#I will actually cry if he doesn’t make it through the kiln | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

specialagentsergio · 3 years

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all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two

summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues

a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.

a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.

word count: 7.3k

song: you will be found from dear evan hansen

fic masterlist || masterlist

He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.

The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.

Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.

Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.

He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.

He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.

I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--

“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”

Safe here. Safe here.

Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.

He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.

He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”

Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”

“No words for feelings,” she replies.

He nods. “That’s all.”

Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”

I don’t want to do that.

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”

Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.

Isn’t it?

He tries not to think on it too much.

Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.

A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.

“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--

Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.

Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”

“What?”

“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”

“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”

He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?

He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.

They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.

But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.

First?

Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.

His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.

The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.

He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.

The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.

There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.

Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.

He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.

Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.

---

You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.

You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.

“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”

You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.

It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.

At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”

She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.

After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”

“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.

Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.

“I’m sorry?”

Fuck.

“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.

“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”

JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”

“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”

His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”

Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.

“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”

“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”

JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”

You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”

“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.

A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.

“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes again.

“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”

JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”

She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.

You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.

The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.

You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.

You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.

“Jesus, Spencer--”

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.

“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”

Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”

He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.

“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.

He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.

“Holding it, right,” you sigh.

“It’s comforting,” he argues.

“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”

The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”

I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.

You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.

He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.

Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.

“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.

“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.

“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”

“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”

“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”

“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”

Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime, (Y/N).”

You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.

Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.

Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.

You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.

“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.

The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”

Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.

You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.

Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”

At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.

---

The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.

He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.

Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.

You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.

Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.

You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”

“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.

Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.

“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?”

“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.

“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.

“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”

Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”

Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”

Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”

“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”

He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.

“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”

You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.

There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”

“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”

“Yet,” Lara adds.

He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”

A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.

He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.

“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.

“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”

You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.

“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”

Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”

“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.

“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”

After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”

You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.

“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”

You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.

You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”

He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”

“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.

“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”

Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”

“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”

“We can buy you new clothes.”

“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”

He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.

“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admits with a sigh.

“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”

Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.

He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.

During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”

He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”

It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.

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

tell me what you thought here!

i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.

another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it.

you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.

all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #angst #my fic #tw substances #one day i'll write something that's short

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chibitabathasloves · 4 years

Text

Happy secret friend day to my friend @jivesjunkfood!

I scoured your blog, looked at your #hc tag, and I wrote something I hope you’ll like. I’m also going to post it on AO3 and will include the link here.

This is just over a thousand words, and so it doesn’t eat up too much space on your dash, I put it under the read more c:

Robbie's head was pounding, the kid and that annoying blue bouncing elf would not quiet down for anything.

What he needed was a plan. A plan to keep them still.

But what was this brilliant plan going to be? Then it downed on him and he held his finger in the air saying, "I've got a plan.

Walking down the aisle holding his disguise machine, he looked at the first tube.

A carpenter? "Too noisy." Farmer? "Too mosey." A clown? "No." He shook his head, too silly.

The final tube, like usual, had the perfect outfit. Relaxed paint spattered jeans, an artist's smock, and a bandana. "Perfect."

With a pull of a lever and a quick twirl about, he was ready to do battle with those small menaces.

~*~

The clay was warming under his hands, thank goodness. His hands were beginning to cramp up from trying to mold the substance how he wanted.

"What are you making?"

The pink one. Of course. "Shhh," he hushed. "My muse is speaking to me, we can't interrupt them now, can we?"

When he turned to look at the girl, big brown eyes looked up at him with hands clapped over her mouth, shaking her head no.

A smile curled at his lips, this was going to be the greatest. "You can watch, but you must not interrupt."

Turning back to the task at hand, he squished the clay down, shifting it slowly into the shape he wanted.

~*~

He hadn't been expecting them to whisper. It wasn't a bother really, but not being able to hear what they were talking about was beginning to make him anxious.

"What are you kids talking about?"

"How when you're done, that sculpture will be mine." Sticky had his hand to his chest.

The pink one rolled her eyes. "No. We were wondering if you could teach us to sculpt. After of course. We're not trying to interrupt you or anything." She held up her hands as if to show she meant no offence or harm.

He did have more clay in the lair. "I can arrange it. Now hush."

~*~

"It's a good looking sculpture."

That accent, Sportadweeb.

"Thank you."

"The kids are excited to learn how to sculpt. May I join as well?"

Robbie scoffed, wiping clay and water from his fingers with a rag. "You can't sculpt with your feet. You'll have to sit still."

He looked over, hoping to see the defeat on the hero's face. A bright smile was being beamed directly into his skull through his eyes, it hurt. "Of course! I'm always willing to try new things! See you later Mr. Artist!"

~*~

Now Sportanerd was sitting with the kids, all watching him as he worked the clay slowly. He found words falling from his lips, filling the space around him with quiet sound.

"When you're working with clay, you don't want to use too much force. You want to coax it into the shape you want. It's not always easy. Clay, like your muse, can be temperamental. A slight wrong move, and you have to try again. Or you may even mess up a part you just finished and felt good about." He dipped his fingers into some of the sun-warmed water by his hip. "Water can help, and hinder." He pressed his damp fingers into the clay, pulling and stretching the bit he managed to get with his thumb. "Too much water, you have a huge mess, not enough, and the clay might not move at all."

He frowned, before adjusting the shape he'd drawn out of the clay. That was better. "It takes a long time to be able to work on something this large. But that's okay too. Everyone learns at different paces. What took me years, could take you moments. As long as you're taking your time, and happy with what you accomplished, that's what matters."

~*~

Robbie frowned at the sculpture in front of him. Crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why'd I sculpt Sportaloser?"

~*~

All the little menaces had their own smocks or aprons on to protect their clothing. No sign of the blue kangaroo. Good.

He ushered them towards the picnic tables he'd set up in the night, small blocks of kid friendly clay piled in the center.

"These don't look like what you were using mister!" the small blue one piped up.

"These are a little less messy, but the colors will be nicer for your finished peice. I'll even fire them up in my kiln, show you how to glaze them."

Of course, that's when the Sportajerk shows up. "Hello kids! Have you started without me?"

A chorus of no's floats up from around the table, and Robbie rolls his eyes. He's wearing some sort of blue tracksuit that's probably seen better days, and no smock or apron.

"Excellent. Let's give it a try shall we?"

Sport reached for the purple colored clay, while Robbie found himself picking up some red to start.

~*~

Tricky made a snake, green with a pink tongue, and brown and yellow layered spots. it wasn't so bad. Sticky made a piggy bank, the slot and dollar sign made out of black clay, and the feet were a little wonky, but it would stand. Gizmo made an umbrella, or a satellite dish, it was hard to determine, it could be either or really. Pinkie came up with a more difficult idea, trying to make a person, so Robbie helped her out a little, a small version of herself stared up at him. Siggy made a bunch of small fake candies, he had also tried to eat them at one point, so Robbie prayed that the kid wouldn't try to chew on them when they came out of the kiln.

The last two sculptures that he was placing into the kiln were the oddest to him, a perfectly molded apple, and an easel.

The easel was purple and gold.

~*~

When the kids took their finished projects and ran off to give them to the adults in their lives, Robbie couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. They weren't so bad when they sat down to be quiet.

"Robbie?"

He flinched, of course the hero had seen through his disguise. "What?"

"For you." When he glanced over, the hero was holding out the easel, with a picture placed in it. It was a picture of them all working on the clay together, smiles and laughter he could hear from its glossy face.

He gently took the item from the hero, it was actually a really thoughtful gift. "For my most important friend. I hope you're feeling better now."

When he saw the soft smile looking up at him, he did not cry. Villains don't cry.

He held the apple out to Sportacus. "For you, so you don't forget today happened. I know you can sit still and be quiet now."

His friend laughed, a warm sound that made the dampness on his cheeks seem not so bad. "Thank you Robbie. Apples are my favorite-"

"If you say 'sportscandy' I will make sure to launch you into the ocean next time."

Blue eyes crinkled, and the hand that clapped his back with a laugh didn't feel so bad.

#secret friend day 2020 #secret friend day #jivesjunkfood #gift fic #lazytown #my writing

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hamliet · 5 years

Text

The Faces Under Bai WuXiang’s Mask

Or, dissecting Bai WuXiang. I’m not going to get into whose face is actually under BWX’s mask (there aren’t spoilers in this meta), or into Lang Ying, but I instead want to talk about Bai WuXiang’s foiling with primarily Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, but also a bit of He Xuan and Qi Rong (fitting as BWX and the latter three are the Four Great Calamities).

Anyways. Mount TongLu.

The funny thing about Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s horror over Hua Cheng’s love for Xie Lian is that they think he’s a demon stalking Xie Lian with the intent of harming him.

Feng Xin was practically getting chills looking through those murals, “My fucking god… who the hell is he? He’s been watching you since eight hundred years ago?! And he is still, even now? What the fuck! This is terrifying! Is he bewitched? What the hell does he want? Normal worshippers won’t even do this much, just what the hell does he want??”

And Hua Cheng has loved Xie Lian and lived for him for 800 years. Yet, while there is a demon stalking Xie Lian for 800 years, it is not Hua Cheng but Bai WuXiang.

Bai WuXiang’s obsession with Xie Lian seems to be that he wants Xie Lian to become exactly like him, as a sort of forced empathy (I’m sensing a pattern among MXTX villains: see here for He Xuan and here for MDZS’s Xue Yang). I’m curious to see where this develops. Bai WuXiang seems to recognize Xie Lian’s terror and understand it, even, and he wants to see it drive Xie Lian into the same kind of crying/laughing despair that governs him.

White No-Face lifted his face to look at his eyes, and he said warmly, “Your highness, I think, you might have misunderstood. There certainly will be a Supreme who will emerge from this kiln, but, it won’t be me. It would be you.” ...

“Do you remember this cry-smiling mask?” White No-Face asked, “It suits you.” ...

Then, without giving him a chance to protest, that tragically pale cry-smiling mask melted with the infinite darkness as it was heavily pressed onto Xie Lian’s face.

This is, of course, a crucial difference when compared with how Hua Cheng sees Xie Lian. He never forces Xie Lian to do anything, and accompanies him even when he doesn’t want Xie Lian to make a particular choice. In other words, Hua Cheng gets real empathy and what it’s like, that it doesn’t mean becoming exactly like someone or agreeing all the time, but walking with them.

Xie Lian softly sighed a breath of relief and forced a smile, “Nothing, it’s just, in these past years, how I passed my earlier days wasn’t the prettiest sight, it was all muddled and very much a failure. I just thought if you had witnessed it it wouldn’t be good.”

Hua Cheng laughed, “How could that be?”

Xie Lian however, didn’t laugh at all, “It’s not a joke, it really was quite the failure.”

Hearing this, Hua Cheng withdrew his smile and turned solemn, “That’s okay too. Didn’t your highness already say it yourself?”

“Me?” Xie Lian was confused, “What did I say?”

Hua Cheng recited languidly, “To me, the one standing in infinite glory is you, the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is you, and not the state of you.”

Bai WuXiang doesn’t understand this perspective at all. He tells Xie Lian, regarding Hua Cheng:

“it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t come in. Otherwise, even if he doesn’t think so now, later when he sees the state of you, who knows if he’ll still want to be with you.”

He’s preying on Xie Lian’s worst insecurities, the ones he mentioned earlier: that he’s a failure, that he’s trash. I’m pretty sure this is actually what Bai WuXiang thinks of himself: that he’s a failure, and no one wants to be with him (well, I mean, look at you BWX...)

We see these fears of being inherently bad in Hua Cheng as a little boy. Everyone seems to believe this about him, especially when the priest tells his fortune:

The Head Priest wiped his sweat and suddenly backed a mile away, “Your highness, you really picked up something you shouldn’t have up the mountain! That small child is toxic! His sign is borne of the most ominous star, the Star of Solitude*, destined to bring misfortune and destruction, the kind that evil loves the most. Whoever touches him will have misfortune befall upon them, whoever gets close will lose their lives!”

... Seeing that everyone was avoiding him like he was a poisonous snake, that child was shocked and started thrashing even harder, biting and screaming, “I’m not! I’M NOT!! I’M NOT!!!!”

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped him around the waist, encircling his small form. A voice came from above his head, “You’re not. I know you’re not. Don’t cry, now. I know you’re not.”

That young child pressed his lips closed tightly, grabbing on to that pair of snow-white sleeves around his waist with a death grip, forced himself to hold back for a long time but in the end he still couldn’t. A stream of tears suddenly rolled down from that round, black eye, and he burst out crying.

Xie Lian embraced him from behind and reiterated firmly, “It not you. It’s not your fault.”

This scene was also paralleled recently in the confession scene in 177, where Xie Lian hugs Hua Cheng from behind to confirm he loves him. But what Hua Cheng fears is being alone because he brings misfortune to the people he loves. He doesn’t want to be alone. Connection, as we’ll see, is vitally important to staying alive and to staying connected to humanity--whether mortal, god, or demon--in TGCF. He even asks Xie Lian in the confession scene not to tell him, because he’s so afraid of being rejected, yet Xie Lian embraces him instead.

i’m not in pain at all

When Hua Cheng is wondering what to live for, thinking he has nothing, Xie Lian tells him to live for him until he finds another reason to live for himself. This scene again emphasizes the importance of connection and the importance of empathy in connection as well, that a god would speak to a lone, desperate mortal worshipper. Live for their connection. The problem is that Hua Cheng needs to extend some of that love to himself too (like, he’s still drawing himself as exceedingly ugly in his art), but I think that comes through allowing himself to be loved by Xie Lian. So he’s on that path.

There’s another aspect to the BWX and Hua Cheng foiling that makes me slightly uncomfortable to discuss, but it’s there so let’s discuss it. Hua Cheng’s murals that so panicked Mu Qing and Feng Xin were pretty obviously, er, erotic (the ultimate self-insert real person fanartist; Hua Cheng and Dante could get along). Bai WuXiang is definitely giving off some... creeper vibes.

The next second, his hair was grabbed, forcibly yanked back then bashed into the ground!

His ears were ringing, his nose and mouth were filled with the astringence of blood, and his head concussed.

It was a while later before Xie Lian felt a hand pull his head out from the shattered ground, and a voice came from above, “So sad, so pitiful.”

Xie Lian choked out a mouthful of blood. White No-Face said, “Every time I meet your highness, you always look like this. Makes one ache. Makes one excited.”

It could just be the translation, but given BWX’s foiling with Hua Cheng, the scene two chapters earlier where Mu Qing and Fen Xin clearly think Hua Cheng is going to harm Xie Lian sexually and Hua Cheng assures him he has no such intentions (not that Xie Lian thought he would), plus what we know of Xie Lian’s utter commitment to abstinence does make me think that Bai WuXiang knows what he’s doing and is doing it to distress Xie Lian. I don’t think MXTX will take it very far (ie I don’t think anything will actually happen in a literal sense), thankfully, but I do think something metaphorically along those lines (ie something humiliating that denies Xie Lian humanity in a sense other than that one, BUT metaphorical is not the same thing) might have happened in the past.

There’s also the fact that Bai WuXiang slamming Xie Lian’s face into the ground and demanding he be like him at the ending of book 3, right before we dive into the past, is a reversal of the scene at the ending of book 1 right before we dive into the past, where Xie Lian slams Qi Rong’s face into the ground because he can’t get him to stop possessing an innocent father. Additionally, in this scene Qi Rong tells Xie Lian something similar to what BWX tells Xie Lian, except Xie Lian is the one in power then:

Xie Lian’s breathing was becoming more laboured, his head dizzy, his body shaking, his hands itching to crush Qi Rong’s skull, but he couldn’t do it. Qi Rong spread his hands, “Hahahaha cousin crown prince, what a failure, what an absolute failure!”

Xie Lian picked him off the ground, raised his fists and rained punch after punch on Qi Rong’s face, yelling with each punch, “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

Yet, the more enraged he got, the happier Qi Rong became. To be able to drag the both of them to the same hell, Qi Rong was filled with rapture, his eyes shone brightly, “See! There’s your true face! Cousin crown prince, who knows you better than me in this world? You might look like a pathetic, drowned dog that anyone can trample now, but I know. You’re still proud on the inside; you couldn’t stand anyone calling you a failure! You must hate me for calling you a failure! Have I stabbed your heart enough to bleed? Hurry! Come! Or are you gonna tell me loudly that this body is innocent, so you won’t kill me in order to spare him? Come! Show me what you’ll do!”

It’s the same sort of temptation, except BWX has the spiritual power on his side whereas Qi Rong didn’t. Kill me, and become like me. If Xie Lian doesn’t give up, if he stands by his morals even though they’re being challenged because honestly his morals are kind of all he has at certain moments, then they themselves will be condemned, as they already know they are. But they want someone to empathize with them, to understand them. Qi Rong spent his childhood looking up to Xie Lian, wanting to be like him, and now he wants Xie Lian to be like him. He’s still a child, despite being an 800-year-old demon. I have hope Qi Rong will be able to grow a bit through being a parental figure for GuZi, I don’t really for BWX because I find him a terrifying baddie whom I love and despise at the same time.

What sets Xie Lian apart though, the whole reason Qi Rong loved him so much in the first place, the reason Hua Cheng fell in love with him, the reason He Xuan grew close with Shi Qing Xuan, is because Xie Lian can empathize. He has a sense of wonder about the world, and he doesn’t see himself as better than anyone. He’s naive and yes, proud in some ways, but when his priests tried to kick out a child because the child had a bad fortune, he protected that child. He dove off the ceremonial cart to save a falling child. He knows he failed epically to save Xian Le from falling, to save innocents from dying, but not for lack of trying.

He Xuan also tried to force Shi Qing Xuan and Shi Wu Du to understand his pain in losing all his loved ones. It backfired, and now He Xuan has lost the one person he still had. (I don’t think SQX is dead, but I doubt he is in a good state.) The meta I referenced earlier is entirely about this, and as @beneaththebrim wrote here, the whole Black Water arc “is a tragic mirror of the main plot.”

The faces under Bai WuXiang’s mask could easily be any of these characters, but they aren’t because they’re able to connect currently. Qi Rong has a genuine connection to Xie Lian, as twisted and torn as it is, and is developing one with GuZi. He Xuan is likely finding out that revenge on Shi Wu Du didn’t bring him the peace he wants, didn’t bring his loved ones back, and irreparably hurt the one person who loved him (Shi Qing Xuan). Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, of course, love each other, and through each others’ love, are hopefully starting, ever so slowly, to learn to love and value themselves too (Hua Cheng you don’t value yourself enough).

Bai WuXiang is likely terrified of facing the reality that he is alone (and if he doesn’t have the human face disease or some remnant thereof since he’s the mastermind behind it and it’s symbolic of society corrupting & also of loneliness, I’ll be shocked). So no matter how many faces he has in actuality, it’s really only his face under that mask, and that’s what he’s terrified of.

#tgcf meta #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #heaven official's blessing meta #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #bai wuxiang #qi rong #he xuan #beefleaf

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years

Text

maybe youth is wasted on the young {Roger Taylor}

ask your destiny to dance Modern High School AU

A/N: 2685 words. Not Asked For But Here Nonetheless. might write a bit more for this AU, but i’ve got a lot of prompts, so no promises. hope you enjoy.

Brian got saddled with the two worst tutoring students in the world, and if the high school wasn’t paying him, he’d have let them both go after the first day. Roger he knows; before Brian had graduated they’d both spent lunch times in the music room, and Brian taught him a bit of guitar, and Roger smashed away at the drums and sometimes took a nap. He never expected Roger to be taking physics, but they didn’t usually talk about school when they were at band practice. The band had formed in Brian’s last year of high school, and fortunately there was only a few months after graduation where Roger was the only highschooler, until they went in search of a bass player, and found John Deacon, who seemed to live his life in the engineering workshop room. Together, along with Freddie, who’s two years above Brian, and a design student of all things, they make a pretty great team, musically speaking at least.

Ash, as a student, is an unknown quantity, bursting into the room he’d booked for studying, covered in paint and clay, and fifteen minutes late. She’s bursting with apologies, but Brian gives her the benefit of the doubt, points to the seat opposite him, and smiles. If he was being honest, Roger’s session finished late, he was thankful to have a full hour between appointments to grab some food and go over his notes.

He doesn’t know if they’re in the same class, but they’re in the same year, and both not there out of their own free will. Ash sleeps in class, Roger gets into arguments with the teacher; both are failing.

Ash is new to town, and all of her school shirts are pink. Not on purpose, but she put them through with a red sweater and the rest is pretty self evident, and she hates Physics more than almost anything else in the world.

“Then why are you doing it?” Brian asks when she announces this during their second session together.

“Because I don’t wanna dissect frogs and rabbits and shit, and I can’t remember the periodic table to save my life; maths, even complicated physics maths, is still maths.” She explains, slapping down a falling apart notebook and fishing around her bag for a pen.

“Language.” Brian admonishes, and Ash frowns at him, elbow deep in her bag.

“I’m seventeen, go fuck yourself.”

The thing is, she's a good student, she can do the math, it's just a struggle working out what it means, but she's scatterbrained more than anything. And often late. Usually only by a few minutes, but everything changes the day Roger comes in ten minutes late, which comes as a surprise, he's always quite punctual, and he's covered in lime green paint. It's in his hair and everything. He looks like he’s had an afternoon full of regrettable situations.

"I don't wanna talk about it." He doesn't even give Brian time to ask, though Brian himself is rather distracted; it's a Friday, they've got a gig tonight.

"You'll be right for the show thought?" Brian asks, and Roger agrees easily, looking uncomfortable; the paint was still partially wet. As promised, Brian didn’t ask, and when the hour’s up, Roger leaves to go home and have a shower. After Brian’s break finishes, Ash doesn’t show up. Fifteen minutes after she’s meant to arrive, she’s still not there.

“What?” Ash snaps into her mobile when she picks up, and Brian’s taken aback; she’s not necessarily soft-spoken, but he’d never known her to be so hostile.

“Just reminding you about your tutoring session is all.” He said gently, and he hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Right. Okay.” Ash breathes, a little distracted, a little put-upon, and it’s followed by scuffling, a door being slammed, and a tap blasting water into a metal sink; the art room. “Hey, listen, I’m just a bit-” sighing again, this time with resignation, the water’s still running in the background, “I’m just not up for it right now, some stuff has happened, and I just-” And there’s rustling as Brian hears her cover the receiver and holler a string of curse words at the empty - at least he hopes it is - art room.

“Is everything okay?” Brian asks when Ash uncovers the mic and apologises quickly.

“I’m fine. I will be fine.” She tells him, before apologising that she won’t be able to make it to their session that day. She hangs up.

When he makes his way to the art room, because she’s obviously not fine and he cares when one of his students misses a session, he sees her through the window, sitting down with her head on her arms at a table covered in various shards of a sculpture. At a glance he thinks she’s asleep, but as he knocks gently on the door, he sees her look up, shocked, her eyes red-rimmed.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, roughly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, standing in the door frame. She sniffles a little.

“I just came to make sure you were okay; the art room’s the only one with a metal basin that sounds like that.” He pointed over her shoulder at the art room’s sink. “What’s wrong?”

Ash is quiet for a very long moment, narrowing her eyes when she looked up at him, before turning on her heel and heading to the table with the sculpture fragments on it. They seemed to be in some sort of order, and Brian can pick out that it’s meant to be the bust of a woman, but it’s completely shattered, with a few pieces super glued together, though it seems she’d given up.

“My major work was destroyed.” She explained, voice flat, the statement followed by another sniffle. “Some dickhead put it in the kiln beside a piece with a huge air bubble in it.” At Brian’s confusion, she picked up a piece that looked like it had part of an eye; “the air bubble expanded and exploded and took out all my hard work on the way.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what else to say, she looks absolutely devastated about the whole situation.

“I’m not up for Physics, I’ve gotta try and jigsaw this all back together.” And as she looks over all the work she still had left to do, her lip began to tremble.

“Yeah no, no worries; is there anything I can do to help?” Brian asks gently, Ash just shakes her head, can’t even open her mouth to speak because she knows she’ll start crying again. There’s a blur of movement out the window, and when Brian turns to leave, there’s a figure in the door. He’s tall, with the same striking ginger hair as Ash, and looks like every hipster English major Brian’s ever encountered.

“Who are you?” The ginger man asks, scowling, and Brian raises his hands in surrender, but Ash cuts in.

“Oz, he’s my tutor, he’s just checking in because I couldn’t make it today because- because-” and her voice catches on her explanation as she looks over her weeks of hard work scattered on the table before her. Brian goes to introduce himself to ‘Oz’, who he’s pretty sure is her brother, but the moment Ash sniffles, trying to hold back more tears, Oz brushes past him and it’s like they both forget about Brian.

“It’s going to be okay, Biscuit,” Oz murmurs gently, wrapping a now weeping Ash up in a hug, “I’ll help you stick all these back together and then we can go home, okay?” And he’s so fucking gentle about it that it actually surprises Brian, who hasn’t really thought enough about Ash as a person to devote an opinion on her beyond the fact that she’s a good student with a sharp sense of humour and terrible work ethic in regards to physics; not once, until now, had he ever really considered her fragile.

He tries not to think about it too much, as he leaves, but it’s hard not to when the two of them show up at his gig later that night. Even in the dim light of the pub he’d recognise her hair from a mile away, and he’s silently wondering how she got in.

‘Oz’ turns out to be Oscar Clarke, a friend of Freddie’s, Ash’s older brother, and as Brian had called it, an English major.

“I didn’t realise I’d be seeing you again so soon, are you feeling any better?” Brian asks when the first set finishes; Ash is sitting on a high stool by one of the little round tables, and Oscar is leaning beside her with a bright smile. Ash nods, though she’s still a little subdued, and Oscar gives Brian an official greeting, thanks the guitarist for taking the time to check on his little sister, and offers to buy him a drink.

“Oz! It’s so good to see you!” Freddie wraps Oscar in a hug, interrupting them, before turning to Ash with a bright smile. “You must be Ashley, it’s lovely to finally meet you, my dear.” And Ash is halfway through a greeting and a grin when Roger hops down the the pub’s stage and comes over with their bass player to see what all the fuss was about. The moment they realise who the other is, both Ash and Roger freeze.

“I’m going to fucking murder him.” Ash says with a terrifying degree of confidence, and Roger can’t read her lips without his glasses but he sees her expression, and how she’s sliding out of her stool, and he bolts, leaving poor John confused. Oscar wraps his arms around Ash without hesitation, restraining her. “I’m going to gut him like a fish.” She says, with that same calm fury, struggling in her brother’s arms.

“So you know Roger?” Brian asks, and Ash snorts out a laugh but doesn’t say anything.

“Why do you wanna kill him?” Oscar asks, matching her calm tone, and Ash stop struggling.

“He’s the one who ruined my major work; him and his fucking meme-y, dick sculpture.” She spat, the composed veneer breaking as she dwells on it, and Oscar lets her go and turns back to a confused and concerned Freddie.

“Is she going to kill our drummer?” He asked, as John joined them, looking like an actual child, and he asks if someone can go to the bar and buy him a coke.

“She might.” Oscar says blithely, and heads to the bar. Freddie frowns after him. Brian chimes in, thinking only of Ash, covered in clay and crying alone in the art room hours after school had finished for the day, super gluing her shattered project back together one piece at a time.

“Listen, Freddie, I don’t say this lightly, but he might deserve it.”

“You’re a fucking bastard; if you don’t know how to work with clay properly, you shouldn’t even try, do you know how much work I put in-?” Ash snarled as she found Roger trying to hide his face at the end of the bar.

“I didn’t mean to-” He tried; she’d just thrown paint at him earlier that day, didn’t have the words to articulate herself. This is worse than the paint.

“You sculpted a dick - a dick of all things - around a piece of scrunched up newspaper and didn’t think to leave a hole to let the air escape? To let the air in the clay expand? Have you never-” She seethes, standing right up against the stool he’s sitting on, forcing him to edge away.

“Are you yelling at me about sculptures in the middle of a bar?” Roger asks, and yeah he feels guilty about what happened, but he’s also pretty sure she’s using a fake ID, and the bouncer only didn’t card him because he’s in the band, and if she draws too much attention to them they’re both going to get kicked out.

“Yes.” She snaps, and shoves him rough enough to push him from his seat. He catches himself before he faceplants. “I should kick your ass.” Snarling, she gives him the single most derisive look he’s ever seen, though he stands his ground.

“First of all, I’d like to see you try,” he smirks, moving the chair back and stepping into her space; her hands twitch as if she’s aching to hit him, “and secondly; over a sculpture?”

“Over my major work!” She crows, and he finally realises what the whole situation meant for her. “Do you know how much work I put into that? Over a month and a half, you dipshit!” There’s tears in her eyes, and it seems to take her a moment to realise, and she turns away, gently dabbing to not smudge her mascara.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” Voice gentle, Roger awkwardly pets her shoulder, but she brushes him off. He crosses his arms, unsure of what to do with his hands. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

“We’re the same age.” She squints at him over her shoulder, and he shrugs.

“I’m in the band.” He smirks, puffing out his chest a little, and she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t drink.” And with that she leaves, finds her brother who’s bought both her and John sodas, and Brian gives her a sympathetic smile, and Freddie breathes a genuine sigh of relief when Roger follows behind, somewhat sheepishly.

“How you doing, biscuit?” Oscar asks, wrapping Ash in a side hug, and she shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink and leaning against him. They stay for the rest of the band’s sets; Oscar had brought her out to cheer her up, and eventually, when she starts bopping along to the music, it starts working. Roger, from what he can make out of her in the crowd, feels something in his chest ease to see her relaxing and enjoying herself.

When asked about how the confrontation went, when the band is packing up and Oscar and Ash have left for the night, Roger, to everyone’s surprised, tells them she had every right to be pissed.

“Though if she follows through on her threat to deck me, she’ll have another thing coming.” He snorted, packing up his high hat stand. Brian asks if they’d known each other before, and Roger turns an interesting shade of pink and goes quiet. “We’ve got art and physics together.”

“But you’re not friends?” Freddie asks, watching Roger for a moment before he and Brian share a small smile.

“Do we seem like friends?” Roger snapped, and Freddie grinned wider. “She’s the best sculptor in our class; even our teacher was pissed when she found out what happened.” He admitted, before his voice dropped to quietly amused. “Ms Roberts got so close to swearing at me like four different times, it was actually pretty funny.”

“He likes her.” Freddie stage whispered to Brian, and Roger turned scarlet at that.

“I do not.” He growled, “she threatened to murder me.” But he was all flustered, and clearly a terrible liar while a little tipsy off of only two beers.

“You think she’s cute and you want to snog her because you know she wouldn’t really kill you.” Brian cooed, dodging Roger’s thrown drumstick easily.

“This is bullying.” He grumbled.

“She is cute,” John piped up, “got really nice eyes too, though the lights made them look all gold at times.” He mused, though Roger couldn’t see the bassist pointedly watching him.

“They’re green.” Roger corrects automatically, and John’s grin widens. He realises too late what he’s said, because both Brian and Freddie are howling with laughter.

“They're green!” Freddie wheezes, and does not get out of the way of the other drumstick quick enough, but also doesn’t seem to care.

“Fuck all of you!” Roger snaps, thankful when he hears the honk of a horn and sees his dad’s station wagon parked outside and waiting. He starts lugging his stuff out as the others are still doting on him. Assholes.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #ask your destiny to dance fic #the angry lizard writes

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lokiarsene · 5 years

Text

More PQ2 liveblog thoughts–this time with no salt!

Ryuji acknowledging that what Kamoshida did wasn’t just physical abuse, and that what he put Ann through was even worse than that, was really refreshing to see, especially since the base game did very little to actually show Ryuji understand and acknowledge and care about Ann’s feelings and what she suffered. Any hope of development he had once Kamoshida was apprehended just went out the window, so kudos, PQ2.

Akechi telling Ryuji and Ann, who are particularly vocal about how much they hate Kamoshida (with good reason!) that he understands how they feel is…. painful. Very painful. Especially since what set them off is how absurd it is to think of a whole city built around the idea that Kamoshida is a hero. Of course Akechi would understand how that feels: the entire country of Japan thinks his piece of shit father is a good man.

I painted a tile red by accident, and Ann chimed in by saying it was a nice color. Of COURSE she’d like the color red. ;_;

I can’t believe I forgot this, but the contrast of Akechi having Bless/Light skills, and Joker having Curse/Dark? I love it. I love it a LOT. To me this is the most clear sign that Akechi really did have the capacity for goodness in him, that if he hadn’t been mistreated and deprived, he’d be the true hero his childhood self clearly wished he could be (see also: Robin Hood). And with that line of thinking, I find it equally fascinating that Ren’s innate talent is Curse/Dark.

I don’t pay much attention to the P5 fandom, but from what little I’ve glimpsed, people seem to have this misconception that Ren is some uwu cinnamon roll, when this is so damn far from the truth I really wonder if these people like,,, actually,,, paid attention to the game they were playing. Ren’s ultimate persona is Satanael. It shoots the Demiurge in the fucking face. His whole shtick is a gentleman rebel intent on purging corruption and impurity from society, and he does this while being affiliated with Dark himself. I think a lot of people, even some Akeshu shippers, may overlook Ren’s own capacity for darkness and controlled viciousness in the name of justice. People who evade the law must be dragged screaming back to the rule of law. There’s a reason why his dynamic with Akechi is as compelling as it is, and it’s because they are absolute equals, cordial rivals with similar powers, motivations, and yes, even inclinations.

I’m just saying, if people are able to see Akechi’s potential for being different/better than what he was, then the same can be said for Ren in the reverse. And by some accounts he really is quite questionable, though I’ve previously discussed the moral ambiguity of forcing a conscience onto the minds/hearts of people instead of allowing them to go to it willingly. Personally I stand with Akechi on the matter–FORCING change on someone, no matter how corrupt they are, is a problem unto itself. But I also agree with Akechi in that some people are so corrupt they just need a good killin’ though, so… y'know. Grain of salt and all.

All-Out Attacks in this are ALSO adorable. God I’m enjoying the look/style of this so much more than I did Q1, weirdly enough.

Boy I did not in any way at all miss Justine and… what’s the other one. Christine? Something? Oh no, it’s Caroline. Whatever. I didn’t miss them, and they are by far the lamest of the Velvet Room attendants. Anyone have any ideas as to why Ren’s VR attendants would be children? Because as far as I know in the other games, except for 2, the VR attendants were some reflection of the Wild Card user themselves. The VR attendant was either someone who would be their peer, someone they could learn from, or, with Yu and Margaret, a guiding figure, stern but helpful. And then Marie showed up so… whatever, I guess. I guess Yu learned how to listen to terrible poetry from a tsundere goth or something? Not sure.

I haven’t quite figured out how/why Justine and Caroline–and then Lavenza–can in any way relate to Ren, and part of me wants to say they were actually meant to be Akechi’s VR attendants if he were a true Wild Card user. Children with two different personalities with a strong sense of justice that doesn’t yield no matter what? That fits Akechi quite well. Those attendants then merging into a gentle but determined, soft-spoken girl who only wishes to find the truth and reveal it? That fits Akechi too. It reflects a gentleness/softness, a purity that he lost too soon.

When I put it that way, I can kinda see how they would fit with Ren, who is also seeking the truth because of his muddled memories (which is so convoluted, oh my god, don’t get me started), but they make so much more sense if I think of them as leftovers that were meant to go to Akechi first. But since Akechi isn’t a Wild Card user…. womp womp.

Mona’s outburst that Ryuji should respect Justine and Caroline, then backpedaling to say no, he doesn’t know them, but [respecting them] “just feels right” is………….. really interesting. He says they have something “unwavering” within them, and when they look at him, he gets the feeling he just has to listen to them–“there’s something deep in my core, this feeling that screams ‘I have to do what they say!’ wells up inside me.” IN TER EST ING.

And FINALLY your whole crew can join you in the Velvet Room! Takes me back to P2 days.

Akechi: “Still, two Personas at the same time? I’m impressed. My hat’s off to you, Ren.” FDJSKLFDSLK AKECHI YOU BRILLIANT MOTHERFUCKER

!!!

AND NOW MY BUDDIES CAN HAVE MULTIPLE PERSONA

FUCK YEAH FUN TIME

And Justine/Caroline speculate that the power of the Wild Card is changing to adapt, since “another with the power of the wild card is here as well.” I’m guessing that refers to the P3 or P4 protag?

After playing other JRPGs, I realized something about the Persona series that stands out and that I really enjoy: how talkative your teammates are. They encourage you, cheer you on, compliment you for an attack, express fear if you’re hurt; they thank you for the help you give them, they comment on how much health or SP they lose–it all feels that much more engaging and exciting. Plus it’s a small but really special way to show off their personalities and just how they work together as a team.

OH MY GOD

MY GAL MINAKO MAKING THE BEST FUCKING ENTRANCE

THAT’S MY GAL DSJKLAFJSDKL LET ME PUT HER IN MY PARTY DFJSKLFDaaa AND THE BATTLE MUSIC CHANGES TO P3-STYLED MUSIC WHEN SHE’S HERE JKFDSAJKLFSDAJFLSDJFKLSD OH MY GOD I WANT TO CRY

This is the kinda fanservice I live for, idc. The kind of fanservice that is fun and harmless, that just makes the story exciting. Because who doesn’t love a good crossover?

Oh my god hearing the P3 music again makes me want to tear up. Y'all don’t know how special P3 is to me ;_; It means so… so so so much. And seeing her again, and hearing this music, just fills my heart with so much painjoy that I want to cry.

I GET TO NAME HER? DFJSLAKFDSKL I JUST BURST INTO TEARS. I KNOW THIS IS RIDICULOUS BTIA FKJDSL SHE’S JSUT SO SPECIAL AND!! ATLUS IS FINALLY ACKNOWLEDGING HER!!!a

As a side note, I’m really touched to see Akechi interacting with others that aren’t in the PT. He is genuinely kind to them–a pleasant boy indeed.

“I watch the news pretty regularly, too.” Considering how many times you can check the TV in the dorm in P3, and that SEES would keep an eye on the Apathy Syndrome cases, she’s not lying. Good on Atlus for putting that in there.

Watching Minako bond with Futaba over headphones, and be so kind and friendly, just… warms my heart. THAT’S the P3 protag I know and love.

//THE POPCORN MAKER IS A TRANSPOSITION KILN, LIKE FROM DARK SOULS 3 FADSJKLFDS// THIS IS THE GREATEST GAME EVER MADE

Justine and Caroline confirm that the other Wild Card user they sensed was Minako, which I suppose makes it canon (sorta?) that Akechi is not a Wild Card user, and that his two Persona are likely a special case, caused by the severe split in his motives and in his heart thanks to Shido.

Persona fusion in this is really cute! Justine and Caroline slowly merge the film, do a dance, and butterfly wings sprout from their backs!

“But nothing’s certain in this world, and this problem isn’t going to solve itself.” I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MINAKO.

Watching Futaba struggle but still go through with trying to reach out to Hikari, to explain how difficult it was for her to socialize and share her time with others, also makes me look at P5 in a nicer light. I really did think Futaba had one of the better S-Links, it’s just that pedophilia bullshit that was a GIANT RED FLAG distracting me from the rest of it. If her S-Link had something like this instead–Futaba finds a girl who is like her, and wants to help her since she understands exactly how she feels, but she wants Ren’s help/advice with it–I would have been much happier.

YOU CAN PUT MINAKO IN YOUR PARTY OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Her Japanese voice is adorable by the way–so bright and friendly and warm.

#this is the ask tag #pq2 liveblog #pq2 spoilers

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nerd-peridot · 6 years

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“Yes, And...”

A fic for Amedot Week Day 2: First Kiss

Summary: Amethyst and Peridot figure out yet another way to improve improv.

Rated: T

Peridot had had a lot of bizarre experiences since coming to Earth, and while she had gotten used to many of them, every once in a while, there was a moment so weird that she had to mentally step back and wonder: How did I get here?

Take now, for instance. Here she was on an Earth beach, on stage, surrounded by humans (plus one undersized but otherwise remarkable quartz), staring at a non-existent mountain in front of them figuring out how to climb it.

Just another night of improv class for the Beach City Laugh Guards.

Their teacher, Jamie, whistled and gazed into the starry sky. “Whew! That sure is one gigantic mountain! I hear only the bravest souls will DARE to climb it.” He flung the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. “HowEVER will we make it up there?”

“I’ve got some rope,” declared Mr. Smiley, holding out his empty hand.

“No need!” Barb exclaimed. “It just so happens that yesterday, I invented this anti-gravity belt. We can float our way up the mountain!”

Peridot interrupted, pointer finger raised. “Actually, there’s no such thing as an anti-gravity belt. You mean anti-gravity shoes… otherwise known as gravity connectors. Obviously.”

Jaime sighed. “CUT! Time out, everybody.” Breathing deeply, he steepled his fingers against his lips, then brought them down and stared at Peridot with a hard look. “Peridot, if Barb says she has an anti-gravity belt, then she HAS an anti-gravity belt.”

Peridot felt Amethyst brush her arm as she came up alongside her. “Uh, dude, I think Peri would know. At one point, she pretty much, like, OWNED the equivalent of anti-gravity shoes.”

“Exactly! Thank you!” said Peridot. Not for the first time, Peridot felt a rush of gratitude that Amethyst was doing this class with her. She always had her back. Not to mention the fact that everything was so much more fun when Amethyst was around.

“Shoes or no shoes, that’s not the point,” Jaimie interjected. “You are forgetting the fundamentals of improv. This noble art is all about saying ‘yes’ to the creativity of your fellow performers.” He clenched his fist and thumped it to his chest in emphasis. “We come together as mere lumps of creative clay in the kiln of fellowship.” Eyes shining, Jamie opened his palm in a large swooping motion across the group. “And our imagination gives rise to a creation all our own!” he finished, voice breaking with emotion.

Peridot leaned sideways closer to Amethyst and whispered, “Is he crying?”

“Yep,” she replied, with a pop on the p sound at the end.

He glared. “I heard that. The point is, you can’t contradict the other cast members. It derails the whole scene; it throws people off. It doesn’t matter whether it’s shoes or belts. Barb made a belt, so in the context of this story, you have to agree with her. Ok? So, if Barb says she has an anti-gravity belt, you say?”

Peridot blinked. “I say, um, that’s right! You DO have an anti-gravity belt!” She patted Barb’s arm congenially. “But let’s use my gravity connectors, which are better because they actually exist.”

Jamie sighed again and covered his eyes with his hand. “Ok, here, why don’t we get back to basics and switch to a new game. Do you remember how to play ‘Yes, And’? One actor says something—”

“And I reply, ‘Yes, and.’ Then I add something else onto it. I remember.”

Across the stage laid an old, weathered hat on a tall table. Jamie reached inside and rummaged through the slips of paper inside. “Peridot and Amethyst, you two start things off using the worrrrd,” He grabbed a slip and peered at it. “Ring!” He paused a moment while the two gems centered themselves onstage. “Ready? Annnnnd, ACTION!”

Immediately, Amethyst dropped to one knee and mimed opening up a tiny hinged box. “Oh, darling Peridot! Light of my life, apple of my vision sphere: Will you marry me?”

Peridot snickered, then got control of herself. “Yes, and… let’s do it today!” She glanced to Jamie to see if that was the right thing to say.

“Good,” Jamie whispered, nodding. “Keep going!”

Amethyst pretended to slip a ring onto Peridot’s fingers. “Yes annnnnnnd…” She took a moment to think. “And luckily, we’re right in front of a Vegas chapel, so we can get married right now!”

Suddenly, Mr. Smiley slid into the scene. “Yes, and I’m the ordained minister. I would be happy to marry you lovely folks today.” He straightened up and cleared his throat, adopting a very solemn demeanor. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness the union of these two lovebirds in holy matrimony.”

Peridot jumped in mild surprise as Amethyst reached for both of Peridot’s hands and clasped them in her own. Even though she hadn’t had much experience with weddings, Peridot thought she remembered enough about them from TV to recognize that Amethyst was attempting to act like a real couple about to take their vows. Turning to face her and looking into her deep violet eyes, Peridot felt a twinge of an emotion she couldn’t quite name, so she dropped her eyes down to linger on their intertwined hands. There was a tingling feeling in her fingers, and when one of Amethyst’s thumbs brushed against Peridot’s, that feeling rushed all the way from Peridot’s hands, up her arm, and through every part of her.

Mr. Smiley turned to Amethyst. “Repeat after me: I, Dolly Parton, take thee, Princess Leia, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

“Yes, I… Dolly Parton? What the… Are you seriou--” Amethyst caught the death glare from Jamie and continued on in a thick southern accent. “I, Dolly Parton, take thee, Princess Leia, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

Mr. Smiley turned to Peridot. “And you, repeat after me: “I, Princess Leia, take thee, Dolly Parton, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

Peridot cleared her throat and continued, “Yes, I, Princess Leia, take thee, Dolly Parton, to be my lawfully wedded wife.” At the last second, she added, “And I definitely know who that is, and I’m not confused at ALL.”

Chuckling, Mr. Smiley said, “Yes, and that’s a good thing, since you’re getting married. AND, I now pronounce you wife and wife! You may kiss the bride.”

Oh. She had forgotten that part of the ritual. Whipping her head back to face Amethyst, Peridot looked at her with wide eyes.

Amethyst looked taken aback first, but then she recovered and shrugged nonchalantly, “Meh, alright, yes. Pucker up, buttercup!” Leaning forward, she pursed her lips and made a high-pitched kissing noise that Peridot supposed was exaggerated for comedic effect.

Except there was nothing funny about the feeling of Amethyst’s hands in hers. Nothing funny about the way her soft hair fell forward and tickled the sensitive stretch of skin on Peridot’s forearms. Nothing funny about gentle curve of her inviting plump violet lips.

“Yes, and…” Peridot said weakly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Barb, Jamie, and Mr. Smiley all looking on at the couple, waiting. She could hear a chuckle from Mr. Smiley. Peridot dropped Amethyst’s hands, and the purple gem’s eyes flew open. Peridot turned slightly and began to step back. “Annnd, I have some flavored lip gloss just for the occasion.” She was even closer to the edge of the stage steps now. “Let me just… grab it from home. Bye!”

She rushed away, leaving the rest of the Beach City Laugh Guards staring as she scurried away from the stage and across the beach.

Soon after, there was some debate about whether to call it a night or continue the class, especially once Amethyst had decided she should also leave to go find Peridot. Mr. Smiley felt especially bad about the whole thing, never having intended to make Peridot feel uncomfortable.

“She’ll be OK. You guys keep going!” Amethyst insisted. After all, with their next performance scheduled for tomorrow night, the group needed all the class time they could get to practice their improv skills.

And so, Amethyst set off on her own to search for her friend. Scanning the beach for any sign of the green gem, Amethyst tried to fight back the feeling of being discouraged. Not just about how long it was taking to find her but about the way the wedding scene had ended between them.

There was one particularly depressing thought that kept crossing Amethyst’s mind: ‘She’s a kindergartner whose whole job was to make gems come out the right way. She must be disgusted to kiss a defective gem like me.’ That was a harsh statement to make about herself, and probably not true. Amethyst knew this. Peridot must have just been nervous, that’s all. And just because Peridot hadn’t really shown any romantic interest in her didn’t mean she thought Amethyst was repulsive. Still, there was a tiny part of Amethyst that wondered.

Once Peridot was in eyesight, she was easy to spot with her bright green and yellow coloring and pyramid of hair, even at night. There she was, sitting on a large flat-topped rock in a deserted part of the beach, staring at the crashing waves.

Amethyst approached, clearing her throat quietly so as not to startle Peridot too much. “Hey. Mind if I sit here?”

Peridot still jumped. “Oh! Oh, Amethyst. Um, yes. Here.” She scooted over to make more room on the rock, and they both faced the deep blue ocean. It was sort of peaceful here, listening to the waves and seeing the bright expanse of stars shimming in the night sky. It might have been nice to just sit here in silence and enjoy the scenery, but certain things had to be said first.

“Hey listen,” Amethyst said hesitantly. “Forget about all that ‘You HAVE to say “Yes” all the time’ stuff from Jamie. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. OK?” Peridot didn’t say anything, so she continued, hoping a self-deprecating joke would break the tension. “I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to kiss me, so…”

Peridot stared at her feet, shuffling them through sand. “That’s not why I didn’t want to do it! You’d be a perfectly…. acceptable partner for kissing.”

“Perfectly acceptable, huh? Look at me, I’m blushing,” she teased sarcastically. But, Amethyst felt herself relax a little, as a little voice in her head said, ‘See? You were just being hard on yourself again.’

“It’s just that I’ve never kissed anyone before. And doing it for the first time is nerve-wracking enough, but to do it for the first time in front of all those other people….” She lifted her head, her nervous expression so unlike her normally confident demeanor. “And what if I’m bad at it in front of all those other people?”

Amethyst rubbed her palm against the back of her neck. “I mean, I’m no expert or anything. Just kissed some friends a few times as a goof, but from what I’ve learned, I think pretty much everybody is bad at it when they first start doing it. Just like anything else.”

“But you see my point,” Peridot pressed on. “I’ve never done it before, so I’m going to give a bad kissing performance in front of everyone.”

“Peridot, look at our improv class. We’re ALL giving embarrassingly bad performances in front of everyone.” She threw an arm around Peridot’s shoulders. “But you don’t need to worry about that anyway. Jamie’s a good guy. He won’t make you do scenes like that if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

“But isn’t this something that all actors need to learn to do? Kissing scenes?”

Amethyst sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Per. Heh…Unless of course you want to practice at it together, first.” She gave her a flirtatious wink.

That type of teasing might have caused Pearl to blush and look scandalized (always a hilarious result), but much to Amethyst’s surprise, Peridot exclaimed, “Amethyst! That’s exactly what we should do.”

She froze. “Huh?”

“Rehearsal!” Excitedly, Peridot stood up and began pacing through the sand. “If I’m a novice at this, and you said you were maybe, what, an intermediate, then it only makes sense that we practice together first! That way, we can practice in private.” She turned to face the stunned purple gem with a self-assured smile. “I can’t believe no one’s ever thought about doing a rehearsal for an improv scene before. Look at us! We just keep improving improv.”

Amethyst rubbed her hand against the upper part of her arm. “I dunno, you sure you wanna do this?” she said, trying to play it cool. Well, maybe this didn’t have to be such a big deal. She knew kissing didn’t necessarily have to mean anything. After all, how many times had she planted a big wet kiss on a friend’s lips as a joke?

Of course, those friends weren’t Peridot. Cute Peridot, whose smile lit up a room. Funny, smart Peridot, who could always make Amethyst laugh with her own clever, unique take on the world around her. Her friend, Peridot, who made Amethyst feel like a spark lit up inside her even with an accidental brush of her hand.

Still, it didn’t have to be a big deal, right?

Peridot nodded. “Absolutely, I think we should do this.”

With a deep breath, Amethyst steeled herself with resolve. “Ok. So how do you want to start?”

Her smile faded slightly. “Start? Now?”

Gesturing around the dark, secluded beach, Amethyst pointed out, “You said you wanted privacy. There’s no one here now. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until the beach house is empty.”

Peridot looked somewhat hesitant about the idea, but she still relented, “O—Ok. Well, I suppose we should replicate tonight’s earlier scene.” She tentatively reached out a hand to pull Amethyst up from the rock. “I believe we were standing face to face.”

Amethyst smiled as she stood. “Yes, AND we were holding hands.” She reached for Peridot’s other hand hanging at her side.

At the realization that Amethyst was starting the “Yes, And” game once again, Peridot let out a little laugh and continued, “Yes, AND you were leaning a little more forward.”

“Like this?” Moving in, Amethyst was now only a few inches from Peridot’s face. Even in the dim moonlight, she could see a blue blush beginning to form on her cheeks, and saw her gulp nervously. Amethyst gazed admiringly at her sweet face and a wave of affection came over her. Peri was just too damn adorable sometimes.

“Y—yes. And your lips were protruding.”

“Yes, they were,” Amethyst said, but she wasn’t quite ready for that part yet. “And my head was tilted a little. You might want to do that too.”

Tentatively, Peridot tilted her head to the side so that her ear was practically touching her shoulder. “Like this?”

“Not exactly. Here…” Amethyst took her right hand and gently tilted it up a bit to a position that was bound to be much more comfortable. She might have taken her hand away after that, but there was something about the feel of Peridot’s soft cheek against her palm and the soft look that had entered Peridot’s eyes when she touched her there that made her leave it in place. Experimentally, she stroked her thumb against green skin, and she could have sworn she felt Peridot tremble. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” Peridot said faintly. “And I think we should kiss now.”

Amethyst moved even closer now, so close she could feel Peridot’s breath on her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” And before Amethyst could make her move, Peridot’s mouth was on hers.

If touching Peridot’s hand felt like a spark lighting up, this was felt like every part of her form was on fire. The kiss started off a little rough at first, with Peridot pressing too firmly into her lips, but it soon softened into an amazing feeling, their lips meeting again and again in a beautiful harmony. She moved her hand on Peridot’s cheek back into her thick golden hair to cradle the back of her head, and they released their intertwined fingers to move their arms around each other. One of Amethyst’s arms was slung over Peridot’s lower back. She pulled her even tighter, and Peridot let out a sound in her throat that was something like a cross between a gasp and groan, sending a feeling of pure thrill running up Amethyst’s spine.

When they finally pulled back from the kiss, Amethyst found she couldn’t quite bring herself to unwrap her arms from around Peridot.

“Holy smokes,” murmured Peridot, gazing at Amethyst breathlessly.

“Holy smokes,” Amethyst repeated back. That about described it, alright. The intensity of the moment had left her mind in a fog, and she struggled to regain her cool composure. “Well—uh---I don’t think you have anything to worry about with kissing scenes. You’re a fast learner.”

“Oh good,” she replied faintly. She seemed to be lost in a fog too. “But um, I’m thinking I could definitely use some more rehearsal anyway. That is, if you want to?”

She could have jumped for joy, but instead, Amethyst simply grinned. “Yes!” And she pulled her closer once more.

#amedotweek #amedot #steven universe #fanfic #peridot #my fic

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arincist · 4 years

Text

Supernatural just ended and this is the fucking last time that I'm speaking about it so this is going to be a long-long rant.

I want to speak separately about all the "main" (cause apparently in the writers eyes Castiel and Jack were never main characters) characters first and rate their ending cause why not?

Jack Kilne 6/10

Okay so he became the New and Better God in 15x19 which is cool and I'm happy about it that was genuinely a good choice. They've been hinting at is since Castiel said that Jack will make the world a better place. What I don't really like is that the second after he became that he fucking dipped. I kind of understand why, but it just sucked. He didn't bother to even consider bringing back the man that he called a parent one or two episodes ago and that was simply out of character from him. I know that he became God and that changed him in some ways. But the Jack Kline we know would've never left Castiel in the Empty (or super mega extra hell as some people like to call it). Some people assumed that he didn't bring him back because the winchesters didn't ask him to do it. But that's not the fucking point. He would've/should've brought him back simply because he loved him. Also he was mentioned 2 times in the finale and didn't make an appearance so I'm pissed of about that too.

Sam Winchester 7/10

I admit it until season 15 I was a Sam girl, but since they sidelined him the entire season there wasn't much to talk about him. He was there, ignored and lied to by Dean, Castiel and Jack until up to 15x19. I repeat again nothing much happened in the last season regarding Sam up until the last couple episodes. That small detail already bothered me.

Next up is... the fact that if Dean never showed up in the first ever episode to tell him the famous "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days" and the yellow eyed demon didn't burn Jessica he would've had the same ending he got in this episode. Don't get me wrong he is the only one who kinda get the ending he deserved but where is the fucking character development? This man has been through hell, died 2 or 3 times, fought Leviathans, did the trials, was Lucifers vessel and so many other things that now I can't remember for him to settle for a suburban life? Don't get me wrong he is genuinely the only one who I think got the best ending but still the fact that his definition of a good life hasn't changed since season one doesn't sit right with me.

Anyways the whole character development thingy aside... having him watch his brother die, unable to help him and then him having to live a long life with that thought and without the brother he cherished so much. That shit's just evil.

But at least I'm assuming he married Eileen, I'll also assume he finished college and got to live the mundane life he wished for. So I'm not angry about him.

Dean Winchester -10/10

What the actual fuck. No but really what the fuck.

Him fucking dying in a hunt, scared and in pain just a couple days or weeks after he got the freedom he wanted so much. The writers literally let him eat a couple pies and went okay that was your happiness you can die now. This man has been through soooo much and a fucking nail kills him? He fought leviathans, demons, angels, archangels, witches and Gods and he dies on a vampire hunt by a nail in his back. This is just ridiculous. I like how the writers thought that his death will make the viewers emotional, wellp bitch you only made me anpgry.

Also them leaving Dean in the closet? Where was the grieving? Why he brushed off Castiels death so easily when Sam mentioned him. This is the man who literally wanted to die in season 13 after Castiel died and you're telling me he didn't bother talking about him? You're telling me that apparently he didn't tell Sam about Castiels confession? What in the actual fuuuuck.

A couple days ago I was worried that they might set Dean up with a woman and have a kid named after Castiel. That was the worst ending that I imagined for him and you know what the writers did? They fucking looked us in the eyes and went... I bet I can do it worse, and they fucking killed him off.

What bothers me about his death the most is that he was sooo scared. He was so scared of dying that he asked Sammy to stay with him. After everything he's been through he deserved to live a happy life. He deserved it so much.

Dean Winchester deserved to be openly bi and proud about it. He deserved to die from old age. The Dean that the fandom loves would've addressed Castiels confession. He would've told Sam (if not to Castiel since they didn't bring him back) how much and for how long he loved Castiel. He would've done everything in his power to get Castiel out of the Empty.

We deserved to see Dean be happy and alive. The fact that they only let him be happy in Heaven just makes me sick.

We deserved to see Dean come out as bisexual to Sam.

We deserved to see Dean unapologetically love Castiel.

But what did we get? We got a scared, dying, crying Dean holding onto Sam.

Castiel fuck you/10

No but really fuck you and how dare you.

How dare you make Castiel confess his love and let him die thinking that it was a one sided love. How dare you let him rot in the Empty, a place that is literally worse then hell. And how dare you treat his character like he wasn't important.

Destiel aside. He had the biggest character development out of everyone. He was a dad to Jack, a devoted friend to the Winchesters. The Winchesters would've never made it this far if Castiel didn't exist. There I said it. Castiel saved everyone again and again. He was always so selfless and loving towards them. Even his last act was one of kindness and love.

He sacrificed himself for Dean, only for him to die a couple weeks later by accident?

He confessed his love only for Dean to not even mention the whole thing to anyone?

The writers didn't deserve Castiel, that's all I have to say and that I am very disappointed in the way they handled him in the last 2 episodes. Because there was so much potential and they choose to ignore it.

Overall I rate the series finale 3/10 (and those 3 points are just because of Sam's ending and that we got to see Bobby).

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fearofaherobrine · 7 years

Text

Roleplay Server Log #280

“Dawn Repairs Sally, Pottery Lessons”

[Splender] He and Sally are about to head out of the server to gather supplies for his brother's gift-

[Sally] Is bouncing excitedly- Let's go! Let's go!

[Gk] Is flopped across the path and twitches his goatlike ears at the childish sound- Hmm?

[Sally] Laughs as she grabs onto Splender's leg-

[Gk] Picks up his head and looks at her quizzically- Who's the kid?

[Splender] - Oh! Gk! Hello, this is Sally!

[Gk] Twitches his ears - is she one of the village kids?

[Splender] - No, she's a pasta!

[Gk] Aww, a little pasta? - Leans his head near her - Looks like a cute little macaroni type. -winks at her-

[Sally] Hides behind Splender a little-

[Splender] - We're going to go get some stuff for her gift to my brother for his birthday

[Gk] Which brother? I don't think you'd take a little kid to buy something for Offender!- snorts -What's the matter kid, you scared of me?

[Splender] - She's always nervous around new people, especially men...

[Sally] - No, it's for papa

[Gk] Oh. I can.. uh.. hang on- He transforms and isn't much taller then Sally in his human shape. - Who's your dad? I thought BEN was the only pasta with a kid?

[Sally] - Papa Slender!

[Splender] - Brother is strangely defensive of her and has taken on a parental role for her, especially after what happened to her

[Gk] Oh the biggest brother! Reminds me of Cp. Murderous to adults, but nice to kids...

[Sally] - You know CP? He's one of the ones who plays with me the most!

[Splender] - Actually...

[Gk] Yep. He's my drinking buddy. Though not as often lately since I'm helping raise Endrea's kiddos.

[Sally] - Oh, it's been a lot more quiet since almost nobody is home... And Endrea is cute when she's rteally tiny!

[Gk] You should visit more often then. She's got three little kids of her own that are near always feeling playful.

[Sally] - Okay! But first we have to go get some shells for Papa!

[Gk] shells?

[Sally] - For his present!

[Gk] You're going to give him shells? Will they at least have edible stuff in them?

[Sally] - No! To decorate a vase! Splendy's going to help me!

[Gk] Cocks his head at her - Why don't you use gems? Something sparkly?

[Sally] - Because I wanna use shells!

[Gk] Okay? - Looks at Splender in confusion.

[Splender] - That's just how humans are, now we should be going before it gets dark out

[Gk] Do you want me to walk with you? The mobs usually leave me the nether alone.

[Splender] - Oh no, we're going out to the real world

[Gk] Oh. Okay. Well look out for MIBs and stuff.

[Splender] - Oh trust me, we're going someplace safe

[Gk] What would you consider safe?

[Splender] - Dawn's island!

[Gk] Oh, the witch. Yeah, I'd say that's pretty safe. I hear it's isolated as all get out and well... Basil is here already.

[Splender] - Yup!

[Sally] - Splendy! Let's go!

-The morning in the woods dawn's crisp and icy and Doc is pacing a little bit. -

[Doc] Xe throws the bunker door open and the light streams in fully, bringing with it a breath of cold, clean air.

[Lie] - Shut the door!

[Doc] Ignores her and leans out to see. - Wow...

[Lie] - Doc that's too cold

[Doc] Fine. - Xe closes the door except for a crack and goes outside.

-The snow has fallen and covered everything in pure white drifts nearly knee deep, and more against the sides of the building. Hir breath fogs out and hir boots crunch in the snow. The trees are just bare black branches clawing at the empty blue sky. -

[Lie] Is grumbling inside, trying to build the warmth back up again-

[Doc] Turns back to look at the door. The scratches are still there, incised deep into the metal, but some of them seem somehow fresher.

[Lie] Mentally- Why do you want to be out there is the frozen hell scape?

[Doc] It's actually kind of pretty. I'm not used to snow being more then just a white dusting on the ground.

[Lie] - How much is out there?

[Doc] It's pretty deep, about to your knees. But it's super powdery.

[Lie] - That's pretty deep, don't try to walk through it, you don't know where there might be holes

[Doc] Makes hir way carefully back to the door and steps down hard into a slushy spot. The muck leaves a black film on one boot and xe shakes it with some annoyance. - Too late...

[Lie] - Come on back and warm up by the fire

[Doc] Walks back in and leaves hir wet jackboots by the door.

-The brackish film slides slowly down the leathery surface and pools under the boot, getting into the crevices between the sole and the heelplate.

[Doc] Is wearing purple socks and skips quickly over to sit by the lava pool. - The ground is wet under all that ice.

[Lie] - Yeah that happens. So, anything other than your brief excursion outside planned for today?

[Doc] Well I would have happily gone for a longer walk, but it's probably a bad idea. I don't want to get lost. Are we running low on anything?

[Lie] - Not that I can tell, we still have a tiny bit of Chinese food too

[Doc] Darn... I was kind of looking for an excuse to pop back for a few.

[Lie] - Why? Do you need to get anything?

[Doc] No, I just get worried.

[Lie] - Then go, I can hold down the fort here

[Doc] Are you sure? It's not really fair to keep leaving you.

[Lie] - I'll be fine, actually, there is something you could get for me while you're over there

[Doc] Anything.

[Lie] - A small vial of the lust nectar

[Doc] Gulps - I might have one... stored someplace...

[Lie] - I would appreciate it

[Doc] Can do. - Xe pulls hir shoes back on and opens the way to the server. Xe takes a welcome breath of the warm air and walks briskly from the spawn towards hir house. The front door opens with a familiar creak and the Doctor doesn't even notice the black footprint hir boot leaves on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. Later that night, the mark isn't there anymore anyway.

[Sally] Is giddily playing in the shallow waves on the sandy beaches of Dawn's island-

[Splender] Is watching her from the shade of the trees-

[Dawn] Slips silently through the trees and stands next to Splender. - Aww. You brought a ghost out for a nice day at the beach? She's so young. Poor child.

[Mort] Is carring Samedi in his arms, the black rooster looks comfy and drowsy. He was obviously letting Dawn see who was there first. - Oh, hey Splender. It's a lovely day isn't it?

[Splender] - Oh hello you two! Yes, we came out here to find some shells, but somebody seems to be having a bit more fun with the water at the moment [Sally] Reaches for something in the water that she picks up- Splender! I found a crab!

[Splender] - Careful! Don't let it pinch you!

[Sally] Runs back over to Splender to show him the crab but when she see's Dawn and Mort she gets shy and looks at Splender for reassurance-

[Mort] gently- That's a big old crab! Those guys are pinchy.

[Sally] Nods a little and then looks at Splender- Splendy? Can we keep it?

[Splender] - No Sally, it lives here, but maybe it can stay with us while we're visiting

[Samedi] ruffled feathers, and opens one eye to look at the girl. Sensing something off about her

[Splender] Creates a bucket and holds it out for Sally- Here, put mister crab in here

[Sally] Drops the crab in and then looks at it- He's hungry

[Dawn] They'll eat pretty much anything, they're scavengers

[Sally] - Like cookies?

[Dawn] Maybe? You can try.

[Sally] Looks at Splender- Cookie please

[Splender] Laughs and pulls a sugar cookie out of his sleeve- Such good manners

[Sally] Drops it into the bucket with the crab- There he goes

[Mort] Is petting the chicken softly. It keeps opening and closing its beak, but there's no sound.

[Splender] Creates another bucket- Here you go, why don't you put the shells in here. We need to hurry so we can make the present

[Sally] - Okay!- She goes running off with both buckets on the hunt for shells

[Dawn] Oh no... is it time to glue shells to things?

[Mort] Snorts-

[Splender] - Nope! Pressing into clay to make a vase!

[Dawn] I have nice clay and a kiln if she just wants to make a pot...

[Splender] - Oh really? That would be wonderful since I don't know much about clay myself

[Mort] Wanders over to Sally- Do you want some help?

[Dawn] Certainly. Mort's very good at making ceramics. I mostly do the firing. But Doc gave us a bunch of really nice clay if you want to partake.

[Splender] - I just might

[Sally] - Hi! I like your chicken!

[Mort] Thank you. His name is Samedi, you can pet him if you want.

[Samedi] Looks at her quizzically.

[Sally] Puts one of her buckets down and reaches out to pet the bird-

[Samedi] Is petted and stays perfectly quiet. His coat is glossy and black and his tail feathers arch over Mort's elbow and trail a little.

[Sally] Giggles- Will you help me find shells?

[Mort] Sure! - He transfers the rooster to his shoulder and helps her look.

[Sally] Splashes through some of the water and then runs towards a rock. As she runs, she trips and falls, hitting her head on it. Her entire demeanor shifts as her color dulls and her clothes become dirtier and blood begins to flow down her face-

[Mort] Rushes to her as the rooster clings to his hoodie - Splender!

[Dawn] Also rushes to help-

[Splender] Turns to look- Wait! Don't touch her!

[Mort] Brushes her clothing and then jerks away at Splenders yell -

[Samedi] Goes crazy flapping madly at Sally and opening his beak as if to caw at her-

[Dawn] Gives a startled hiss at the childs appearance

-The brief contact was all Sally's abilities needed as Mort becomes petrified as his mind is barraged from memories of when Sally was living. The small ghost reaches down and picks up the rock-

[Splender] Teleports to Sally and stops her from moving any farther- Shhhhh, it's okay, he's not here. You're safe little one- He's trying to coax the rock from Sally's hand so she can't bash in Mort's skull

[Mort] Is sitting in the water crying as Dawn reaches him.

[Dawn] Is already turning to snatch the rock out of her hand as Splender appears.

[Sally] Is crying- Don't let him get me...

[Splender] - Shhh, it's okay, remember? Papa already took care of him

[Mort] Just curls up as Dawn lifts him and the rooster from the water.

[Dawn] She carries him solemly to the shore and sets him down, protecting him with her arms and magick.

[Mort] Lets out a small sob.

[Splender] - I'm so sorry about this, if I'd been a little faster in my warning...

[Mort] Is hugging himself. - Why...?

[Dawn] -sighs-

[Splender] - She's a creepy pasta, it's the way she's found to be able to disable her prey so she can kill them

[Dawn] I think he means just why in general Splender. His mom was abusive. He has a lot of bad memories of his own already.

[Splender] - Sally's parents weren't the abusive ones, it was her uncle

[Dawn] Still... It's nothing he wants to think about.

[Splender] - I apologize... If you want us to leave...

[Sally] Is just crying into Splender's jacket now-

[Dawn] I take it this is something she can't control?

[Splender] - No, it isn't. The bleeding and dulling of her colors is normal for when she gets upset, it was her hitting her head that kicked her killing instinct into gear

[Mort] Could we... bless her? Would that help at all?

[Splender] - I don't know

[Dawn] It helped him, and it won't hurt someone who's already dead.

[Splender] - If you're certain, brother would be very upset if anything happened to her

[Dawn] If there's one thing I'm good with Splender, it's the dead and undead. I've been given power over them by my patron.

[Splender] Looks down at Sally- Are you alright now?

[Sally] Peeks at Dawn and Mort- I'm sorry

[Mort] I forgive you.

[Dawn] Me as well.

[Mort] Come over here, I want to show you something. - He's still sitting on the sand with Dawn behind him-

[Sally] Nervously looks at Splender who encourages her over, she goes over, still bloody-

[Mort] Pats the ground for her to sit in front of him. The sand is warm, white and powdery.

[Sally] Sits, looking curiously at Mort-

[Mort] Dawn's father, and for all in intents and purposes, my father-in-law is Azrael, the angel of Death.

[Sally] - Who?

[Dawn] The Grim Reaper? Very tall skeleton in a black robe with silvery gray wings?

[Sally] Shrugs-

[Mort] There's a small creaking noise as he smirks his skull a little. - It's okay, the point is he gave me something special. A blessing energy to help keep me alive. - He reaches down and unzips his hoodies so the front falls open. The empty ribs inside are lit up from within by a plume of green fire dancing in the center of the space.

[Sally] - Doesn't that burn?

[Mort] No, it's actually a little bit cold. - He passes a hand over where his heart would be and some of the flames jump to his fingers, dancing between the bones.

[Sally] Watches with fascination-

[Mort] Do you mind if I touch you with it? It may help you forget your re-occuring nightmare.

[Sally] - No more Uncle Joe?

[Mort] Yes.

[Sally] - Okay

[Dawn] Give me a moment... - She stands up fully and drags her heel in a circle around them making some gestures and quiet words in the cardinal directions before coming back to put her hands on her mate's shoulders from behind again- Ready.

[Splender] - Oh do be careful

[Mort] I will, it's a good energy. Watch this. - He wipes his hand on the sand and it leaves a trail of green shoots of grass on the formerly pristine surface.

[Sally] - Plants!

[Mort] Are you ready?

[Dawn] Is gathering her energies as well and feeds them into him-

[Mort] He holds out his own bony fingers, all wreathed in fire. -Take my hands please.

[Sally] Reaches for his hands, her smaller ones fitting snuggly inside his bony ones-

[Dawn] Lifts her voice and the words flow like water around the circle- In nomine Angelus custos est ad finem omnia, ut iubes animam tuam. Liber esto darkess esta est, et vade in odium suum et foedum habent quod putent adhuc vestram narrando revocare. Esta volo mundare et ex contagio alios afficiunt. Iustitiae omnino mercedis accepit te. In Gruva nomen liberari. Sic fiat semper. -

[Mort] The green fire wreathes the three of them briefly and then slides back inside him.

-The circle is now full of a lush carpet of grass that ends exactly at the line Dawn made in the sand.

[Dawn] Makes a starred circle with her right hand and quietly releases the corners of the temporarily sacred space.

[Sally] - I feel funny...

[Mort] Uncurls his fingers gently - Funny good?

[Dawn] Shakes herself off a bit- That was heavy stuff...

[Sally] - I think so?

[Splender] Swoops in to hug Sally- Oh thank goodness you're alright!

[Dawn] Well I don't suggest we injure her to test it, so let me know how it goes, okay?

[Splender] - Oh absolutely! Now what do we say Sally?

[Sally] - Thank you

[Mort] Can we go make pots now?

[Dawn] Chuckles-

[Sally] - That's right! Papa's gift!

[Dawn] Come on then- Motions up the path.

[Samedi] Goes strutting ahead-

[Sally] Is put down and she follows along behind Dawn-

-The group passes through a lot of jungle and enters into a clearing bordered on the back and sides by a sheer rock face. The rooster disturbs the chickens pecking in the yard and they scatter a bit at the newcomers approach. Mort picks his way between the lush garden and the side of the house back to a shed with an open side, pulling the tarp away to reveal what's within. There's a wheel and a long table and shelves with pots in various stages of completion. The most striking thing though is a huge clay block, nearly square but missing a chunk off one corner.

[Splender] - Ready to work Sally?

[Sally] Nods eagerly-

[Mort] Good. Here, I'll set you up. -He takes a wire with a bit of wood on either end like a garrotte and uses it to slice a hunk of clay from the block. It's already perfect and moist and he drops it on the table for her. There are already some tools laying around with weird ends and smoothing edges.

[Sally] Plunges her fingers into it-

[Mort] Watches her - are we doing pinch or coil?

[Sally] - I don't know what that means

[Mort] Well pinch is like this- He takes a ball and shoves his thumb into the center- then you just go around and around and make the walls thinner by squeezing.

[Sally] Plops the clay onto the table- It makes a funny noise!

[Mort] Yep, it's squishy!

[Splender] Just sits back to watch-

[Dawn] Is watching bemused - You want in Splender?

[Splender] - Oh no, I'm happy to watch

[Dawn] Are you sure? With those long fingers you might get a kick out of the wheel.

[Mort] Is showing Sally how to roll a snake for coiling pots.

[Sally] Is making snake noises as she does so-

[Splender] - Oh I've done it many times in the past, but I find it more entertaining to see what children come up with

[Dawn] Ah, okay. Well you're always welcome to do so here. We've got plenty of clay and it fires better if the kiln is nice and full.

[Splender] - I will keep that in mind

[Sally] - Is just having fun, her vase having several little holes in it-

[Mort] I know a better way to use the shells too!

[Sally] - Really?

[Mort] Smooths out a bit of clay with a rubber tool and takes a shell before pressing it deeply into the clay- the actual shells would break in the kiln, but the textures make all kinds of interesting stamped patterns.

[Sally] Cool!- Starts pressing them everywhere

[Mort] If you want, I can glaze it too, then it will be all glassy and smooth - gestures at some finished pieces around them.

[Sally] - Pretty

[Mort] Just pick a color.

[Sally] - Pink!

[Mort] Okay, I'll make a note. You just work on that part. Make sure the walls aren't any thicker then this -Pinches his fingers to show her a small amount of space. - and try not to fold the clay over itself. Bubbles will make it blow up.

[Sally] - Okay!- Shew sticks out her tongue in concentration

[Splender] Hums in contentment as he leans back, ready to be patient-

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water-hates-learning · 7 years

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Pieces of Life

Hey, check it out, I found more old fan fiction. I’ve been digging around in my folders upon folders upon folders and finding some treasures. Most are garbage and not worth sharing.

But this one’s actually finished and isn’t half bad. A different style from my usual writing but kind of interesting.

It’s a sort of crossover with His Dark Materials so everyone has daemons. As in, their souls are manifested outside their bodies as animals. That’s basically all you need to know.

-----------

Matt dies slowly when the zombies chew his arm off. He’s left bleeding out on the ground as his painted bat daemon’s struggling gets weaker and weaker.

He watches her fade into ripples of golden dust.

Then his eyes roll back and he dies.

****

Tord’s tasmanian devil goes out like a light when the zombie’s converge on him. She doesn’t even have a chance to cry out for him before he’s gone.

****

He just wants his daemon back! He just wants to see his darling Camelai again! Doesn’t he deserve that!

Matt makes a choked sound that comes out gummy and wet in this rotting, zombie body. His gaze flicks with hot jealousy to Tom’s daemon curled around the man’s neck. He wants his daemon back, he just wants her back.

And Tord’s trying to stop him.

****

Tord is free.

He finds the fragments that made up Riordan and he is delighted to be with her again.

They’ll come back at some point, they always do. As long as they’re not zombie’s, as long as they’re not undead, they always come back. Tom always calls it some sick joke of the universe.

****

Their daemons don’t like going to visit Hell. The land of the dead is not for those who still have their souls.

Edd digs his fingers into Ringo’s thick fur and won’t let him go. Camelai is hiding in the folds of Matt’s overcoat, whimpering and keening. Tord’s precious Riordan is snapping and snarling in his arms. There’s no sign of Phoena but if the shivering lump in the pocket of Tom’s hoodie is anything to go by, she’s just as frightened as the rest of them.

They don’t talk about that trip. And it’s a long time before their daemons forgive them for it.

****

The clones don’t have daemons and that’s how they know who to aim their weapons at.

In the end, there’s a pile of bodies and an ill miasma over the house. Their daemons huddle together in fright as Bing’s hyena daemon cackles her way out the door after him.

****

When Tord and Riordan leave, Ringo sulks by the windows for days. Edd pretends he’s fine and every thing is just dandy, thank you very much.

Poor Camelai tries to help Matt remember and keep his memories straight. But she can only do so much. He forgets so easily now, his mind fractured and cracking in places, like a clay pot too long in the kiln.

Tom says “good riddance” and immediately moves into the abandoned (and bigger) bedroom. His stoat demon nests in an old black trench coat left behind until he stuffs it angrily in the dumpster a few days later.

****

The Ringo from the future is missing an ear and his fur is patchy.

But at least Edd’s future self has his daemon.

There is no bright orange bat or caramel colored stoat accompanying the future Tom and Matt.

****

Eduardo’s Jezabell harasses Ringo whenever she can. Edd’s gorgeous Siberian Cat is larger than the Iberian Lynx but that doesn’t stop her. Nor does it seem to deter Eduardo from harassing Edd.

****

Matt thinks Jon's big Leonberger daemon is actually really nice. After all, he did catch Camelai before she hit the ground when that demon stopped possessing them.

And Merryweather is such a nice name.

He can't help but wonder why on earth they hang around a sourpuss like Eduardo.

****

Edd swerves the car while he's looking at the map and accidentally splashes Mark with a puddle as they're heading towards ASDFLAND.

They're still chortling at the look of indignation on the Formosan Odd-Scale snake daemon's face from her position on Mark's shoulders when Phoena--who rarely speaks aloud--wonders why the puddle was red.

****

Matt and Camelai panic when they see the zombies and he clutches her close.

The will not lose each other again.

****

Ringo feels it when Edd is struck by the light coming from Eduardo's roof mounted dish. It's like a bolt through the heart. Even from his position under the porch, safe out of the rain, tugging at the limits of their bond, he can feel it.

He feels it when Edd falls off the roof, too. It's his yowling cries that draw their friends out of the house to rescue them both.

****

They have a witch's bond now.

While Edd and Eduardo are fighting in the sky, Ringo and Jezabell wrestle on the ground.

When they apologize, Jezabell looks as though lightning has struck her.

****

Phoena doesn't remember what happened after Eduardo had punched them out of the car.

All she can do is cry as her bond with Tom is stretched so taut she can barely breathe. She doesn't know where he is. She can't find him, and their bond is scraping a hole in her heart. She mewls desperately and drags herself from the alley, looking for help.

She can feel an unbridled rage and mindless fury smoldering at the edges of her heart.

She knows what happened.

****

They're hiding from the rain when Edd finds the book.

While his friends and their daemons mess about noisily in the background, he reads of an English detective and his Beagle daemon venturing to America to find a missing prince.

A tired and alcoholic sheriff with a ragged Coyote at his side give them aide. And together, they rescue the prince and his Hummingbird daemon from a trio of bandits, putting the town at peace once more.

****

Ringo has an "I told you so" air about him as Edd bends over the toilet again to throw up more of the ancient bottle of Cola.

****

Phoena bristles the second they step into the house but says nothing. Tom can sense something's off but he can't tell what it is.

Then he finds a familiar Tasmanian Devil daemon playing lookout.

And finds Tord trying to pick the lock to his old bedroom.

****

Riordan says they don't have to do this.

Tord doesn't answer her.

****

Camelai curls into Matt's neck after Tord strikes them and refuses to speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

She can't understand what's happened to change things so much.

****

Tom wants to be sick. Phoena's claws are digging into his shoulder.

The bullets are digging into the walls of their lives.

****

Blood soaks into Eduardo's shirt as he clutches Jon to his chest.

Next to them, Jezabell is helplessly nuzzling at Merryweather as he begins to fade away into ribbons of golden dust.

****

Tom is hurt and Phoena is almost dizzy with pain. There's blood in his eyes but the harpoon hits true.

The robot goes down in hail of smoke and fire.

They don't bother to try and see where it lands.

****

Adara gently carries the wounded Riordan in her Doberman Pincer jaws. Thijs perches on her back, his sharp Gyrfalcon eyes keep a look out for trouble.

Tord says nothing the entire time Pat and Pau are patching him up.

****

They don’t come away unscathed from this ending.

But Phoena’s small claws are perfect for helping Tom put pieces of Susan back together again.

Edd spends most of his time with his usually distant daemon laying across his lap.

Camelai is rarely seen these days, content to hide in the lapels of Matt’s jacket.

But they have each other. That has to count for something.

#8ball fics

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theprogrocker · 7 years

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Fleetwood Mac - Rumours

Rating: 15/15

Best song: The Chain (or whichever song is playing at any given moment)

“Fleetwood Mac”. What comes to mind when you hear those words? Is it late 70s mainstream pop/soft-rock? The band that turned everything on the radio into soft mush way before the Police did? Stevie Nicks? Lindsey Buckingham? The other girl in the band? How about when someone says “I love Fleetwood Mac”, or “I’m a Fleetwood Mac fan”? Is it “mainstream pop sellout with no taste or artistic sensibility who should listen to King Crimson if they want to hear some TRUE art”? This is all completely understandable, but to a point, it’s also all wrong.

Quick history lesson (feel free to skip this paragraph if you already know or if you don’t really care): Fleetwood Mac started out as a British blues band, a spinoff of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, and consisted of Peter Green on guitar, Jeremy Spencer on slide guitar, Mick Fleetwood on drums, and Bob Brunning on bass. Green named the band Fleetwood Mac after the rhythm section, and to entice John McVie into joining, and after a few gigs, Bob Brunning (who was only ever intended as a replacement anyway) was out and McVie was in. They released two hardcore blues albums, the latter of which featured a band friend named Christine Perfect on piano. Neither of these albums really established any sort of real identity, though; however successful their singles got (“Albatross”, “Black Magic Woman” (yep, THAT one), “The Green Maralishi”), they weren’t going to make it as a blues band. Green found guitarist Danny Kirwan playing in a basement somewhere and considered it such a shame Kirwan hadn’t made it professionally that he ended up adding him to the band. This added a severely needed change to the band, as Kirwan was more of a folksy guy than anything, and this new influence created an album called Then Play On, which was dark, gloomy, folksy, and bluesy, but definitely not faceless like the band’s previous blues output had been. Green’s schizophrenia overtook him eventually, and he had to leave the band. The next album was dominated by Jeremy Spencer, and it was a 50s parody album called Kiln House. Spencer then left, and John McVie married Christine Perfect. The band found a guitarist named Bob Welch and let him in the band without audition, and Christine Perfect (now Christine McVie) officially joined the band as well. They put out a prog-influenced soft-rock album called Future Games, which is notable for having the first contributions of both Welch and Christine (but pretty boring otherwise). Kirwan had become a serious alcoholic by this time, and his behavior became erratic (smashing guitars, refusing to go on stage, etc.), so there was one more album released with him (Bare Trees, which shows Christine and Welch perfecting their styles and Kirwan finally becoming a rocker) before he was let go. Fleetwood Mac fell into total chaos at this point, and hired a guitarist named Bob Weston and a vocalist named Dave Walker. Both of these contributed one subpar song to the next album, Penguin, which was otherwise dominated by Christine’s pop songs and Welch’s prog ones. Walker was fired, and John McVie became an alcoholic. The band released Mystery to Me, where Welch was given free rein to do songs in lots of genres (no, really, it’s pretty diverse), and it spawned their biggest hit to that point, “Hypnotized” (my favorite pre-1975 Fleetwood Mac song). The album didn’t do so well aside from that, and this, combined with the fact that Bob Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd (sister of Patti Boyd, the star of a similar love triangle with Eric Clapton and George Harrison and the subject of Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, incidentally), caused enormous tensions within the band. Weston was kicked out, the band’s manager created a band that toured as Fleetwood Mac but had nothing to do with the real band, giant legal battles ensued, the band relocated from England to Los Angeles and fired their manager, and the next album, Heroes Are Hard to Find, featured Christine and Welch fighting hard for creative direction, to subpar results. Welch finally left, and Fleetwood found Lindsey Buckingham in a studio and asked him to join on the strength of a song of his. Buckingham joined on the condition that his girlfriend and music partner Stevie Nicks could also join, and they released a mid-70s mainstream pop/soft-rock album called Fleetwood Mac (clearly a “rebooting of the franchise”- they knew this would be a New Thing), which featured three distinct songwriting personalities: Lindsey Buckingham, the Nervous Rock Guitarist of “Monday Morning” and “I’m So Afraid”; Stevie Nicks, the Mystical Balladeer of “Rhiannon” and “Landslide”; and Christine McVie, the Happy Popper of “Over My Head” and “Say You Love Me”.

Now why did I take the time to painstakingly type all of that out when you could have read it elsewhere online? For one thing, to show that “Fleetwood Mac” actually means a few different things, and that the story does not start and end with Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, especially since Christine McVie had been at least involved with the band since almost the very beginning (though I don’t blame the public for thinking that); and much of the pre-1975 Fleetwood Mac output is underrated; don’t be afraid to try it out, because there’s at least one song I totally love on every single one of those records, barring the first two and Heroes, maybe. For another, to show just how much of a mess this band had been since the dawn of time. And for one more, to show how important historical context has always been for the band; it may have been named after the trusty rhythm section, but it always depended on the actual songwriters, and the nature of the members’ personal troubles often directly affected the quality of the music.

And there is no better proof of that last point than Rumours, one of the best-selling and most critically acclaimed albums the world has ever seen, with a 99/100 on Metacritic. The context for this album (I know, more history, but we’re almost done) is this: Buckingham and Nicks were in a terrible on/off relationship, the McVies were divorcing after eight years of marriage, Fleetwood and his wife were on the verge of divorce after she’d had another affair with his best friend, Nicks became addicted to cocaine, one of Nicks’ songs was continually rejected by the others and she had multiple breakdowns about it (it was left off of the album initially, but restored to later pressings), and the tabloids loved every minute of this and blew everything up. Indeed, the album is titled Rumours in response to the stuff the press was saying, such as that Buckingham and Nicks were the parents of Fleetwood’s daughter (!). Essentially, the band had fallen apart emotionally, but their recording contract demanded a new album, and they all stopped speaking to each other except about the music and lyrics. It follows that the only album that really comes to mind as being as tremendously focused and as connected to its personal context in terms of quality that I can think of is Abbey Road.

Because the songs absolutely rule. You already know most of them from classic rock radio, probably, but if you don’t have this album, nothing I say will do it proper justice—go get it. Each of the three songwriters is at their melodic and emotional peak, which means this album goes off like a bomb. Stevie gets four songs, Christine gets four songs, Lindsey gets three songs, and there’s a collective Band Anthem as well. Describing each of these songs is a fool’s errand; most of them are so ingrained in our culture already that typing out what I think about the melodies of each of them would be like pouring a glass of water into the ocean. Suffice it to say that the whole record is unimpeachable from any technical standpoint; the production is crystal clear, the instruments all sound great, the harmonies are awesome throughout, the solo vocals are brilliant and full of personality (especially Stevie Nicks, whose voice has one of the most eerie, yet easy-to-listen-to timbres I can imagine), the instrumental melodies and playing are great (Lindsey Buckingham is one of the most underrated guitarists in the world, and his ability to depict any emotion, especially total desperation, is unparalleled; special awards for playing on this album go to the acoustic guitar playing on “Never Going Back Again”, the electric guitar soloing on “Go Your Own Way” and “You Make Loving Fun”, and John McVie’s bass solo that leads into the coda of “The Chain”), and the vocal melodies are simply among the best anybody has heard. Verses and choruses and bridges, all are brilliant on literally every song. A slight, slight exception might be Stevie’s closing “Gold Dust Woman”, whose verse melody has always been kinda hard for me to grab, but the “Well did she make you cry…” chorus is superb anyway, and besides, the song is great for other reasons I’ll get to. No, what I’d like to prattle about is the emotional content of the record, which is extremely thick, but often subtle enough so that the album doesn’t lose any accessibility.

A big way to describe this record is “Sunshine Through Tears”, the idea of putting on a happy face even when you’re completely breaking down, and this is exactly what the band was doing when creating it. Buckingham’s songs are just like that; the opening “Second Hand News” has a joyous-sounding melody, and fun acoustic strumming, and it’s a ton of fun to sing along to those “bam-bam-bam”s. But have you taken a look at those lyrics? The song is an ANGRY one, one about being replaced in a relationship and screaming to be left alone (“Won’t you lay me down in the tall grass and let me do my stuff”). Once you know that, it doesn’t take long to hear Lindsey singing this happy melody and imagining him really tearing himself up once he gets to the “I’m just second hand news, I’M JUST SECOND HAND NEWS, YEAH”. Pretty much the same things can be said for “Go Your Own Way”, perhaps Fleetwood Mac’s most famous song and deservedly so. This is also a song, however, of triumph; it may be an angry song at its core, but it’s clear that the subject going their own way will ultimately turn out to be a good thing, and Lindsey is proud enough of himself to admit that (“Loving you isn’t the right thing to do…”). His third contribution, “Never Going Back Again”, is the stripped-down acoustic one with the cute little riff and the trippy humming harmonies, and it’s got a happy folksy melody as well, but it’s a song about a lost opportunity with someone, and it can be fairly depressing if you really listen to it.

Somewhat more depressing are Stevie’s numbers. Stevie, like I said, had grown herself a nice cocaine addiction by the time this album was being made, and oh boy, it shows. “Dreams” is an incredibly subtle song, but really listen to it and tell me you’ve heard anything like that in your life—the stripped-down sound and two-note bassline/constant IV-V alternation that never resolves to I (especially at the end) is an awesome move and it creates an atmosphere of tension and bitterness, and the weird guitar bends and Stevie’s voice give the song a psychedelic swirl, while the passive-aggressive lyrics (basically “Okay, fine, go, but you’ll realize what you’ve lost eventually”) only add to it. As much as I love “Rhiannon”, this song grinds that one’s bones to make its bread. “I Don’t Want to Know”, written way before Stevie and Lindsey joined the band, is probably the song best described by the “Sunshine Through Tears” tag; it’s all based on Stevie and Lindsey practically screaming at each other to a joyful pop melody. This may be the weakest song on the album, and it’s still awesome. “Silver Springs” is a ballad with a fantastic build into another tense, endlessly rising melody, with Stevie screaming her head off (“I will FOLLOW you DOWN ‘til the SOUND of my VOICE will HAUNT you”—her voice certainly will haunt me). Oh, more context—this was the song that was left off the album and relegated to the B-side of “Go Your Own Way” on the pretext that it was weaker than the others, and that’s frankly utter nonsense; I’m not interested in any edition of Rumours that does not include “Silver Springs”. And finally, she gets to close the album with “Gold Dust Woman”, one of the creepiest songs EVER recorded; it’s about her cocaine addiction, and it’s one of the few songs on the album that drops the happy face. The hellish ending, with Stevie and Lindsey screaming over the spooky countryish groove while it slowly intensifies is a terrifying way to end the record, and all the better for it.

The absolute key to Rumours, though, is Christine McVie. Her contributions to this record, and therefore to the world of music, cannot be understated. Over the course of her time in Fleetwood Mac (and, therefore, her marriage to John McVie, which had just ended), she had honed the craft of writing one shiny-happy pop song after another—and her hooks got so good that she should have gone into corporate songwriting. She is the only one who saves the record from drowning in its negative emotions, and does her best to balance those with songs that depict nothing but pure joy and optimism. “Don’t Stop” (one of the most famous from the album, and used in Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign; it may be one of my least favorite songs here but it still totally rules, and it’s sung in duet with Buckingham), “Songbird” (just Chris and a piano this time, a practically perfect piano ballad, and in her words, “a little hymn” to “nobody and everybody”), and “You Make Loving Fun” (her, and Fleetwood Mac’s, first run at disco, with some phenomenal vocal moves like “I’d like to belie-ie-ie-ie-ieve…”) are all happy happy songs, some of the happiest ever made. It’s only near the very end of the record that we get her fourth contribution, “Oh Daddy”, and the walls come crashing down. This song is sarcastic, dark, and just plain defeated (“If there’s a fool around, it’s got to be me”, “And I can’t walk away from you, baby, if I tried”) with a sparse musical backing that really brings to mind poor Chris sitting alone at the piano with a blank expression on her face, defeated by everything; it turns out her other songs were probably a sham, no matter how much she might deny that by saying they were about her relationship with her new boyfriend or that “Oh Daddy” was about Mick Fleetwood. Not even Happy Happy Joy Joy Christine McVie could come out of all of that emotional turmoil in one piece, and that makes this song totally devastating, probably the most devastating on the album because of that. For what it’s worth, this was the song that came closest to knocking “The Chain” off of its perch as Best Song for me.

Oh! That’s right. “The Chain” is unbelievable. All five members (yeah, even the rhythm section for which the band is named) wrote this song together, and if you don’t believe that was a feat, well, I’ll direct you back to those “Context” paragraphs. You probably already know it, and if you don’t, well, like with the whole album, nothing I can say is ever going to do it justice. It does not pretend either; it lays all of that anger out there (“DAMN your love, DAMN your lies”), and I think “the chain” keeping them together could also be said to represent the band’s recording contract forcing out the album. Everything about this song is utter perfection, lyrics to intro to verse to chorus to harmonies to bass solo to guitar solo to coda. Man.

There are only a couple more things I want to talk about with this album. One of them is the brilliant sequencing, just about as brilliant as almost any sequencing on any album (maybe The Beatles and Skylarking beat it, but maybe they don’t). Fade in with that joyful acoustic strumming for an upset song, and this creates some ironic tension. The irony becomes REAL tension on “Dreams”, which famously doesn’t ever resolve, just keeps bobbing up and down until you’re ready to scream. Short acoustic interlude follows with more ironic tension, followed by one of the most optimistic pop-rockers ever recorded, just in case you forgot you were listening to a Mainstream Pop Album, and a necessary respite before the triumphant madness-kept-in-check of “Go Your Own Way”, which is then followed by a mellow, but resplendent love ballad. Then, on the reissue, “Silver Springs” starts out sounding kind of similar to “Songbird”, but grows into a screaming frenzy, and it’s the only way to bridge “Songbird” to the (for the first time) unbridled emotional hell of “The Chain” (do you see why I can’t do without “Silver Springs”? You’d get whiplash by going directly from “Songbird” to “The Chain”!), the climax of the album. An optimistic song is the only thing that could possibly save our nerves after that one, and “You Make Loving Fun” sure qualifies. But it’s a sort of false relief, because then Stevie and Lindsey then reach a total boiling point on “I Don’t Want to Know”, the last upbeat(-sounding) song of the album, and they have a screaming match until the band totally breaks down for “Oh Daddy” and “Gold Dust Woman”, and the record fades away with a haunting country groove while a clearly agonizing Stevie wails the night away.

So how did this become such a popular, mainstream record if it’s such a downer? Simple. The answer is subtlety. Each and every song on this album (except “The Chain” and the last two songs) is catchy and friendly-sounding and either fun or relaxing to listen to, even and especially “Dreams”. “Ross, doesn’t that mean the band sacrificed their artistic integrity to make the record popular?” Well, no. Irony is the record’s greatest emotional weapon, and I think Fleetwood Mac knew that going in. This is why Rumours works on multiple levels: it can work as just a collection of catchy mainstream 70s pop/soft-rock tunes that’s great entertainment to sing along to on a car drive (I have used it many times for that), and it can work just as well as a thrill ride through the entire spectrum of human emotions and interactions (I have used it many times for that as well). It may take a while to tap into that latter one, especially if you grew up hearing the songs out of their context on the radio like I did, but with some time, some education, and some good will, you’ll be as impacted and as thrown around by this record as I am.

The original purpose for any art form is the expression of human emotion. Rumours, therefore, is of the highest art form, because not only does it express those emotions (even if they take a while to uncover), but it creates memorable experiences out of those expressions by also being the catchiest album around. How the five members of Fleetwood Mac were able to go on after this album, which was obviously incredibly taxing on everyone involved, is a Mystery to Me (of course, you could say “Well, they made MONEY off of it”, and I would pretend I hadn’t heard you), especially since Fleetwood Mac couldn’t ever keep the same lineup for two albums in a row previously. But they would never manage to top it, or even come close; Tusk and Say You Will are both great records in their own ways, but the song quality and emotional resonance of either are nowhere near the level of this masterpiece, let alone Mirage, Tango in the Night, or Behind the Mask (and certainly not Time). I frankly wonder if anyone has ever really topped this record, and I’d sure like to hear it if they had. Do I need to listen to it that often? Not really; much of it’s been ingrained in my head since I was a kid. But is it worth anything when I do? You BET it is. What a well-written, great-sounding, ironic, self-contradictory, and utterly fascinating emotional rollercoaster of a record. Unless, of course, it’s just a bunch of simplistic radio fodder for the masses. That’s cool too.

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lunarmoonflowyr · 8 years

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Dark Souls 3 Areas

So after doing my first playthrough of Dark Souls III, and having recently beaten NG+, I wanted to talk about the areas of the game because Dark Souls III has some of my favorite level design ever in gaming. I just wanted to write out all my thoughts on each area, and rank them from my least favorite to most.

This is just for my personal enjoyment, and it’s all just my opinion. Feel free to tack your own opinions onto it though!

18. Archdragon Peak

Fuck this area. I hate this area with a burning, fiery passion. I dreaded having to go through it again on NG+ and it was every bit as bad as I expected it to be.

The only compliments I can give this area is that it houses one of if not the best boss in the game, and that it looks pretty the first time you see it. Once that initial impression fades though, the area is painfully boring to go through at best, and it hates you at worst. I died to gravity as much as I died to the Nameless King.

The enemies are assholes, most notably the stone roly-poly motherfuckers that seem to have made it their lifes mission to headbutt me off the map as much as fucking possible, and the snake-men can all go suck a bag of dicks.

They stunlock you and then hop away, so if your dodges aren’t on point fighting just one can be a chore. But it’s never just one. Ever. There’s always two, or three, or four, and because of how the area is laid out you’re never going to be able to aggro just one. So they gangbang you.

And they parry you. And they spit fire at you. And don’t even get me started on the big motherfuckers with greataxes, or the completely FUCKASSES that have an axe+chain and happily one-shot me with impunity.

I, hate this area. So much. It is one of the only two areas in the game that I just “nope”d through at full speed in NG+.

17. Farron Keep

The second area that I just nope’d my way through in NG+, it saddens me that the area associated with one of the contenders for my favorite boss is one of my least favorite areas. And I think the cardinal sin of this area is that it’s boring as fuck.

There are many inhospitable areas in Dark Souls, Blighttown being the most famous, but many of the areas that people hate for their hostility are ones I actually enjoy, a lot. And I’m not the only one! Plenty of people like areas like Blighttown and Sen’s Fortress despite their outright hostility towards the player, and I personally think it’s because those areas are interesting.

Farron Keep is...in a word, boring. It’s very flat with lots of trees, it has poison sludge, some of it is deep sludge so you have to either roll or Quickstep through if you happen to have a dagger. The enemies are either boring (slugs) or infuriating (Elder/Mad Ghru), or just downright bullshit (those motherfucking goddamn curse frogs).

It’s inhospitable, it’s boring, and there’s no reason to be there any longer than you have to.

16. Smouldering Lake

The Lake isn’t so much a bad area as it is just unremarkable. It’s small, there’s a flat area, you get shot at by massive arrows, and there’s a worm thing. The only reason to go here is to fight Old Demon King, and he’s a pushover. Boring area. Moving on.

15. Catacombs of Carthus

This area is one I’m torn on. On the one hand I really like the aesthetic and the lore. On the other hand, it’s painfully linear, has a lot of irritating traps, the enemies are mostly just skeletons, and it has those fucking wheels. Fuck the wheel skeletons.

The boss fight isn’t that interesting either, High Lord Wolnir is a pretty big pushover if you know what you’re doing.

This area could have been a lot better if it felt more like an actual catacomb, with more twisting winding paths, giving the player a maze with more than one way to get out. But instead it’s one of the most painfully linear parts of the game once you leave Firelink Shrine, and the enemy and boss design don’t do it any favors.

14. Consumed King’s Garden

It’s a smaller Farron Keep except with toxic sludge instead of poison, Pus of Man and Lothric Knights instead of Ghru, and a mildly interesting boss fight. The area is slightly more visually interesting than Farron Keep, and you don’t have to spend as much time in it, which earns it some props.

And you’re also not obligated to move through the sludge 90% of the time, which I appreciate. But aside from that, the area is fairly unremarkable, only serving as a house for one of the more...interesting boss fights, if not one of the more challenging ones.

13. Cemetery of Ash/Untended Graves

These areas are essentially the same, with Untended Graves just having higher skillcap enemies and the whole area is much darker, so I’m putting them in the same slot.

Now, DS3 is my first proper Souls experience. I’ve watched Let’s Plays of DS1, I never cared for DS2 or Demon’s Souls, and while I would cry tears of joy if I got the opportunity to play Bloodborne, I don’t own a PS4 nor can I justify buying it for the sake of one game.

So DS3 was my first proper introduction to Soulsborne, and I personally love the Cemetery as a tutorial area. It organically introduces the player to the base concepts of the game, even throwing a side path with an extremely difficult enemy (for new players anyway) to familiarize players with the concept of “I should come back here later”.

In my first playthrough, I died to Iudex Gundyr the 3rd most out of any boss. Abyss Watchers takes top spot with ~20 deaths, and Dancer is the second spot with around ~17, but I died to Gundyr around 12 times before besting him. And it felt great.

So, this area very much did it’s job in teaching me how to play Dark Souls, and I remember it fondly for that.

12. Firelink Shrine

Firelink Shrine was, for me, surprisingly in-depth for what’s essentially a hub center. Walking through all the nooks and crannies in my first playthrough wondering what the hell they were for was interesting, and I loved finding NPCs and seeing them again in Firelink.

It does a very good job of creating the feeling of safety for the player, which is almost the antithesis of what Dark Souls does normally. There’s a feeling of attachment to the Shrine, to the Firekeeper and the Maiden and Andre, and all the NPCs you meet there.

It’s visually interesting as well, and there’s always a little sense of “going home” whenever I warp back to level up or buy stuff.

11. Profaned Capital

My only complaint about this area is that it’s too fucking small. I love the visual aesthetic of the Capital, it feels almost alien and disconnected to the rest of the world. Your first glimpse of it gives you a crawl up your spine, you know something awful happened here and that feeling only increases when you enter the halls and see the hundreds of charred bodies littering the place.

It’s hostile in a different sense from the rest of the game, the atmosphere of the Capital says that something went very, very wrong, and it’s only by reading item descriptions and piecing things together from context that you figure out what.

I love the Profaned Capital, and if it was bigger with more to explore and a longer path to get to the boss fight, it would most definitely be in my top ten, maybe even top five. But alas, it’s very small and sadly linear, the path to the boss fight doesn’t give almost any branching options and it’s very easy to miss the entire other half of this area. And when the area is already small, that’s not really a good thing.

10. Kiln of the First Flame

Odd that the first entry into my top ten is the smallest one in the game, and it feels slightly hypocritical to put it here after criticizing the Profaned Capital for it’s size, but the Kiln is special to me. This was where I conquered my first Dark Souls game, where I overcame a huge challenge.

The area is aesthetically pleasing as well, very much giving off the sense that this is the end of the world. There isn’t anything past the Kiln, there is just the Kiln and then the emptiness beyond. Looking back you can see the twisted amalgamation of Lothric collapsing in on itself, giving the immediate sense that reality is collapsing in on itself as the First Flame fades.

It’s a very fitting place for the end of the game, and the final boss, while maybe not the most difficult, is certainly one of the most interesting and most well-designed bosses I’ve seen in gaming. And even though I didn’t play the previous Souls games myself, I knew enough about them to recognize the weight of this fight, especially the second stage.

And that’s why the Kiln is number 10 for me.

9. The High Wall of Lothric

The Cemetery of Ash was a fantastic tutorial level, and after beating Gundyr I felt ready for the whole rest of the game.

And then Lothric.

The High Wall of Lothric is a very, very good test. It does away with the simple Undead of the cemetery and gives the player actual enemies to fight against, ones that pose a real threat to your life if you misstep. I didn’t die too much in this area, as I had seen a lot of the beginning of the game from a Let’s Play, but the sudden step up in challenge surprised me quite a bit.

The area is also very nicely laid out, and it doesn’t feel very linear even though it very much is. The game as a whole is very linear compared to it’s predecessors, but in my first playthrough it did a good job at making it feel like it wasn’t. And that’s good enough for me, to be honest.

Aesthetically pleasing area that holds two very different, but honestly very good boss fights, with suitably challenging enemies, and enough moments to let you know that this game isn’t going to go easy on you. I can’t tell you how many times I died to those god damn archers in the area above the Winged Knight.

8. Anor Londo

Similarly to the Profaned Capital, I wish this area was bigger. Because as it stands, it’s just a small little nostalgia trip holding an RNG-heavy boss fight that’s underwhelming if you don’t care about the lore.

In fact, this entire area is extremely underwhelming if you don’t care about the lore.

Luckily, I care about the lore, so when I first walked onto that bridge and the words “Anor Londo” came up on my screen, I was grinning like a fool. This place holds a lot of lore heavy significance, especially if you’re interested in Aldrich’s storyline, which I am very much so.

This area goes into my top ten for lore reasons, and nostalgia reasons. I just really, really wish it was bigger.

7. Undead Settlement

This place is just cool. It’s really, really fucking big, and I actually missed two of the NPCs you can bring back to Firelink Shrine here. The enemies were never too difficult or rage-inducing, with the exception of the guys with the huge pots and the saws. Those guys are dicks.

I like the aesthetic of the Undead Settlement, I like the level design, and my first time going through it sticks with me because it’s another area where you can get lost and miss a lot of stuff.

Unfortunately it houses a pretty underwhelming boss in the Curse-Rotted Greatwood, which gets my vote for one of the most disgusting video game bosses ever. But aside from that little blot, I really like this area.

6. Cathedral of the Deep

Another area I have a love-hate relationship with. The Cathedral has some very, VERY hostile parts to it that got very frustrating, and if I was ranking these based off of just my blind playthrough it would be much further down. But once I got here in NG+ and knew where all the bullshit was and how to deal with it, I found myself enjoying the area a lot more.

Aside from the disappointing boss fight, I found the Cathedral to be a truly interesting area both lore-wise and design-wise. It’s intuitive with a lot of shortcuts and it feels like it winds in on itself a lot, it looks very cool and the atmosphere of the area feels very wrong and cursed.

Which is fitting, seeing as it was the home of Aldrich, one of the most unsettling Dark Souls characters ever, in my opinion.

There are multiple little side paths to go find neat stuff, and although the boss fight is sadly disappointing at best and irritating at worst, I found myself having a lot of fun going through the Cathedral my second time round.

5. Grand Archives

Oh boy. Top five. I love all these areas, so it’s actually a little difficult to really rank them, and this is where opinions come into play as well.

I should clarify that this is one of my favorite areas only after you’ve dealt with that fucking Crystal Sage. Because going through the Archives with magic being shot at you constantly is stressful, irritating, and not my idea of fun.

Once the Sage is dealt with though and you can actually pace yourself, the area is beautifully laid out with some really weird enemies, and hazards that are actually 100% avoidable if you take the proper measures to do so.

One theme that seems to be present across all of Dark Souls, III especially, is the feeling that the entire world is falling apart, being held together by bits of string and glue. The areas are all almost universally decrepit and unkept, the wildlands areas are all swampy and gross and the habitated areas are either ramshackle and falling apart like the Undead Settlement, gross and unwelcoming like the Irithyll Dungeon, or just abandoned and lost to time like Archdragon Peak.

The Archives is an excellent example of this, with the books disorganized and scattered everywhere, I’d say only 60% of the books are actually on the shelves, and the only inhabitants are the wax scholars and the thralls, with the occasional Lothric Knight to fuck you up.

It has an almost forlorn feeling about it, and it really does a good job at drawing me in.

4. Road of Sacrifices

I hate this area, and I love this area.

This is, in my opinion, one of the only areas in the game that truly echoes Dark Souls in that it’s very much not intuitively laid out, it’s very easy to have to sit down and take a deep breath and say “fucking christ where the fuck am I supposed to go” as you hug the wall and try and find the goddamn exit to the area. I like that part. The second half of the area is a friendlier Farron Keep in a sense, it’s kinda flat with a lot of trees, but it’s not so inhospitable that it makes you want to pull your hair out.

The part that frustrates me about this area is the enemies. The harpies that go apeshit and stunlock your ass if you let them transform, and the fucking undead with tree trunks, oh, and the Exile NPCs. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m so terrible at dealing with lance-wielding enemies, so the undead can give me a hard time if I’m not prepared.

Also dogs. Fuck dogs.

The Crucifixion Woods is an area I get lost in a lot, I even missed a pretty obvious bonfire because I kept getting turned around. I actually had to look up where the fucking shit I was supposed to find the Crystal Sage because I couldn’t find either doorway that led into that part of the area.

But, I always have fun in this area, and as a Watchdog of Farron, I certainly see it often enough to have a solid opinion on it.

3. Lothric Castle

I very much enjoy Lothric Castle for the sole reason that it’s one of the only areas that feels truly challenging without feeling like cheese. 90% of the times I died in Lothric Castle, and trust me I died a lot, it was because I fucked up.

And it felt quite good to remedy that and start tackling the area properly, it was a challenge that relied on tougher enemies rather than cheese. Except for one section with two rather strong melee enemies and one archer where the archer is in a very inconvenient spot, and can just dick all over you while you’re dealing with the melee guys.

But aside from that one area, Lothric Castle felt like a proper challenge, one that felt very satisfying to overcome. It’s also just very, very aesthetically pleasing.

The lore of the Twin Princes and that boss fight itself are also incredible, and it’s probably one of my favorite boss fights ever in gaming, and definitely a contender for my favorite in the game.

2. Irithyll Dungeon

Oh boy. If anyone’s gonna disagree with me, it’s definitely gonna be here before anywhere else.

I love Irithyll Dungeon for one reason, and that reason is enough to outweigh the pure rage I feel towards the Jailers.

Irithyll Dungeon is creepy.

The atmosphere and aesthetic of the dungeon is creepy, in a similar sense to the Profaned Capital except with a dash of survival horror, oddly enough. I always feel unsettled when I go through Irithyll Dungeon for any reason, and the enemies just compound that feeling. Even more undead in cages, the baby-faced monstrosities that are so morbidly intriguing I almost don’t want to kill them just so I can get a proper look at them to try and figure out what the actual fuck.

And the Jailers. The source of so much ire and rage, I think they’re one of the most hate enemies in the series across the community. Now, I hate the Jailers as much as anyone else, but I also love them for their lore and aesthetic.

And I also love how they contribute to the atmosphere of the area. Like I said, Irithyll Dungeon is creepy, and it feels distinctly different from the rest of Dark Souls III. It almost feels like something out of Amnesia or Outlast, and the Jailers are a huge reason for that, because you don’t want to fight the Jailers ever unless you have the upper hand.

The Jailers are scary, and terrifying, because they don’t just damage you, they drain your maximum HP as well as increasing your equip load, causing you to fat roll and making you even more vulnerable to taking damage. By the time you get to Irithyll Dungeon you’ve most likely conquered Pontiff Sulyvahn and maybe even Aldrich, so you’re feeling strong and powerful with only one Lord of Cinder left on your plate.

Even if you decide to go through the Distant Manor and into the Dungeon before taking on Sulyvahn, it still means you’ve beaten the Abyss Watchers, you’ve beaten Wolnir and the Deacons, and you feel like a badass.

The Jailers take that feeling of power away from you in a way that can’t be avoided. Unlike other enemies you can’t learn attack patterns to perfectly time your dodges, you can’t cheese them and exploit them. The Jailers are always scary, and they can always make you feel vulnerable. You feel like a lot less of a badass with just 100 max HP that you can’t make go away except by just waiting for the effect to pass, and trust me, there is nothing in this game that can make me panic as much as suddenly starting to fat roll when I’m trying to get away from something.

Irithyll Dungeon as a whole makes the player feel vulnerable and reminds them that no matter how much of a badass they feel like they are, the game can still fuck them up if it chooses to.

1. Irithyll of the Boreal Valley

It was honestly a very, very difficult choice to pick Irithyll or it’s Dungeon as my favorite area in the game, because I honestly love both areas so much for very different reasons, but eventually the lore aspect of Irithyll won out over the Dungeon’s atmosphere and gameplay.

In an almost stark contrast to my earlier comment about how everything is falling apart in Dark Souls, Irithyll stands out as almost the last bastion against the end of the world. Sure, the inhabitants are all Pontiff’s lackeys and the area isn’t exactly vibrant and thriving with life, but it’s eerily lacking the filth and decrepitude that the rest of the areas have.

I will never forget the first time I set eyes on Irithyll after walking out of the Catacombs of Carthus. I let out an actual, audible gasp and nearly dropped my controller, I just stood there for a good five minutes and just stared.

Irithyll is, in a word, beautiful. It’s almost otherworldly in it’s strange beauty, the way everything is dusted in snow and moonlight. The gothic inspiration to it’s architecture adds a lot to the feeling of Otherness, and you very much feel like an outcast, a stranger.

The lore of Irithyll is also incredible, with Pontiff Sulyvahn the tyrant and how he essentially set the events that led to Aldrich’s storyline in motion. While my personal favorite Lord of Cinder is definitely the Abyss Watchers, I will say without a doubt that Aldrich has the more interesting story.

And Irithyll and Sulyvahn are the centerpiece of it all, the root of that lore. It also has vague tie-ins to the twin princes and even to Yhorm.

The lore and the aesthetic of Irithyll alone would propel it into my top five, but when you add the fact that Pontiff Sulyvahn is a fantastic boss fight, if extremely rage-inducing before you figure out how to play around his sheer aggression, along with very well-done level design and some interesting enemies to fight, like the invisible ones where you can only see their eyes, this is definitely my favorite area in Dark Souls III.

#dark souls 3 #long post #ranking #moonspeak #dark souls

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