Holmes dresses Watson’s wounds – or at least he tries to, until Watson insists on doing it on his own, because Holmes is rubbish at it. Holmes then starts pacing around in the living room like an expectant father, “But is there nothing I can do??”

Watson tells him that he’d very much like to smoke a cigar, which leads to Holmes rummaging in the pockets of Watson’s coat.

And you’ve guessed it: Of course he finds The Box.

Cue: awkward moment where Watson tells him, for the first time, about his plans to get re-married.

And Holmes starts sulking, because Watson is about to leave him alone. Again.

But, it gets worse!

Suddenly, Lestrade calls. Holmes at first thinks this is about a case mentioned in passing earlier in the episode, but it is actually news about Nathan Garrideb: As you know, he didn’t take it too well that he never found a third Garrideb in Birmingham, and Lestrade now informs Holmes that Nathan got sent to a mental asylum. 

And... Holmes and Watson visit him there!

They happen to meet Saunders in Nathan’s room, who sadly ponders about the fact that Nathan was always so lonely during his lifetime, and that this isn’t healthy, and that this certainly contributed to the fact that his mind now snapped. 

Nathan eventually has a moment of clarity and recognises Holmes. After gifting his collection of bees to Holmes (...), he hopefully asks if Holmes came to tell him that he found the third Garrideb after all. Holmes, of course, has to decline, but he promises Nathan to find the man, if he exists.

But how, Nathan then exclaims in despair, can Holmes not know this! Holmes must know! He must know everything!!

So, the episode where Watson realises that Holmes does, in fact, love him, ends with an emotionally crushed and forsaken Holmes pondering about his retirement and keeping bees.

And that, my friends, is the most heart-breaking adaptation of 3GAR I have ever listened to.