#actually ​maybe the nicknames are completely necessary for the soul of the story

[harrowharksoup]

Random little detail I love about TLT — all the unnecessary but nonetheless amazing nicknames:

Griddle

Harry

Babs

Jody

Millie

Bonus: Pyrrha calling Nona “Junior”

[me4ml]

Why don't you like Maribat? Why do you think it's a spite or salt ship?

This is presumably because of my Adrigaminette post or the whole Maribat being on the ship list thing.

Quick disclaimer: if you read/ship/write/like Maribat, cool! This is not an attack. This is me answering why I, personally, do not like it. It’s tagged anti, and salt, so it should be filtered. Please don’t harass me over it.

Another note before we start: a lot of what I’m about to write is based on what I’ve read, fic wise or meta, and I blocked off the Maribat tag and fandom a long time ago. It may have changed over there-I doubt it, and I have zero desire to go and look-but this is based on what I’ve seen and read about.

There are, principally, three reasons I can’t stand Maribat, why I think it’s a spite/salt ship.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written in Maribat.

3). Maribat is a mutated salt fic.

If you want to see my reasons why, the rest is under the read more.

1). I don’t like Damian Wayne.

Damian’s not just my least favorite Robin, ranking behind any of the others who have born the name. He’s my least favorite Batfam sidekick overall.

Part of this is his introduction, where he’s a violent, murderous, arrogant, entitled, snotty little brat of a thug. Lest we forget, one of his first acts is to go out, kill a guy, cut off his head, stuff a grenade into the decapitated head’s mouth, and try to blow up Tim. This is his introduction! There are a number of other occasions, including how he treats Jon, his best friend, and the rest of his siblings.

Another part is that he believes that he deserves to be Robin simply because he’s Bruce’s son, and therefore has the blood right to be Robin, to become Batman, and damn anyone else, who are all pretenders. Doesn’t matter that those characters might have a right to become Robin, or the future Batman, he’s the bio son, he deserves it!

Additionally, Damian feels.....not unnecessary, but repetitive, in his actions/characterization. There are other characters who can perform pretty much the same way for whatever storyline is necessary, without including Damian.

Trained by an abusive family to be the best, as an assassin and warrior? Cassandra.

A killer who breaks the main rule of his mentor, which causes tension and strain in the family? Jason.

Incredibly intelligent and talented? Tim.

Damian isn’t unique in what he does, and while that can make him an interesting character, it can also make the focus on him unnecessary.

As well, so much of Damian’s actions and motivations feels like he gets away with stuff, in-universe, because he’s Bruce’s biological son, and so Bruce gives him too much slack, and out-universe, because the writers let him/the fans will defend him. He gets woobified, or leather pantsed. Which leads to:

2). I don’t like how Damian and the DCU are written for Maribat.

For all his (numerous) faults, when written well, Damian can be an interesting character. For example: How does he deal with being deeply insecure? By putting on a mask of arrogance and overconfidence.

Some more examples: How does Damian act like an actual child, when he’s never had a childhood? How can he be a hero, if he’s been trained to be a killer? Can he ever catch up to his siblings, or will he feel like they’re always better than him?

Damian’s sense of being Batman’s son, of being the heir to the Cowl, slams right up against the idea of the Batfam: that there are people who have just as much of a right to call Batman their father/father figure, people who are just as talented and skilled and capable as Damian himself is, if not more. Watching Damian develop, when he’s written right, is actually enjoyable; mainly because when it’s done right, it shows Damian actually progressing and growing, becoming more of a person, with friends and interests. Most times, seeing Damian with his pets can be adorable, same with when he hangs out with Jon.

Is he still a brat? Still sometimes a bit too much of a Demon, an al-Ghul? Yes, but that’s always going to be part of him, and as long as he’s shown to try and grow, or gets called out on that, it’s less of an issue (There’s a completely different rant to be written about how DC likes to chuck character development or backstory into the trash when it suits them for a new run. Damian gets hit with this, as does Tim, or they get handed the idiot/conflict ball, but not the space for it).

Maribat hurls this all out the window. Damian’s bad traits are all “fixed” offscreen-he’s developed, matured, gotten better, whatever you want to call it. It’s basically a writer’s hand wave to make Damian into the character who will be the lead of the story, perfectly suited for his main role of being Marinette’s boyfriend and utterly devoted to her every whim and will. He’s enchanted by her at first glimpse, and defends her against everyone who hates her, because no one can understand her like he can!

Uh, what? This is not Damian Wayne. Even at his best, he’s no broody boy, pulled from his “dark path” by the love of a gentle girl. He’s a Jerk with a Heart of Gold-emphasis on the Jerk. There’s a reason his nickname usually involves “Demon.” Is Damian trying to get better? Yes. But even then, he’s not the type to immediately fall in love. He takes a while to warm up to people, for them to earn his trust, and Marinette would not be like that?

Let’s say that Robin is in Paris for a case, he runs into Ladybug and Chat, and after they explains what’s going on, Robin gives them a stare over his mask, and goes “TT! What a worthless hero, I would have caught him already.” LB and Chat would probably want to deck him, and that’s before he keeps talking.

Same with if Damian transfers to the class, or they meet on a field trip to Gotham. Damian’s not gonna care about some random French teenagers on a tour, or if he was transferred he’s gonna be trying to figure out why his father sent him to Paris, and be focused on the mission, not making friends.

Of all of the Robins, the ones that would be the most likely to capture Marinette’s interest would be Dick or Tim, not Damian. He would remind her too much of Chloe, as Damian, and as Robin, he would be dismissive of Ladybug’s abilities, which would absolutely piss her, and Chat Noir, off.

In characters that aren’t Damian, no one seems to be written properly over in Maribatland. One huge example is that Marinette is so beloved, so pure, that she can make any character fall in love with her, and reform by her pure goodness, including a fic where the Joker-THE JOKER!-becomes her “Uncle J,” and pranks Lila on her behalf.

Uh-huh. Sure. Completely and totally something that one of the biggest, most sadistic twisted, notorious villains in pop culture would do. Maribat winds up worshipping the ground that Marinette walks on, cause she’s “Teh best evar!”

Which then leads to my third and final point:

3). The whole Maribat concept is a mutated salt fic.

Most of the themes you’ll find in Maribat? You will find in nearly every salt fic.

Maybe my biggest issue with the whole Maribat idea is that it doesn’t feel like a proper crossover, which, at their best, explore how characters from one universe and their rules would interact with characters from another universe, and the rules of that one. Putting ML and DC together is a rich opportunity to play with concepts in both worlds!

And yet, it’s mainly used to bash ML characters who the writers despise, predominantly Adrien, Alya, and Lila, with members of the class thrown in depending on feeling, and potentially even Marinette’s parents! The only “good” ML characters are the ones who are on Marinette’s side, usually Luka, Kagami, a Chloe who for some reason has been redeemed and is now Marinette’s best friend, and whatever members of the class the writer decides to throw in there.

You’ll notice it’s not called “MiracuBat”, or LadyBat and Bat Noir-it’s MariBat. It’s meant as a focus on Marinette, making her-the hero of the Miraculous Ladybug franchise, someone in-story in story who is incredibly smart and talented and the leader of her team, future Guardian-even more awesome.....by beating down everyone else around her.

Marinette is simultaneously treated as an beaten-up, beaten-down walked-on carpet, and the best person to ever exist ever, go who only needs a group of new, different, better people to recognize that and save her from the clutches of those greedy and ungrateful assholes! That doesn’t include the fics where she’s the unknown child of a superhero or supervillain, making her even more special.

It’s Chameleon salt, class salt, with pointy ears and a cape on.

Some specific examples.

Adrien: Adrien is a spineless doormat who prioritizes Lila over Marinette, or an entitled bastard sexual harasser, only fixated on Ladybug, or even both. Sometimes it’ll get worse, as Adrien will threaten or abandon Marinette if she steps off of his “high road,” and Chat will be a budding rapist, stalking or capturing Marinette after he’s learned she’s Ladybug, while ignoring her prior to that. He will, of course, have his ring stripped and handed off to Damian, who is the “true” soul of Destruction and so therefore a “perfect match” to Marinette’s Creation soul. Occasionally it will be Jason, or Tim, or Dick, but the key thing is that it’s not Adrien!

While Damian’s issues are magically fixed, Adrien gets no such courtesy. Adrien has been abused, just like Damian, and while Damian’s abuse is more extensive and extreme, abuse is abuse. If anything, if Damian met Adrien, he would probably see another abused kid, and want to be his friend/have his “adopt stray person!” Instincts go off. I can much more imagine Damian dragging a bewildered Adrien into the Batcave and yelling “Father I’ve found another one for you to adopt!” than I can Damian immediately hating Adrien, or Chat, simply for breathing.

We never see Clark taking Adrien under his wing, or Bruce, or any of the other Batfam; nor any of the other Justice Leaguers. We never see Selina try to fight Bruce over the kid, because he’s cat-themed, and Selina can train him, this one’s hers Bat, get off!

Adrien’s never treated as a kid, or given actual development. A major complaint among salters is that Adrien is treated as perfect and never develops, and in fic, rather than developing him, Adrien either remains static, with his flaws narratively exploded, or is developed negatively. He’s there to be beaten up on and punished by the writers, if not actually physically beaten up by characters in the fic.

Alya: the not-so-good friend, the cheap excuse for a journalist, the awful person who abandons Marinette for Lila and her “connections.” Never mind that Alya was Marinette’s friend from the beginning, or that Marinette’s chosen her multiple times for a Miraculous. One instance of questioning Marinette about Lila, and Alya’s a backstabbing bitch.

Maribat treats Alya as neglectful, bossy, domineering and submissive at the same time to Marinette and Lila respectively, and as a journalist, the worst of the worst. She’s played as a two-bit paparazzo, and once again, the DCU is used to punish her. We don’t see Alya get mentored by Lois or Clark-indeed, if they notice her, it’s with disdain or disappointment. Often, they’re crushing her under their heel, calling her not only a bad journalist, but a bad friend/person. This forgetting, of course, that Alya runs her blog as a hobby so far, she’s only a teenager, and that she’s had Marinette’s back against Chloe and Lila.

The Class: the dupes or allies as needed. Class salt levels depend on what the writer needs. If they’re pro-class, they’re all on Marinette’s side, aside from Alya Adrien and Lila. Chloe, for some ungodly reason, is “redeemed” nigh instantaneously, and often will become Marinette’s best friend, if that isn’t Kagami already. Kagami will drop Adrien like a wet tissue, never trying to reconcile him with the clas, or encourage him to stand up for himself, or if she does, Adrien, of course, will not listen.

If the writer is anti-class, whoo boy. Openly mentally, emotionally, physically abusive to Marinette, the worst gang of people you would ever have the displeasure of meeting, they all need to be in Arkham.

We never see any of the class make friends with the Batfam, the Titans, Young Justice-unless they’re on Marinette’s side, of course. There’s no Alix stopping Selina at the Louvre, for instance, or Max hanging out with Babs. It’s all based on how Marinette is treated as to whether or not the class is portrayed as being worse than the worst of the Rogues Gallery.

Wrapping it all up, Maribat has made me dislike the entire concept of a DC/ML crossover.

Even if someone had written an non-salt, in-character crossover, I don’t know if I would read it, simply because the well has been that poisoned.

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

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There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[osleyakomwonkru]

10 Days of Favourites - Character

1 day to season 7!

Today’s countdown topic: My one favourite character! I mean, the answer to that one is obvious, so before I get into that, let me say why I didn’t choose to make this a more expansive list of favourite characters earlier in the countdown. Well, the answer is simple: Who is on that list changes frequently. Diyoza and Niylah tend to trade places for number two, depending on the day. Jackson’s up there on the list as well, as he’s my favourite male character. Murphy’s my favourite male main, but where he falls in comparison to the others can fluctuate. Echo and Emori are also on the list. Among the dead, we’ve got Roan, Lincoln and Luna who are contenders for high placements. Bellamy used to hold a pretty steady second place, until season 5 rolled around, but I still have hope that he might win my heart back. (It might be a foolish hope, but we’ll see.) So yeah. Who is on that favourites list changes regularly. Except for the top spot. The top spot never changes. It is always her. 1. Octavia Blake

I’ve written hundreds of posts on why. Octavia is my brand, just a scroll through my posts and tags will tell you everything you need to know about why. She’s strong, she’s fearless, she’s beautifully broken, she’s resilient, but most of all, she’s human. Human. That’s the part I want to focus on today, because this show talks a lot about humanity and losing it or keeping it or whatever else, but my thesis statement for this post is that Octavia is the only one who has never lost her humanity, because to be human is to be flawed. To be imperfect. To be compassion and violence and love and hate and hundreds of other seemingly contradictory things rolled up in one. And to accept it. Other characters often forget that, still to this day (though the S7 trailer seems to hint at Clarke beginning to understand it). They still live with the idea of “who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things” or “first we survive, then we get our humanity back”. But there is no difference. “We are what we’ve done and what’s been done to us”, as Pike said in Octavia’s mindspace (so it was actually just Octavia talking to herself). This is what Octavia’s journey has been from day one - a young girl with literally no experience of the many shades of human experience besides the life-or-death cruelty of the Ark’s legal system and the simple good vs evil of all of the stories she grew up with. We all see how black and white she was in her thinking in the early seasons, and her story has been one of learning that there are shades of grey, and that that’s where most of the world resides. But tragically it is just as she’s learned about the shades of grey of the human experience that others are trying to shove everyone back into the boxes of black and white. It’s hella confusing, and weird, and I have to believe that this is part of some greater purpose that will be revealed in season 7. This show is heavy on themes of mythology and psychology and all of that, and ones that I really connect to Octavia are Jung’s theories on the “shadow self”, and also his idea of the “sunset tendency”. The Shadow Self is best encapsulated in this Jung quote: “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” Hmm, that sounds a lot like Clarke and Octavia’s mindspace experiences, doesn’t it? Clarke isn’t ready to face herself, face her own soul, face her darkest memories - that’s made clear at multiple times throughout her mindspace, and in the end she imagines Monty as her “figure of light” to help her get out of it by any means necessary. But Octavia’s experience is very different. Octavia chooses to enter the darkest corners of her mind (we’ll come back to this again in the next section) and there she does face herself, making the darkness conscious - both her Shadow Self of Blodreina, and the projection of her greatest adversary, Pike. Both of them teach her important lessons of who she is and who she wants to be. Because that choice is critical. Which brings us to the sunset tendency. The sunset tendency is, in short (you can read a longer description if you just do a search and find the phrase in one of his works), the cycle of life and how people resist the “sunset” (or the darkness, in Octavia parlance), because they fear what could come after that, they fear change, they fear the unknown - but if one doesn’t face that change and the unknown, then one will wither away into stagnation and platitudes (sound familiar for some characters?). People resist the sunset tendency, because it can be risky. But I’ll let Jung speak for himself: "Fate itself seems to preserve us from this, because each of us has a tendency to become an immovable pillar of the past. Nevertheless, the demon throws us down, makes us traitors to our ideals and cherished convictions - traitors to the selves we thought we were. That is an unmitigated catastrophe, because it is an unwilling sacrifice. "Things go very differently when the sacrifice is a voluntary one. Then it is no longer an overthrow, a "transvaluation of values", the destruction of all we held sacred, but transformation and conservation. Everything young grows old, all beauty fades, all heat cools, all brightness dims, and every truth becomes stale and trite. For all these things have taken on shape, and all shapes are worn thin by the working of time; they age, sicken, crumble to dust - unless they change. "But change they can, for the invisible spark that generated them is potent enough for infinite generation. No one should deny the danger of the descent, but it can be risked. No one need risk it, but it is certain that someone will. And let those who go down the sunset way do so with open eyes, for it is a sacrifice which daunts even the gods. Yet every descent is followed by an ascent, the vanishing shapes are shaped anew, and a truth is valid in the end only if it suffers change and bears new witness in new images." (C.G. Jung, Collected Works Volume 5: Symbols of Transformation) This is Octavia, in a few paragraphs. She’s never been afraid of the darkness, because she knows it is a part of the human experience, and a part of the cycle of life. To rise one must fall. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It is all a part of the same theme that’s been her defining story arc: change and metamorphosis. It’s no coincidence that Octavia’s story is filled with metaphorical allusions to this - butterflies, her symbol, appear in 1x02 and 6x09 as metaphors for her own metamorphosis. Niylah gifts her with Ovid’s Metamorphoses in 5x02, where Octavia reads out the first line “I intend to speak of forms changed into new entities.” Her constant jump from one nickname or title to another. The Girl Under the Floor. Sky Girl. Skairipa. Osleya. Blodreina. All symbols of her change and evolution, moreso than any other character on this show. So what does all this mean heading into season 7, in terms of what I think is to come? In one of JRoth’s interviews today (the Fandom piece), he says that Octavia’s experience on the other side of the Anomaly “changes her” and that her story with “time misbehaving” allows them to “really evolve that character”. Now, for a character whose entire arc on the show has been one of constant transformation and change, these comments seem a bit odd. Octavia’s changing and evolving, must be Tuesday, right? (Or Wednesday, in this case.) What’s new and revolutionary about that? It could end up just being the regular change and evolve that Octavia’s been through each season. But maybe it is something different. Taking JRoth’s comments into consideration with Marie’s earlier comments about Octavia “finding her peace in a place you’ve never seen her before”, maybe she’s changing in a way we haven’t seen before. With this new season opening up all sorts of possibilities with other worlds and possibly parallel universes and who knows what else - perhaps the only change left for her to have is to evolve past the limitations of her current human form, to transubstantiate and transcend humanity into something completely new and different. Would that be the logical final evolution of her character, or a corruption of the most human character on the show? I’m not sure myself. But today’s reading of these new interviews and articles are at least making me hopeful and optimistic for a story that I could be happy with in this final season. So I’m going to choose to have faith. Maybe not necessarily in the showrunners, or the writers, but I do have faith in Octavia Blake. She is a force of nature to be reckoned with, and I trust her ability (and that of Marie playing her) to transcend whatever bullshit might happen to be able to reach a satisfying conclusion to her story, a conclusion that is true to the character and spirit of our beloved Octavia Blake.

[spacegaywritings]

Hello, we are the Neighbours -  2 (final) “Starry Night”

 Summary: Virgil uses she/her and he/him. Remy uses he/him. Emile uses they/fae. Logan uses they/them Tags: a LOT of swearwords, edginess, Teenagers scare the living shit out of me, edibles, mentions of getting high, marijuana (implied), questionable living conditions, stress, insomnia/sleeplessness, crappy parents, (depression?) SOFT SIBLING MOMENT (analogical)

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Virgil hugged his stupid friend closer, his face buried in the mess of Remy’s pastel purple sweater.

 She was basically wearing nothing but a big army jacket and boxers, herself. The pinkish scars on her chest were fainting with time but still showing after all these months.

 Remy was at least in a skirt longer than usual - this one actually covered his ass completely. Instead of big boots, he had white summer slippers one. He almost looked like a ballerina with his long legs, small-ish statue and flawless skin.

 The sun slowly sunk down the horizon while the two cuddled.

 “You know, you are almost out of there, anyway. It does not matte. You got so far, Virgil. You will get through this too, with or without me.”

 She shook her head ever so slightly, her pumpkin hair curling over his shoulder. He had recently dyed it again.

Every now and then Virgil was forced into self-care. That meant Remy would drag him over to his place, give him a little bit of wellness time such as doing face masks and painting his nails. Of course, he would also give her a dye-job when necessary or just wanted. Remy was rather good at it after all. Without him, Virgil would not take such care of himself. It was all Remy’s doing.

 “Nu. I will strike. I am not gonna do shit without you. I don’ wanna.”

 She mumbled silently, gently hugging Remy closer. He carefully held the feral bastard close.

 “You have to. You can do it. If I don’t get in, I will find work where you live and we can move in together and I will clean for you, so you and Logan don’t die.”

 The smaller one curled up, his knees pressing against his chest as he put his weight against Remy in ever-persistent patience. A little snort escaped her after all.

When he was not an anxious mess, he got to be more than just the calming friend but also the braincell of the group. He was rational and got things together. No wonder he applied for studies in mechanics.

 “You would do that..?”

 Virgil pulled back a bit, yet still remained in her little ball of limbs. He was barely covered with his short pants in their plaid pattern. The big jacket was so drastically oversized, Virgil was sitting on it since its length clearly exceeded his height. It was supposed to be worn by someone else so it would not cover them down to their thighs.

 Remy gently brushed over his shoulder.

 “I would do whatever to be with your sorry ass. If you live on your own and gotta take care of another living being, you will probably just die, like, instantly. You are so fucking oblivious and sensitive after all.”

 He gently nudged her.

 “Be my wife.”

 Remy felt heat rise in his chest. He vehemently shook his head, his stomach fuzzy all of a sudden. Thousands of little feathers tickled him from inside and his cheeks reddened to match his heated blood.

If he did not know better, he would have said that he had done no more but choked on his spit.

 “Virgil!”

 The illegal little potion of bitter rage hugged him against the playful struggles and shoves from his side.

 “Shut up-”, he demanded squeakily, “I am not gonna be anyone’s fucking wife, I am a qUeEN.”

 His voice broke at the last word, delicately proving his point in being true royalty of great manners and high levels of taste.

Remy was a true piece of art and he was, as he often repeated, “a luxury few could afford.”

 A pair of headlights glanced onto their backs, lighting up the scene when the whole sky was turning dark. Their shadows were drawn out before them, making Remy shrink in on himself and look back to check who or what was approaching them.

The running car engine they could hear made it evident that this was a person rolling around in a vehicle.

 Who?

 Virgil pushed Remy down onto their blanket, carefully trapping him below her.

 “Hey, Em, come in and hurry, we can sacrifice him right now while he is still a virgin!”

 Remy threw his hands into Virgil’s face. Ungodly screeches escaped his throat as he pushed and grabbed and tore at the untouchable bastard of humankind.

 “You fucking wish! Stop projecting your assless life onto me!”

 Finally, Remy pushed his knees into Virgil’s guts and pushed the idiot off his shoulders. Emile had finally gotten out of the car, basket under their arm and a blanket pressed against heir chest.

 “Hey, save some dumbassery for me!”, fae complained as they plopped down between the two. Honestly, they felt like those kind of people everyone would comment on about how much they behaved like an old, married couple.

Not that they were wrong.

 “I am not duuuumb!”, Remy whined.

 He sat up again, shoulders quickly pressing against Emile’s who got comfortable. That bastard was really out there, fucking wearing a leather-like jacket with spikes and shit. He could see the colours on the dark material and could only assume faem to have customised the article.

They were the only one to have covered legs. Black ripped-jeans hugged their endlessly long walking sticks and their feet were covered in worn-out sneakers. Void of any big brand names or associations, of course.

 Probably all of this was either made by private businesses, friends, faerself or smaller companies barely anyone knew about.

 “Emile, put some sense into her! He is being a real bitch again”

 Virgil blew raspberries to the complainer and immediately threw his legs over Emile’s inviting lap.

 “If you got an issue with cuddles, you better go and sit on his side”, she challenged silently. Emile did not budge, much to his delight.

“Good bean.”

 The newby commented with a little chuckle, gently drawing Emile in by putting one arm around him.

 “I got ya two cuties some drinks on the way here. Who wants the coffee and who wants the cotton candy pink whatever capitalism-victim? You two definitely need something to suck on.”

 Virgil waved his arms around, stimmy hands flapping like birds’ wings. His long sleeves smacked themselves due to them exceeding his fingers. Her heart was fluttering in sudden excitement. He was aflame like a bunch of dry grass set on fire.

 “YES! Gimme gimmeee gimmeeeee!! I want the caffeine!”

She pointed at the basket and reached for it but Remy quickly smacked their sleeves away.

 “You are not getting any fucking caffeine, you half-dead junkie zombie, you”, Remy cursed. In a flare of problem-solving skills, he pulled the basket closer, just out of reach from the slightly shorter idiot. He grabbed the caffeine-packed cup of ice-cold sin.

 Fae blinked, unimpressed, “Just hand me the chocolate one. Pink unicorn is for our rainbow bunny, then.”

 Remy’s smile grew even wider.

 Did they say... bunny...?

 Virgil pouted in return, her reaction less than ideal. Instead of complaining, his legs pulled them closer by their lap and rested there, snuggled up against the pal with the colourful hair. Not even a beanie this time.

 “I am not a bunny”

 He slurped up some of the pinkish drink from hell.

It was tasty.

Such a bitch.

How dare it be tasty when he tried to be angry with Emile for giving him free stuff and falsely calling him a bunny when he was clearly a unicorn! Like the drink!

 Remy nodded sagely, sensing a bit of mood at this moment.

 “Virgil thinks he is a unicorn despite looking like a bunny but that is okay. We still love him.”

 His hand sneaked over to her, gently patting her shoulder and indirectly bringing himself closer to Emile in the process.

Not that anyone was complaining.

He was simply slurping his iced coffee in gratitude. It calmed down his hot face and fidgety fingers. Holding the cool cup gave his fingers something to do at least.

 For a moment, Emile’s forest eyes looked into his soul. Fae blinked and nodded before turning back to Virgil.

 “Virgil, do you feel like a unicorn? Do you identify as one?”

 Emile looked at her, carefully brushing over her legs as they attempted to keep eye contact. Virgil looked away, face fully averted.

Fae patiently squeezed his leg.

 “If you want me to call you unicorn, I will. I just liked the nickname bunny for you because you jump a lot and are very active.”

 Remy smiled. He did not notice but he leaned against Emile’s patient shoulder with his own head.

Fae minded the contact with a little blink and one of faer unoccupied hands moving to take Remy’s.

 The pouting smalls still looked away, stubbornly staring at the sky instead of facing the other two idiots.

 “You know, I really hate littering, too.”

 Virgil cleared her throat, gently hugging her flat stomach a bit. It was not exactly colder than before but maybe by now his open jacket and exposing outfit proved to be impractical for stargazing together.

 “If you call me bunny and nobody else, I am okay. And if you mean it as a nice name. Remy too. Even though Remy was a butt about it because I know I am a unicorn, even with ears!”

 His voice got a bit louder. Then she nodded in self-assurance to end the sentence and prove a point. He pulled a phone up with him on it, hood over his head, the bunny ears flailing around from the impact of being so harshly moved around.

The small friend snuggled up to Emile and reached out to hold Remy’s hand too.

 “You are dumb but you are both okay. You two can call me bunny but I will stab anyone else who tried to do that.”

 She huffed softly.

 Remy squeezed their hands together and put Virgil’s and Emile’s soft hands together.

 “You are our little bunny, then.”

 The tallest of the three hummed in thought, their eyes slipping close.

 “You guys wanna get high now or later? Because I am ready.”

 Virgil shook his head.

 “Can’t. I will die.”

 Remy nudged Emile so much, it pushed them all against Virgil and had her nearly topple over. She hissed at Remy and angrily glared at him.

 “You gotta take a chill pill. I will bring you home with me and the day after. We came in one car anyway.”

 Emile looked between them.

 “What is the issue? Do you have to go home later?”

 Their voice was so smooth and innocent, it felt like talking to a child for just a moment. They both knew there was more than enough wit between these words to take down a whole system.

 “I gotta take care of my baby sibling. They are tiny baby and need someone to look out for them.”

 Remy shook his head adamantly.

 “Logan is, like, 13 and would love to be home alone from your exhausted ass. If you wanna, I will babysit them with Emile. You mind that at all?”

 The addressed pal stole a quick glance from Remy for just a moment before looking into the dark night sky.

 “It is settled. Virgil, we are officially kidnapping your hot butt and putting you on high duty of being dummy idiotic and free of responsibilities for a few hours. We will take a look at your sibling, too. Promise.”

 Virgil let out a whine.

Her hand pushed the now empty cup into the abandoned basket Emile had brought along.

He laid down all over Remy’s and Emile’s long legs in the dramatic flair of imitating death or at least heavy defeat.

 “Mmm... will you give me ice cream?”

 Emile nodded, gently brushing through her hair.

 “I got ice cream at home but we can also buy some just for you if you don’t wanna depend on that.”

 The third in their group yipped out a happy sound of agreement.

 “We can ask Logan to sleep at a friend’s place or be there with us and wait until they sleep. They go to sleep super early anyway, that nerd.”

 The laying swan .. bunny.. uh... unicorn? Shrugged.

 “ ‘s kinda cute.. they care about school n all. They are so good. They are too good.”

 It sounded like a lament rather than a praise. There was so much pain in these words.

 “That sounds nice, bunny. Sounds like your sibling learned a lot of nice things from you. I am sure that must be a lot.”

 She took a deep breath.

 Remy gave a meaningful nod towards Emile who, in turn, licked faer lips.

 “I am proud of you but it is important to rest. Will you let us give you ice cream and take care of you?”

 For a moment, the only answer was the bright light coming from the moon. Pale white illuminated the meadow. The stars were shining as always but their light was so far away, it barely reached them. From them, it seemed as if they were not bright at all because the moon was reflecting the light so prettily, it overpowered them all.

 “Only if you get dumb with me and we do funny things?”

 Remy squeezed their hands together, his second joining the pile of fingers.

 “Of course. Now, text your baby sibling.”

 The smaller one pulled out his phone and sloppily pulled out a phone.

 “Jus do?”

 The three got together, packing up their things and obviously taking their things with them.

 “What is this?”

 Remy followed Emile’s finger pointing at a bag of trash. He shrugged in return.

 “We collected trash because Virgil really hates littering, you know?”

 The mentioned bean shook his head and shrugged.

 “Fuck pollution”, she defended herself as the taller one lead her to the car they shared, “see you in a bit?”

 Remy texted Logan with Virgil’s phone and sent an address to their chat with Emile.

 “Yo, I sent you the place we are going to drive to. You got that?”

 Fae shrugged.

 “I can literally just follow you guys like the little shadow I am. Just don’t drive like speeding dicks and I will be fine.”

 Remy nodded. Virgil mumbled in agreement and pushed the trashbag into the car’s trunk. It was his car after all. Remy did not have an own car yet. It was more of a shared thing.

 Together, they drove over to Virgil. On the way, Logan texted them how they would stay with a friend called Patton. Since Virgil knew Patton more than enough, she did not freak out but instead shrugged it off, told Remy and agreed under the condition of driving Logan there with the others.

Logan.. did not seem to mind.

Did they know Emile would join in?

 Whether they did, the three arrived.

Virgil already munched on the space brownies, happily nibbling at the dark chocolatey delight of deep, sweet-bitter taste.

It was an experience.

 At least there were no nuts in this.

Well... walnuts would probably be fine..

 The three got out, one by one. Virgil first and Emile last.

She patiently took faer and then his hand before leading them over to the small apartment complex with the many little doors. It was a humble little location, the flats looked like miniature versions of actual living spaces for human beings but it was just enough for the modest taste of the tired middle pal of the trio.

 He nudged the others towards the building and climbed the stairs.

 “The brownies are tasty, Em. You are a real baker genius or.. like, something like that.”

She blinked at the intense lights. One of the white lights was flickering every now and then and it was somewhat bothersome to the eye.

 “You ate them already?”

 A bit of surprise tinged Emile’s voice. Remy held back a laughter.

 “Yeah, Virgil is a thirsty and hungry hoe, no wonder he did that.”

 Something in his words screamed “get used to it”. Fae did not know what to feel about this but took it with the humour of a baby adult.

 “Not to take advantage of that but I don’t hate that.”

 Virgil giggled.

 “Shhhh, wait until Logan is gooohne,, They is a really clever baby sib thing, you know.”

 More chuckled filled the air and made the stairway echo in giggles and delight from the trio.

 They got up eventually, settling on the 7th level where Virgil unlocked apartment C and pushed the door open.

 “Yo, I am back! Don’t cook meth, the neighbours will get jealous.”

 He dropped the key in a little bowl on a shelf that leaned against the wall for support. The hallway welcomed the trio with faded colours and old, creaking wood planks as ground.

Emile blinked at the floor with a frown.

 “Do you want us to keep our shoes on?”

 Remy shook his head, his mouth opening to answer but a sound interrupted them.

A voice, more specifically.

 “Virgil, please refrain from making comments of such kind. It is highly unlikely for anyone around here to cook methane, let alone you or me.”

 A composed voice, stone-faced according to Emile’s feelings, replied to Virgil’s dismissive words and lazy greeting.

 The trash was still in Remy’s hands.

 “Fuck, I forgot this shit. You mind?”

 Logan appeared. Well, it had to be Logan unless Emile had missed about another person living with her - and Logan.

The sibling was younger than Virgil, their face more tan yet somewhat soft and void of the exhaustion the life of emerging adulthood had already put on Virgil’s dark eyes. Especially evident were how there were no bags under Logan’s eyes while Virgil seemed to have never slept in his entire life, perhaps.

 Maybe she did not sleep so everyone else could sleep? Like a sandman.

 Logan was dressed in something reminding Remy of a suit. It was this undershirt-kinda thing Emile identified as waist coat. It was dark and hugged their slender figure. Blue? It looked pretty much like rather dark blue. They seemed a bit taller than Virgil, around as tall as Remy, almost - not quite. Their shirt was white and looked so ironed out, Emile could not even find a single wrinkle.

They were not wearing shoes but only white socks and long black pants. The waistcoat had a single chain or metal leading to a little pocket.

 “Hello Remy, a pleasure to see you again. Do not worry about the bag. I will take it with me on the way down - “

 Virgil piped up.

 “WE! You are not going alone! It is dark and scary and I am your big shit and am telling you that you gotta hold my hand and be driven to your friend.”

 Logan rolled their eyes, dark orbs behind black frames seemingly shrinking in something like annoyance.

However, there was a fond smile on their lips despite it being small. It was still there and when Virgil approached the sibling for a good old hug, they received it and even returned it, even if it was not as passionate.

 Something warm pumped through Emile’s face and chest.

Seeing the two siblings cuddle made fae feel all giddy and comfortable.

 “Of course. I agreed to your conditions after all.”

 Only now Emile realised Logan was wearing a tie. They adjusted it despite it being in perfect position. Nothing was wrong with it..

It..

It had a pattern like constellations on it. Yes, clearly. Fae could see Leo right under their neck.

 “Hello, you must be Virgil’s new friend. I am Logan.”

 The, the small baby sibling was before faem, hand stretched out and dark eyes looking into faem as if it was a challenge to look serious and convincing.

It was more than effective, to be frank.

 “Yeah, I am Emile. Fae/faer, please. You use anything but they/them?” They nodded a bit, their facial features softening somewhat.

 “Thank you”

 The words came out like a whisper. Emile smiled.

 “Virgil, I am fucking adopting this kid, you have to marry me or some shit. This is now my bastard child!”

 A hysterical fit of giggles could be heard while Logan was silently rolling his eyes so hard, Remy swore they moved a bit out of his face’s centre.

Remy pouted audibly.

 “Ya get rights on my sibling, I don’t make the rules. Logan, you are loved by these dummies! It is the law, we are your personal protection squad!”

 Remy blew out some air but nodded.

 “Yeppers, we will do the illegal shit with you to keep you safe. We are gotta fake your a voting ID so you can change the world already.”

 The tallest of the pals sucked in a breath.

 “I know how to fake a voting ID! I made myself one, too! Hold on!”

 Logan turned towards the new person, this Emile guy. The sound of giggles was still around and surely coming closer.

 “Hey, hey, make sure to have it be a good fake. Can’t have the good kiddo fuck up a great lifeeee”, she argued, “They will be super fine because they are a great and lovely person. LOGAN I LOVE YOU!”

 They closed their eyes instead of rolling them. Their lips curled further into a more than evident smile and a small hint of pink tinted their pale cheeks.

 “I l-love you too, Virgil. Please calm down, it is quite alright. I am just me.”

 Virgil was back by now, a little box in his hands.

 “Shut up, be proud of yourself. You have amazing grades, super engagement in different projects and activities and you are a bright person with great competences. You are trying and working a lot to get this far and I am proud of you. You should be, too. I barely finished school with my shitty grades. It was mostly pity”

 Virgil blinked softly. Her hand gently brushed over their cheek and carefully patted its side. Emile and Remy moved out of the way to give the siblings some space. They obviously had a moment going on.

 “I don’t care what you make of yourself. I just want you to be happy and proud of what you do. We all know we were not born to be perfect and yet you are here and doing this.. this fucking badassery of ace-ing all ya exams and life shit and all.”

 She scooted closer.

 “I know Patton likes quiche I make, so I packed some for you two to share. I put money in, too. Get snacks and order something if you two need it, alright? I love you, kiddo. I really do.”

 He snuggled up to them and gave their pale cheeks a soft smooch. The elder sibling mumbled softly.

 “If you complain about the money, I will bite your nose. Just take it. Financial worries are mine, not yours.”

 Logan looked at Virgil, a shadow darkening their pale features. It was like a tree branch in the night, throwing a scary shadow into the room of a young and gullible child.

They abandoned the doubt and shook it off with a new sense of hardness in their eyes. It was sparkling determination.

 “Have fun with your friends, please. I want you to take care of yourself, too. You and I both know that a good social life helps your mental health which, in turn, positively affects your overall well-being.”

 Virgil blinked, happy beams radiating from her old orbs.

 “You are the best sibling I could have ever wished for, Lo.”

She cleared her throat, wiping over her wet eyes.

“Time to fucking get ya to you friend! Ree will drive you and I will have ice-cream like a real champ!”

 “REEEE, EEEEEM! Let us gOOOO!”

 The middle man came back in, Emile right on his ass.

 “You finished your drama? You won’t stab us if we come back in?”

 Virgil giggled under the scolding look from his sibling. She shrugged dismissively.

 “I am ready to go. I will wait in the car.”

 They got pushed the little container into their backpack and put it over their shoulders before grabbing the trash and retrieving the keys from his sibling.

 “Nuu, you are a baby and we gotta go with you. Reeeemileeey~ Come with me~”

 The two got ready and joined as requested.

 “DId you fuse our names?!”

 There was an unusual amount of excitement in Emile’s voice. Not that they were not usually excited and happy but this was on a whole new level. There was a sense of knowledge and expectation in faer tone of voice.

It was difficult for Virgil to put her finger on it, considering she started feeling a bit more of an effect from the edibles she had consumed. Remy noted the excitement with his own piece of interest.

 “I fuuuused your names and they fit together sooo well!”

 As Virgil giggled, Emile’s eyes seemed to double in size, more so the black pools in the middle of these wild orbs.

Remy blinked at this change, his own curiosity swinging into the direction of excitement as well.

 He wanted to know about the things that got Emile to bounce on faer feet like the most adorable danger stick in the whole history of humankind.

Something glowed in these mysterious eyes and Remy wanted to know more about it.

 Well, for know it was time to take responsibility and drive them all to Patton.

He still wanted to know about it, so he took a chance when they had arrived and the three remained in the car alone, Virgil cuddled up to Emile and holding hands with glowing cheeks and a free heart.

Logan waved goodbye one last time and disappeared into the warm home of a loving family. A whole family.

 “Em, what is so exciting about fusions? Do you like those kinda things?”

 For a moment, his mind wandered as he tapped his foot down onto the pedals and started driving again in first gear before shifting higher.

He did not have the opportunity to glance into the rear-view mirror and see their face light up like a burning candle. Certainly, if he knew about how much he had missed, he would have cursed his own care about safe driving.

 “I L-O-V-E fusions!”

 A giggled followed faer sudden spray of words. The excitement pitched their voice into a higher vocal range.

Unexpected but lovely in a way it made Remy’s heart throb with just as much energy as Emile offered him. He let himself giggle a bit while Virgil was nothing but a puddle of chuckles and snickers. The half-naked pal hugged Emile close, seemingly absorbing their enthusiasm.

 “Why do you like fusions so much, lovely?”

 Remy licked his lips, tasting the delicious energy in the air. He relished in just a quick glance into the rear-view mirror in which he saw Virgil and Emile bonking the sides of their heads together, the latter bouncing a bit in faer seat.

 His heart was blooming.

These two were the summer of his life.

 “Th.-they !! Do y-you know of-of S-Steve Un-Univ-verse?”

 Their hands were everywhere, Remy noticed. Virgil put himself on high-five duty whenever these hands moved places and suddenly appeared next to him or in front of his nose or behind Remy’s head.

To her, it was as if these hands appeared out of nowhere while Emile fawned his happy juices into every direction of this car.

 Remy readily took in everything he could with a smile on his lips and promises in his chest. Sadly, he still had to shake his head but he prompted them.

 “Enlighten us, would you?”

 Fae continued, hands still moving in a somewhat erratic manner.

 “S-So in - I .. I mean, y-you know”, they started, then stopped, then started again just to take a short pause.

Faer face fell into a statute-like aesthetic as fae deliberated what to say. The happy glows in their orbs were forever-persistent.

 “Mw, Em.. Emiiiiile”, Virgil cooed softly, patting their hair, “You are wonderful.. your.. y... sEt.. pf.. ph-... STEVEN is your FRIEND and really wonderpoof too.”

 She nodded, a sense of importance surrounding her. It gave her an expression of wisdom and some sort of... safe space. There was acceptance in his features.

Even when he mispronounced and misunderstood everything going on.

Virgil eagerly patted Emile’s poofy hair while nodding more, her happy curls jumping up and down the sides of her face like excited monkeys.

 “So-sO! Steven is-is a human a-and he is part of the-the cry-c..c-crystal gems who are basically alien stones with magic. Oh, and they have weird adventures t-t-together and ev-everything is soft and ni-nice!”

 Fae bounced in the back seat and Virgil enthusiastically moved along without even having a single clue of what was happening at the moment.

They clapped and she mimicked the movements with confused nods and delayed yaps.

 “Magic Stpehen.. ph..phatven...”

 Virgil looked at his hands, confusion spinning in their lost eyes. Maybe staring into her fingers could answer her the question of how it came that “Steven” was so difficult to pronounce.

They did not, if you wondered, too.

 Emile smiled, gently brushing through his hair.

The most gentle of all smiles adorned their face as they soothed Virgil ever so patiently. The flapping piece of oversized jacket and mad boxers eventually nestled in faer lap and hugged these legs calmly. Every now and then, Emile would receive a loving pat to their skin because Virgil forgot what they felt like. Or because she was curious about what skin did when being touched and moved and shoved or patted.

 They patiently stroked his hair further while Remy had a hard time keeping his gay together and himself focused.

Luckily, they arrived and got back up, Virgil insistently patting and hugging every door, pole and wall they did not pull him away from.

 She was a really excited person in this state.

 When they got into the apartment, Remy lead them to the couch, considering Virgil was a bit less in the position to know where anything or anyone was.

They snuggled up again, this time Virgil was in the middle and fidgeting with a magic cube.. rubrix.. thingy.. hihi, it felt funny!

 “Remy, loook!”

 She pushed the cube into his hands and hugged Emile close.

 “Magical cube”, Virgil explained, voice mimicking the tone of a captivating conspiracy video.

 “Very magical, cube”, fae agreed.

 Remy nodded.

 “Magical like these rad fucking shits you made. We are gonna see more than stars, we will see an entire galaxy!”

 His words were purring in amusement.

 Virgil lazily blinked at Remy, then slowly turned to Emile and just.. dropped their head to the side, completely overdoing the “tilting your head” business.

 “Sooo.. are we.. a fusion?”

 A clank could be heard and suddenly, Virgil whined and hugged the two close.

 “The magical cube disappeared! I...m-..magic!”

His voice dropped into the sounds of scary camp fire horror stories once more.

“...m a g i c.”

 The tallest of the three pushed another biscuit to Remy who gladly consumed the sweet, spacey treat.

 “You are magic, you two fusers”, Emile purred back in reply and gently snuggled back, carefully pecking Virgil. This time, a whine arouse from Remy’s throat.

Emile shook faer head, a wild grin decorating this precious face.

 Was that a little scar on their cheekbone? Oh, those cheekbones...

 Remy got so lost in Emile’s pretty face, he barely noticed it coming close, Emile’s eyes closing sensually, slowly...

Then, their lips brushed against one another. Lonely mouth and alluring goal meeting and pressing together, closing around one another like embracing lovers after a long period of distancing.

 “waHOOOO, G A Y!!”

 Virgil cheered for them, leaving the youngest of the three to pull away from Remy, skin like cherry blossoms in the heat of spring.

Fae simply let him, innocently commenting with nothing but a whipping of faer eyelashes towards the shy one.

 “Is that new for you, Virgil?”

 The playful breeze of something like a rivalry returned, nestling between the moody couple of different extremes. The trio’s shortest and longest member looked at each other, a special dynamic reigning between them and drawing them closer.

 “New that he gets the kisses first”, Virgil answered in unabashed honesty.

 Instead of hiding behind witty remarks and sarcastic or snarky comments, she off-handedly pronounced the issue and pulled Emile in, gently pulling at the leather collar of this damn self-improved jacket.

It was surprisingly soft, compared to last time, at least.

 Their lips were raspberries squeezing together ever so slightly, merely touching more than for a fleeting moment.

 Virgil was the one to pull away.

It was Emile’s turn to be flustered at this moment. Fae slowly backed up, settling into faer space on the couch and taking another one of the beaked treats. They nibbled on them, hiding their face while Virgil pushed her legs onto faer lap and rested her head on Remy’s happy thighs. His skirt was rolled up a little so he got to feel his hair.

 “You two taste so sweet...”

 Remy shrugged, face still ablaze without his knowledge. He suspected it, though.

 “Hey, Em. You going to college when the holidays are over?”

 The taller one took the moment to appreciate Remy’s timing and tasteful change of topics while Virgil delightfully brushed over his exposed stomach in mild interest.

 “I am just here for a summer job, I guess I told you guys”, fae mumbled softly as faer fingers moved to catch up to Virgil’s tracing fingerpads.

“After that I am going to Yban University further up the north. What about you guys?”

 Virgil was chuckling and squirming when Emile started stroking his exposed skin.

He was ticklish, Remy remembered fondly.

 “Virgil is gonna go up there too, but for working. So you can hang out with Logan if you want to!”

 Remy winked and Emile stuck out their tongue at him.

 “Don’t fuck the baby sibling.”

 The small anger dwarf flailed and gasped.

 “Nu, fuck me instead!”

 Emile fucking starting to cough up during a weird mix of laughing and choking on his own mind and his partners’ words.

 “Not na- now!”, fae gasped out, wiggling a bit but staying in place, more or less.

 “Man”, Remy started, softly offering his hand for Emile to hold while his other was still carding through Virgil’s hair, “I will go up and study. It is surreal.”

 He blinked.

 “Holy fuckening, we are going to the same spot! I will move in with Virgil, like, fucking literally. As soon as I get my acceptance email and letter.. I .. I am.. gonna.. I will fuck your landlord.”

 Emile was playing with their hair while stroking over these exposed legs.

 “You two.. wanna hang out if we all end up in the same spot? That would be cool.”

 Remy patted the spot close to him and gestured towards Emile, then back to the spot as he started to lay down. They got the message and followed suit.

Together, the three cuddled up, now laying and still high off their butts.

 “It is perfect”, Em yawned, gently kissing the back of Remy’s hand.

 Virgil nodded softly and pushed her nose against the other two pals’ noses.

 “If you guys are with me, I can do all. I will get all done. I can do it.”

 At least he tried saying that. His words came out as a jumble of weird sounds.

Laughter erupted and Virgil snuggled up, eyes closed and gently smooching the two before drifting off to sleep while the others whisper-screamed whatever thing seemed absolutely hilarious at the moment.

 If they would stay together, she knew they would all be fine. They would all make it.

 He was certain of it.

[rainoverthemountains]

More Twist Story-chapter 3

As usual, Twist and all of Twistfell belongs to @itsladykit

Summary: There’s a cure for LV (probably). It’s completely safe (probably). It’s a highly unpleasant experience (definitely). Twist only cares about that first statement. He probably should have paid a little more attention to the other two. But what does it matter? He’s getting what he wants, and he has the best friends and family in any universe to help along the way.

Things get rather bad for Twist in this chapter.

As a side note, I'm assuming that even though they usually refer to each other by their nicknames, when under major stress or not thinking clearly the monsters tend to slip and refer to monsters they’ve known their whole lives by the names they grew up calling them. On that note, when Twist refers to Sans, he’s talking about Blackberry, not Undertale Sans, in case that’s not clear.

chapter 1, chapter 2

Chapter 3

Twist obligingly climbs back into bed, forcing down every aggressive, or even defensive, thought that enters his mind. This is not the time to freak out.

“So what ‘xactly are ya gonna do, sweetheart? Maybe try a little warnin’ this time.”

Iggy takes his soul back over to the desk with the rather terrifying clamp, more carefully this time. “I told you, I need to break off some of this calcification so I can get the monitor wires in, and the needle for the injection.”

“And ya need that,” he grimaces as he points to the clamp, “ta do that? Don’ really seem necessary. Could prob’ly break some off myself by hand if you don’ wanna do it, darlin’.”

“No, no, this is much better for distributing the force and avoiding bruising, and we’d need some serious force to break through all of that. This way the blades slice in and take off most of it with very little pressure. Don’t worry, I’ve already optimized the procedure on other high-LV subjects-”

“And what’d they have ta say ‘bout it?”

“-and this way is by far the best for avoiding complications from excessive calcification,” she finishes with a glare for the interruption.

“Fine, fine, jus’… jus’ get it over with, then.” He lays down on his side, facing her so he can see, then clenches his sockets shut, then realizes that’s worse than watching, so he opens them again. 

He jolts when she sets his soul in the clamp. Sensations are dull through the calcification, but he can still feel little razor sharp teeth digging into the surface. He rolls onto his back to grip the bars on both sides of the bed. No need to freak out. He’s had worse before. This is nothing compared to what will happen if he keeps going the way he is. It’s worth it. A cure is worth anything. Absolutely anything. There’s nothing she could do that wouldn’t be worth-

“Fuck!” he shouts as the clamp closes and twists, tiny razor blades digging in and slicing, hooking in somehow and tearing the hardened outer layer off of his soul. It’s over in a second that feels like an eternity, and then there are hands on it, pulling it off the fucking spikes, and he convulses as they shift and pinch, pulling off little chips and pieces that were left behind. It’s excruciating, and violating, and as soon as he gets control of his limbs he lunges, not stopping for an instant when he falls to the floor, crawling when he can’t gather the coordination to walk, furious, desperate to get it back, take it away from her, how is this happening? That part of his life is done, he doesn’t have to lie here and take this, he won’t take this, he’ll fucking kill her, doesn’t have to take this again, he’ll show her he’ll pay her back for everything she ever did, he’ll-

“Stop right there!” a voice that isn’t hers commands, and the surprise of it is enough to jolt him partway out of his rage. “Move one more inch towards me, and I’ll rip your soul right in half!” She, Iggy, not Muffet, not any of the Muffets, there are no Muffets here, holds his soul out as if to demonstrate. He freezes, and remembers why he’s here. She had… she’d needed to get the calcification off, so she could get a needle in, so he could get the LV treatment he clearly needed, but…

“Why… what? Why did…?” With the adrenaline fading, shock sets in. He stares up at his exposed soul, its surface raw and bare looking, and can’t imagine what possible purpose there could be for that. He hates how it normally looks, but this is just wrong. She shouldn’t be touching it like this, she shouldn’t be touching it at all! She shouldn’t, he’ll make her stop, he’ll – No! Listen, she’s talking, maybe she’ll say why…

“I know it seems a little extreme, but it’ll be so much easier this way. It looks like a lot of damage, but it’s actually all on the surface, with no deep bruising at the core, which is what we really need to worry about because that’s where the medicine will work. I could have just taken off a little piece, but it’s just as easy to get it all off this way, and now it’ll take a lot longer to re-calcify so we’ll have more surface area to work with for longer, so we won’t have to do this again while the medicine is working, which would be a lot harder to do.”

That makes sense, except, “couldn’ta asked what I wanted? Or at leas’ warned me?”

“Would you have cooperated? You barely cooperated as it is. Now, are you done trying to kill me? If so, we should get you back in bed so we can get on with the treatment.” She holds his soul in one hand as she reaches the other down to help him up.

“Be careful with that!” he snarls, patience gone. “Ya keep threatenin’ me with it, but at this rate, yer gonna drop it an’ dust me by accident.” Steadying himself on the lab bench, he pulls himself up and staggers back to the bed.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worked with a lot of souls over the past few years and I’ve never dropped one.”

Twist snorts. “Whatever. Got any more plans ta make me try‘n kill ya, or are we ‘bout ready ta get on with it? Not sure how many more times that ‘I’ll break yer soul’ shit’s gonna work if ya keep breakin’ it anyway.”

“It’s not broken, just a little more exposed than you’re used to. But you’re right, we should get on with this. Just let me get the monitor wires in and then I’ll give you the injection.”

After the removal of the calcification, the wires are surprisingly painless. Just a small twinge, and then he’s treated to the disturbing sight of his soul with wires sticking out of it. Looking at it too long makes him slightly nauseous, but he isn’t looking away after all that.

“What’d’ya need ta monitor, anyway?” Do monsters have vital signs to keep track of? He realizes he doesn’t actually know.

“HP, mostly, and I’ll be tracking some stats that won’t mean anything yet, but will help me map the course of the treatment once I correlate them with my other data. That part’s not anything you need to worry about, just know that I’ll be tracking your HP and I have plenty of doses for direct magic infusions when it gets low. Of course, it’s best to keep it high enough with food that you won’t need any infusions, but it’s important to have them there as a backup.”

“Can’t ya just check me like normal?”

“I could, but this way provides more up-to-the-minute information, and since I’ll already be taking data on the treatment progression I might as well monitor HP at the same time. Like I said, I’ve already optimized this procedure, and this is what works best. Now, unless you have any more questions, let’s get started.”

“Fine, great, what’d’ya want me ta do?”

“Nothing, just lie there, and stay in bed this time, while I inject the medicine. Once it’s in your soul, it’ll run its course on its own, so your soul will be able to stay in your ribcage unless you need a magic infusion or you mess with the monitor wires.”

“Jus’ get on with it, then,” Twist sighs. This is going to suck. Definitely not the worst thing he’s ever been through, there’s a lot of competition for that, but it’s going to suck.

“Fine then. You might want to brace yourself. If you attack me while I’ve got a needle in your soul, you’ll probably end up with a whole syringe in your soul instead.”

“Yeah, yeah, not gonna attack ya. This’s the part I signed up for, ain’t it?” Nevertheless, he tightens his grip on the bars. He turns his head away as she picks up the syringe, but finds once again that he can’t stand not knowing when the needle is coming. He turns back to look just in time to cringe as the needle reaches the surface of his soul. He tenses in dread as the needle breaks the surface, only to feel… almost nothing. Like the wires, the needle feels wrong but is too small to be painful. Twist sighs in relief. Maybe this won’t be so bad. He can take this. This is nothing. He’s had so much worse… And then the world dissolves into agony. 

Heat floods his soul, like someone lit it on fire. Bubbling, boiling fire, like boiling in acid, is it acid? Did she put acid in his soul?! Distantly, he hears himself screaming. He knows it’s him because he feels the screams ripping from his throat, but that’s all he knows as the world condenses around that single point of pain. Vision goes black, hearing goes silent, he no longer feels the bed under his back, just the frantic thrashing of his own limbs and the wrongwrongWRONG feeling of foreign hands around his melting soul. Something brushes his ribs, Don’t touch me! and then blessed relief from the wrongness as his soul settles back into place. Relief from the wrongness, but not from the pain. The pain won’t end. The pain will never end, not until he melts away, melt away the broken, corrupted, ugly soul burnitburnitBURNIT it burns please it burns it hurts please stop please someone help make it stop. 

This is eternity. It lasts an eternity and it will continue for many more eternities until he melts away, and slowly he’s fading. Fading away and the pain isn’t leaving but he is, drifting away like dust on the wind like drowning in the river, fighting at first but slowly losing strength and giving up the fight. Drown, he could drown, just sink beneath the surface and the burning will stop. No more pain, no more him. No more him, no that’s not… Don’t want that. That’s not… but the thought won’t hold together, too much pain and too little strength to hold anything together. Then suddenly more wrongness. Wrongwrongwrong what’s wrong… why… what’s happening? Hands on his soul, taking it! No, give it back give it back give… it… too hard to fight. Too hard, too tired… need… can’t… His soul fills with crackling energy and suddenly he’s awake, wide awake, no please no more don’t want to be awake but don’t want to… die. All his shattered thoughts crystalize around that one idea, he almost died, he doesn’t want to die. This could kill him. Is this killing him? Nonono don’t let it kill him he wants to live. Live with the pain and the wrongness and the melting and the dark? It’s so dark and he’s alone and it hurts. No that’s not the world it’s not he’s been here before not quite here but like this before. It’s been like this and he got out! He got out and he won and he got Sans back and… Sans! Where’s Sans? Sans needs him. Sans would want him back even if he’s melting even if he’s already melted, even if he’s melted away to nothing and there’s nothing left. But it hurts and it’s WRONG something wrong on his soul someone’s holding his soul where is his soul? Right there! It’s right there above him, someone’s standing over him holding it. It’s her she wants it she took it she can’t have it she can’t take anything else from him give it back!

“Gif ba’. G’ba’k.” He tries to shout, but his voice is too hoarse for more than a whisper and he can’t form the shape of the words.

She might say something as she approaches but he can’t hear it. All he sees is a hand reaching out to grab him, the same hand that’s hurting him and touching his soul, let go please let go. He grabs the hand that’s reaching for him and digs his claws in with all his strength. She yelps, oh fuck he’s in for it now, and withdraws her hand, but not before giving back his soul. The relief of its return momentarily blocks out the pain, enough that he can realize the pain has receded enough that there are things in the world that aren’t pain. He waits for the melting to return, but no, if anything his soul is cooling, now more like metal in the hot sun than battery acid at the sun’s core. The same can’t be said of the rest of him. His ribs are radiating enough heat that his arm hurts where it’s resting against his lower ribs. He tries to move it away but it won’t obey him. The bed under his back may as well be an oven. He tries to roll to a cooler spot but can’t move any part of his body. His throat is the worst, like someone has scraped it with sandpaper. The more the pain fades, the more he realizes how thirsty he is. Water, he needs water, but he can’t even whisper to ask for it and now he’s alone.

***

Iggy finishes wrapping her arm in her office and then goes back to check on her research subject. He’s stopped twitching, so he might have passed out. He seems harmless, but he’d seemed pretty harmless before he clawed her arm down to the bone, so she stays well out of reach as she checks his stats on the monitor. He’s back up to half his full HP with the compound fully integrated into his soul. The start is bad for every subject, but she hasn’t come so close to losing one since before she perfected the formula. The difference between an LV of 9 and 17 might have more of an effect than she’d thought. Or maybe this is a subject-specific problem. No way to know for sure without more data.

She’s downloading the data from the monitor to a flash drive for transfer and further analysis when she notices Twist staring at her. He’s not doing anything, just staring. His jawbone moves as if to say something, but no sound comes out and he just keeps staring. It’s disturbing.

“Hello, do you need something?” She tentatively asks. His browbone furrows in… some sort of expression. She can’t really tell what it is.

“Are you ready to answer some questions about your experience?” This gets no response, so she steps closer.

“Some of this data looks a little patchy. I’m going to take a look at the wires to make sure they’re all in there correctly. I’m not sure how well I reconnected them when you pulled them loose earlier. I was more concerned with getting some magic into you when your HP dropped. I had to pull your soul out to inject it directly, and then when I tried to put it back you attacked me,” she babbles as she reaches into his ribcage to pull out his soul again. Twist snarls and tries to grab her. Iggy leaps backwards. Well, she was right about being careful.

“Is that really necessary?” she snaps. “I’m trying to help you! Do you want to dust because no one knows your HP is dropping? I’m not checking you 24 hours a day, so you need that monitor to be working.” Twist cringes at her anger and plasters his arms flat against the bed. “That’s better. Keep them there. Now let’s see what’s going on here.” She reaches for his soul as he watches with widened sockets. When she touches it he gasps and his whole body jerks. 

“Hmmm. Overly sensitive now, it seems. I’ll have to keep that in mind. All of the wires are in place, so what’s causing… oh, there! One of the tips is sticking out the other side. That explains it. I’ll just pull it back in… what’s it stuck on? Oh, that’s fascinating. The outer layers are already re-calcifying around it! I should have expected it, but if it’s this fast then why didn’t it happen sooner? I had no trouble moving the wires a few minutes ago… Something about the treatment must temporarily reduce calcification. I wonder if it’s just the heat? No, it can’t be that hot. I must not have noticed with the other subjects because their natural re-calcification wasn’t this fast. It’s not happening anywhere else, so the wires must provide a surface for the molecules to organize around, like some kind of seed crystal. This could be helpful. If we can keep the wires in place long enough for calcification to form around them, it should keep them from coming out again. Here, I’ll just break up the part that’s holding the wire in the wrong place and pull it back in. It’s thin enough that I should be able to do it manually.” She glances at Twist’s face for confirmation and sees his teeth gritted and head turned away, face half-buried in the pillow. His body is shaking and hands are clenched, but still obediently held at his sides.

“Oh, sorry, does it still hurt for me to touch it? Here, I’ll finish up quickly and put it back.” He moans when she breaks off the calcification near the misplaced wire, but otherwise does not react. He relaxes slightly when she sets his soul back inside his ribcage, but still doesn’t move.

“There, now we can leave it alone for a while. Once the wires are locked in place I shouldn’t have to do anything else with it unless your HP drops to critical levels again. I don’t really expect that to happen; this first part is the most damaging, HP-wise. If it becomes a regular thing I might need to put in some kind of a port for easy access, but we won’t resort to that unless we have to. You seem more responsive now, so do you think you could answer some of my questions? We can just stick to yes or no for now if you don’t feel up to talking.”

Twist’s shoulders twitch, which Iggy decides to interpret as agreement, so she pulls out her list of questions. Twist answers some of them with nods or head shakes, although it isn’t really clear if he understands all of what she’s saying or if he’s actually even intentionally answering. After several questions in a row go unanswered she gives up.

“That’s alright, we’ll try again later. Just get some sleep for now,” she suggests as she gathers her materials. As she stands to leave, she hears a small sound.

***

“Mmmmm. W…” Twist breaks into coughing, but tries again. “Wah…” He winces as the sound strains his throat.

“What is it? Do you need something?” Iggy asks impatiently. Twist flinches at her tone but tries again.

“Wah… da. Wa er. C’n… pls?” It’s too much to say at once, too many sounds, too little breath. But he’s so thirsty.

“Wa da? Oh, water, of course! Sure, you can have some water. I probably have a water bottle around here somewhere. That shouldn’t be too hard to drink from.” Iggy goes off in search of a water bottle while Twist struggles to stay conscious. He’s so, so tired, the room around him fading in and out of focus and spinning. He’s so grateful when Iggy returns and puts the tip of a water bottle in his mouth, even when it comes out too fast and most of it runs down his jawbone. Even that is wonderful as the water cools his overheated bones. He wants to ask for more on his ribs but can’t find the words. After far too short a time Iggy pulls the bottle away and wipes off the water dripping down his chin. He tries to protest but his protest goes unheard.

“There, is that better?” she asks without giving him time to answer. “We should probably try a straw next time. I have a lot of work to do now, so you just get some sleep. The monitor will tell me if anything changes.” Then she picks up her materials and leaves. Twist drifts for a while, trying to remind himself why he’s doing this, and what this even is, and avoid other memories that it’s bringing to mind. Eventually he drifts into a restless sleep.

chapter 4

[obrennon]

Basic Information

Full Name: Lance Grayson O'Brennon

Name: Lance 

Alias / Nickname: Irishman, Wolf.

Age: Looks 37 | Actually 700

Date of Birth: February 24th

Species: Werewolf

Hometown: Wexford, Ireland (Southern Ireland)

Current Location: Thorn Haven

Nationality: Irish

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Fighter | Bodyguard

Living Arrangements: Where ever Lance does stay he usually has minimal things, enough to make it seem lived in but nothing that would hold any personal touches to it.

Language(s) Spoken: Gaelic, English, Russian, some Italian& Latin, enough French.

Accent: Lance has a thick Irish accent which only gets thicker the more he's either drunk or angry, but he doesn’t try to hide, however, if absolutely necessary and or if he’s feeling like it, Lance can do a rather decent American accent (&& it’s not southern!)

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Cam Gigandet

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Eye Color: Blue 

Height: 6'2

Weight: 155

Build: toned, athletic, muscular

Tattoos: TBD

Piercings: N/A

Clothing Style: earthy & blue colors,  basic and plain style. Jeans, t'shirt and hoodies/jackets. Unless a uniform is needed (i.e. job or fancy event).

Usual Expression: tries to maintain a friendly & welcoming expression, 

Distinguishing Characteristics: has a bite scar on his neck & some medium, claw like scars on his back. a small birthmark on his bottom lip, a small white line. various scars all over his torso, old bullet & knife wounds from before he was a wolf.

Health

Physical Ailments: none anymore

Neurological Conditions: N/A

Allergies: bee stings. which are no longer an issue

Sleeping Habits: Lance finds sleep when he can, but it is very infrequent and only for at least an hour or two. 

Eating Habits: he loves food, always has, Lance can eat at any given moment. 

Exercise Habits: Lance doesn’t need a lot to keep himself in shape, he loves to walk & run, but can also be found boxing & or fighting. 

Emotional Stability: Lance has always been an emotional and passionate person, he gets invested far too quickly & has a problem with trying to be a protector for those who cannot protect themselves. 

Sociability: Lance can be a social butterfly, all smiles & jokes

Body Temperature: Lance has a higher temperature from humans, it’s rather noticeable & sometimes it can be thought he is ill as it is far warmer than any normal temperature.

Addictions: alcohol, fighting

Drug Use: only in an effort to subdue the pain & ache within him, drowning out his demons & the memories that haunt him. but it’s nothing regular & certainly not his choice of self-medication.

Alcohol Use: what day is it? Lance could go for a shot or a few beers, that’s for sure.

Personality

Label: The Warrior / The Challenger

Positive Traits: compassionate, reliable, protective, sincere, passionate, romantic

Negative Traits: self-destructive, aggressive, hot-headed, needy, 

Goals/Desires: other than wasting away to nothing? getting into a good fight is probably his other goal, maybe making a name for himself in The Pit.

Fears: Lance has always been afraid of losing people & yet it is something that happens to him constantly, 

Hobbies: drinking, fighting, billiards, going to concerts / music, enjoys dancing w/ pretty people, karaoke if the urge hits him.

Habits: Lance runs his hand through his hair when he’s anxious or nervous or gets himself into an awkward situation, he also taps chews at his cheek when something is bothering him. 

Favorites

Weather: rain, Lance has always loved the rain. he’s also particularly fond of snow

Color: black & blue

Music: celtic, rock, some hip-hop

Movies: action, thrillers, murder / mystery

Sport: rugby

Beverage: beer, whisky, scotch, coffee.

Food: see food, literally any food will do, are you gonna eat that? no? okay, Lance will.

Animal: wolf

Family

Father: Sheamus O’Brennon (deceased) 

Mother: Caoimhe O’Brennon (deceased)

Sibling(s): Younger sister, Joan O’Brennon (deceased)

Children: none

Family’s Financial Status: poor

Biography

(trigger warnings for suicide (mentioned), sexual, verbal & physical abuse, alcoholism, death, murder, fatal illness)

Lance was very much a mama’s boy growing up, the earliest memory that Lance has of his mother was that she used to sing and read to him, folklore and songs of Ireland; before his sister was born Caoimhe used to take her son to her family's beach house in Wexford where Lance was actually born. His more fond memories of his childhood were spent at that beach house and even after his mother got sick shortly after his little sister was born they continued to go to the beach and it was something he cherished. When his mother became worse and the fights that she had protected her son from got worse, Lance found himself stepping between his father and his mother to stop the blows he would give her.

Distraught his mother made him promise to protect his little sister, no matter what, and even if anything happened to her, only shortly after that Lance’s mother died. The children were devastated and thus was the end of their happy days on the beach. Joan was Lance’s world after his mother died and he did everything to protect her, from fighting bullies in school to keeping his father preoccupied with beating him instead of Joan. They were very close and spent as much time together as possible, she was the one person in his life that truly understood what he did and why he did it; even though she didn’t like that their father beat Lance, Joan understood, even as a young child, that all her older brother was doing was protecting her to the best of his abilities.

One of the things that Lance fondly remembers about his sister is how she used to make little trinkets and jewelry out of the things she found on the street or around the house, thus why he has a pendent of hers that she made for him. It wasn’t until a fifteen year old Lance came home from school to find his father assaulting his sister did he actually fail at keeping her safe.That day still haunts the Irishman, the memories still as fresh as if they had just happened yesterday. The relationship Lance held with his father was little to nothing, he hated the man for not only what he had done to his mother but especially for what he found the man doing to his sister that day. Inevitably it ended badly for Lance and even worse for his father; the blood of the drunkard will never be a regret the Irishman holds, taking that bastard's life was the most assured thing he ever could have done.

The events that followed the incident were not the best either. Traumatized by the whole thing to begin with the siblings were separated and there was no way Lance could have gotten to Joan sooner. But when he did his absolute worst nightmare had come true, unable to handle the pain of what her father did and losing her brother a young Joan took her own life, leaving Lance on his own. When Lance was nineteen he joined the military and never looked back, he excelled through the ranks of the military quicker than anyone had ever thought and soon he was chosen for a special task force.

Still he worked harder than anyone else in the program and soon he was being sent on his own operations only a few years into his training, with experience came the bigger missions and soon he was a deadly assassin. Then everything changed when a great war began and Lance was sent into the forces against others just like him. However, that wasn’t all that changed during the war, there, in the dead of night the Irishman met a creature that was unlike anything he had ever known to be real, the great wolf attacked Lance. As if it wasn’t difficult enough for the man to live with his haunted memories he was destined to live with his mistakes as a creature of the night, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

When Lance woke up on the battlefield he wasn’t sure what had happened, if everything that had happened was a dream or not, but the blood that stained his clothes and the pain that was throbbing in his head made it more of a reality. The eerie silence of the field surrounding him, the bodies that still were laying where they had fallen was almost too much for his confused mind to process. But he got up and dragged himself back to his troop, what was left of it anyways.

His wounds were nursed and bandaged and eventually healed quicker than what was expected. The attack of a crazed creature was long from his mind by the full moon, of course, that did not last long as the change took over his body and when he woke from that nightmare there were more horrors than he had seen in all his days in this horrendous war. His squadron, his comrades in arms, his family was dead and from the amount of blood that coated his body, Lance had no doubt he was the horror that had caused this tragedy. He had no other choice but to go AWOL. Lance had become the monster of legends, of myths and stories.

The Irishman shipped himself off to the Americas, doing so with great difficulty due to his monthly changes and his want to keep from harming people, but it didn’t always work out to despite his best efforts. People were hurt along the way, many more were killed as he tried to teach himself how to harness the beast within him, this was not something so easily attained. This monster was not as easily conquered as learning to use a weapon or to fight was, his new situation was something he’d never be able to accomplish what he wanted and that was to keep from hurting more people.

There was a point where he wanted to die, wanted to stop the pain he was causing by his inability to control anything. In the cusp of complete despair, however, there was hope. An older beast, one who had been turned many decades before him and was soon to find their own place of peace found Lance, it was not of his doing but he clung to the hope he was given. It was as if his mother, the kindest soul he had ever known, was reaching out to him in the form of another to bring him solidarity and control. It took a long while, the two traveled together all over the States before they found a spot deep in the woods of Colorado, where no one but the wild animals would be hunted by the beast until the young one was able to focus his mind.

Old age soon took the other wolf and with him a part of Lance, but not before he had been taught key skills that would help Lance on his journey through the outside world, not only with the politics that were always in play, but also with how people would handle him with the knowledge that he was a beast which caused disaster if not controlled. When he felt the moment was right, Lance ventured out of the woods, very much the image of a mountain man in the early 1930′s just in time to get a leg in some kind of society, keeping to himself before the next war began.

So it continued like this, he would join the military under whatever alias he came up with before going MIA or being pronounced dead and would find himself back in the Americas, it was safer there– for his memories, anyways, it was away from the place he called home. Decades passed and Lance finally found the world had eased on its blood-lust for war, but of course that couldn’t last long. There were some supernaturals that lived among the humans, even married them, an effort to keep the peace between their kinds. In his distrust and doubt, Lance kept to himself, keeping everything to himself, running into trouble whenever his memories needed drowning and he got a few drinks in him.

Eventually he found work in the bodyguard and security detail business, a family of witches, they understood his needs and it was a comfort to have an employer that could excuse Lance once a month for the full moon. He was assigned to his employers daughter, meant to protect and keep her out of trouble, something he had to shape up in his own life, but he was diligent and in his protection the Irishman fell for the beautiful blonde witch he was protecting. That was until his protection wasn’t enough and he wasn’t there to save her, the scene Lance found made him believe she was dead, still, without a body he couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t stop the wolf from mourning and trekking across the land to the worst place to be, which was good enough a place for him to drown his sorrows and try to rid himself of her. Something he found to be impossible, even as he joined the ruffians within Thorn Haven.

[sweetcatmintea]

Bitter Chocolate and Night Rain

@inkovert (implicitly) requested a fluff drabble between Whitney and Marcos. I went with a scene that actually comes from the story (I figured it’d be good practice for when it comes up). It ended up kinda,,, angsty <.<;;;; But I’m pretty proud of it and hope you enjoy this scene from A Hare’s Worth. Feedback is appreciated ^u^

Words: 2644 Characters: Marcos, Whitney, Freddy (mentioned), and Mella

The day was long, but eventually, the chittering of the café grew quiet as the patrons shuffled back along their journey, continuing their lives. In one smooth movement, Whitney switched from waving farewell to the final customer to flipping the welcome sign and locking the door to the 6pm Café. Marcos cleared tables as Whitney swept tiles. It was days like these that made her grateful for the evening still. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad had they more help, but with Freddy visiting home and their aunt and uncle surveying a new supplier, the pair had been run off their paws. Marcos ambled towards the kitchen, carefully balancing a stack of plates and mugs, backing through the swinging door. He wasn’t as bothered by the busyness as Whitney, sometimes it was good not to have too much time to think. Not that she was bothered per se, but she would have preferred more time to keep things organised. Just a little would do.

Chocolate and pecans spiced the air, soon to be overtaken by soap and steam. Although the baker had left hours ago, their work lingered. It had been Freddy’s idea to do a promotion each fortnight. A new tea and an arrangement of desserts specifically made to compliment the brew. This time it was an exotic black tea and cocoa blend, resulting in numerous fruity and chocolatey treats for customers to choose from.

Whitney hummed in delight as they cleaned, Marcos washing up and her packaging left over food. “It’s been a good week, don’t you think? I reckon Uncle Antonio will be happy with the sales. The new blend really hit it off with the customers.” Speaking of which… Her palms thumped onto the counter, ears flicking back. “That one woman though. Did you see her? How many times do you have to tell someone you don’t sell burgers at a tea café?! Honestly!” Rant pausing long enough to swipe an errant strand of raw sugar hair out of her eyes, she continued, mimicking the interaction, “’I want  beetroot burger.’ Who even eats beetroot? Do I say that? No, I say ‘Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t sell that here. Can I interest you in a toasted sandwich instead?’ ‘No, it has to be a burger. You sell food, why don’t you just make one?’ Oh, I forgot we apparently had a ~secret menu~. ‘We don’t have the ingredients for that.’” Taptaptaptap. Her foot thwapted the floor in irritation. “Then, then! She says ‘That’s fine, you can just go to the corner store and get some.’ Just go to the corner store and get some? Can you believe the that? The nerve! The entitlement! Ugh!” Letting out a huff, she shoved another cake slice into a box, perhaps more roughly than was necessary.

Marcos hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t look up from the sink. She’d expected him to at least chuckle at the dramatics, (even though she was genuinely annoyed at the woman). At least his advice was still characteristically his.

“People are strange. There’s nothing to be done for it now, why don’t you pick out which dessert you’re bringing back to take your mind off it?” A perk of closing duty – taking home unsellable but still edible foods.

“Hm, that’s true. They’ve been really nice this round. The dark chocolate tarts are as bitter as my soul. I love it.”

“There’s no accounting for taste I guess.” Marcos shrugged, a teasing lilt to his voice. That wasn’t the joke she thought he’d made. That was twice he’d curve-balled her. Usually he’d indulge her rants, laughing along as she spouted ridiculous scenarios she claimed she’d definitely do next the time. She thought for sure that he’d say some dumb thing along the lines of ‘you’re mixing up caramel with chocolate if you want it to match your soul, Cottontail’. Then she’d get mad at him for the silly nickname and they’d banter like usual. She didn’t let the concern reach her face.  

Marcos drained the sink, readying to leave. “I liked the sweet chai from the last lot better.”

Whitney passed him the desserts she’d claimed, taking the remaining boxes herself. “Haha, we could tell. I didn’t think you’d really be able to eat all of the cinnamon buns you grabbed. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

~

Double checking the store was locked securely, they took the excess food around the back. Kids were already waiting. Some skinny and ratty, others better off but not by much. New laws had been passed preventing Whitney or Marcos from giving food, even that which would otherwise go to waste, to beggars – especially Tainted ones. Instead, they carefully discarded the boxed onto a table specifically for storing such waste, happened to mention aloud which ones had gluten and which had been in contact with nuts, then left. They certainly didn’t smile at a raccoon child who thanked them for their kindness before scampering off. They were good, law abiding teenagers after all.

Although it was still relatively early, the sky was already darkening. Heavy storm clouds loomed overhead. Wind rustled through the trees, green with new leaves, sending flower petals skipping along the street. Whitney huddled into her button-up sweater, pulling it tighter over her body.

“I hope the rain holds off a little longer. Might have to take Mella out for a jog instead of a walk.”

“Maybe you should skip today. You don’t want to get caught in a downpour. Who’ll run the shop if you get sick?” Marcos really was trying to match Whitney’s light-hearted energy, but he knew she was onto him. Having her worry about him (or him burden her) over a funk wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Can’t slack off. As Mella’s proper parent - we don’t count Freddy and you know it. He spoils her rotten - it is my responsibility to make sure she gets what she needs, and what she needs is a walk every day.” She bounced her shoulder against his side, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You could always come with us if you’re worried. I’ll even let you carry me home if I get splashed. Mella too, of course.”

He bounced her back, careful not to topple her over. “Maybe I will.”

“I wasn’t joking about jogging.”

“I know.”

She raised her brow incredulously. “You, jogging?”

“It does happen on occasion.”

~

If Mella, short for Caramel, had her way, her tardy care takers would have been barrelled over by her unrestrained joy the instant they crossed the threshold back into her territory. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for the weary pair, Whitney really was a good dog mum. Mella had been trained well. Nobody was trampled by an ecstatic rottweiler on that day. Minding her manners, but not curtailing her demands, Mella waited “patiently” at the door, tail thumping and lead in mouth.

True to her word, five minutes and Whitney had offloaded her things, swept her long hair into a pony tail and was out the door again. Mella trotted along, enthusiasm shedding years off her face. Marcos kept pace, quiet save the tapping of his claws against the ground. He’d never liked that feeling. His body was there but his mind was somewhere far away. A world Whitney wasn’t privy to.  He’d still smile and nod when she pointed out the funny letter box on Birch Street – ironically a tree had fallen on it leaving it much more squat than it was prior – or when she’d make silly puns out of random objects they passed. She’d have been happier if he meant it.  

The sky grumbled, bemoaning its load. The complaints continued as they moved, increasing in urgency until the clouds could hold off no longer. Hounded by sheets of rain pelting after them, they completed the walk in record time. They piled through the door, back to the safety of their home. Sopping wet, Whitney bolted for the towels. Too late. Mella shook, splattering the rustic, but cosy, wallpaper of the front hallway. Moisture seeped in, greeting the stains that had already made home there. She was never quick enough. Very pleased with herself, Mella ran head first into Whitney’s open arms, allowing her to dry Mella properly.

~

Unassuming hours ticked by. The roaring storm quieted its protests to a murmur of rain. Marcos melted into the armchair, tracing his finger over the vintage bee patterns on the fabric as he listened to the drops peppering the window. He wondered absently if the night creatures had tucked themselves away or if they braved the weather, wagering their lives for food. He wondered if the children waiting behind the café were snug in their beds. He hoped so. He hoped a lot of things. He once believed that was a bad habit. The world needed hope, even a tealight was valuable in the dark. As he blindly gazed out the window, watching the black being overtaken by white condensation forming on the glass, he took the moment to be present. To be aware of where he was – a comfortable home that always smelled of honey and flowers, feet aching and back creaking from a long day. With people he cared for and who cared for him in return. A deep breath to steady his heart, flightful and jittery as ever. The past was behind him. There was nothing he could do for it in this moment. The scars may twinge or open again in a year, a day, even an hour from now, but in this moment, they were okay. He was okay. Another deep breath. What was next? He didn’t know. That was frightening. He felt his hands grow clammy. That was okay. Sadness and pain would be there, that was certain, but they never last forever. One way or another, he would be happy again. He could not change that either. Right now, he was safe. One last deep breath. He opened his eyes, not really knowing when he had closed them.

Whitney lingered at the entrance of the lounge room. Two mugs in one hand, a plate in the other. He smelled the tart and tea before he saw them. The bitterest of chocolate and shy lavender.

“I thought you were going to bed?” His voice was sticky, as though he’d just awoken. How long had he been thinking?

She shrugged the non-liquid bearing shoulder. “I was but I figured you could use some company.” She made her way over to him, ignoring the rest of the furniture.

Marcos took the cups while she slid onto the seat, legs propped over the arm of the chair, bunny tail pressed against his thigh.

“You shouldn’t push yourself. I’ll be headin’ to bed soon.”

She snorted at that, rolling her rose eyes and taking the mug decorated with cute hearts and rabbit ears. “Yeah, and babies come from mail order catalogues. I just brought you some tea. It’s not going to kill me. In fact, it just so happens to be my day job.” She nodded to the tea. “It’s lavender and camomile. It’s supposed to be very calming.

The mug warming Marcos’ hands cheerfully decreed ‘Who’s a sweet potato? I yam!’ He took a sip. She’d added honey and milk – just the way he liked it. “Does it work?”

“It tastes nice.”

“Fair enough.” Either way, he already felt better with her there. She leaned into his chest, taking a thoughtful bite out of her tart. The clink of the silver spoon against ceramic almost inaudible with the rain. For a while, little else filled the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

“Do you want to talk about it?” So Whitney had noticed his funk. Darn.

“About what?”

She pressed her hand into his. “You worry so much about everybody else, let me worry about you for a change.” He made a non-comital noise but didn’t move his hand. Taking it as an invitation to continue, she did. “His birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

He blinked, equal measures surprised and touched. “You remembered?” Her nod bloomed tenderness in his soul.

“He was important to you. Of course I remembered.”

Marcos shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. I’ll get back to normal soon. I just, I just need a little time.”

“It’s okay to not be okay, y’know. You don’t have to smile and joke all the time. You’re not, you’re not being a burden if you’re hurting.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to help. Do you want to talk?”

“I don’t, but…” Guilt flashed through him. “I think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you wanted to talk to me a while… If, uh, if you wanted to… if you’re not too tired that is…”

“’Course.” A gentle smile to tame the wildest of worries. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went to the beach when I was little and I convinced Freddy that the crabs would carry him out to sea if he fell asleep?”

“Not recently.”

“Okay, fantastic. Well, I think we were seven? Maybe eight? No, seven. And we’d been waiting all year to go…”

~

They stayed like that well into the night. Whitney recounted tale after tale of her childhood antics. The time the twins had accidentally locked themselves out of the café (with a customer still inside), the time Freddy smuggled Mella into class in his backpack, a disastrous episode with a fan, fresh paint, and carelessly placed glitter. It didn’t take the pain away, it sat a dull ache in his deepest self, but now, surrounded by the soft fluttering that somebody cares, it wasn’t so raw. The feeling settled over his body, dusting red where it pleased.

Whitney’s stories slowly came to a close as sleep over took her. She was almost finished the cupcake catastrophe that nearly got her banned from the kitchen when her words turned into mumbles, turned into quiet breath falls. Her hair had fallen in her face again, and Marcos’ arm, and shirt for that matter. Sitting as they were, together and peaceful, Marcos felt drawn to rest his head against hers. She still smelled like wet dog. Her strawberry shampoo could not overpower Mella. There was little in this world that could. He sighed. It was comfortable. He’d probably never be able to tell her properly how much her words meant to him. Somehow, he felt like apologising, saying he was sorry she ever had to treat him so kindly. It was a strange thing when your gratitude is so much it begs forgiveness. He’d probably never really try to express the pleasant emptiness she left him with. It was so like her though, to notice another person’s pain and busy herself about fixing it. There was something so special about her willingness to sit through it with him rather than force a laugh track to dampen the atmosphere. There was something so special about her. Though, that’s probably why he loved her. Wait, what did he just think? He – His ears stood to attention. He lo- The realisation hit him like a bus with no brakes. He loved her. A furious blush burnt up his neck to the tips of his ears. Oh Stars, he loved Whitney. What was he going to do? Did he tell her? Could she, could she maybe love hi- no that’s absurd. But it might not be. What if it was? Oh stars, what if it wasn’t? He glanced down at her, horrified to see the blush had reached his hands. At least she was still asleep. She hadn’t seen the mess that he was in the current business of becoming.

Too ensnared by the sudden Emotions, he totally missed the secret smile had crept onto Whitney’s lips. It’s about time you realised you silly hare <3

Tag list 

@inkovert, @snobbysnekboi

[technohumanlation]

Whumptober Day 7

The ever so lovely @whumptober2019 made a list of prompts to complete every day for the whole month of October and I’m giving a shot at it this year! 

As always read what you can handle and do not read if you are squimish to any of the warnings. 

Isolation

Characters: Connor, Nines, Sixty, Tobias (An OC android)

Warnings: swearing

Hello, everyone, this one is a sweet little treat that was so so fun to write. This one features an OC, an RK700 named Tobias, my friend Clare and I birthed for one of our (very long) RP sessions. We created an origin story for him and I showed her the prompt (that was very fitting) and I was like “yo can I use our boi?” And she was all “ye” so this prompt actually may be longer because its made with love just like our Tubbs (as Sixty nicknamed him)

Also, I would like to give wholeheartedly give credit to the lovely Kumikoseph. I used some of her writing from our RP with her permission and tweaked it to fit the plot of this prompt. Please give her works a look see and some love as well. <3 

Tobias was a late model for the RK700 line. As a matter of fact, the last one before RK800 was developed. Many did not know of this particular model because of its' failure of development. The scientist who was appointed lead on this specific model was named Avril and her sweet daughter Sonny who lived in the lab alongside her mother.

She had given him a name, a name fitted for his odd, yet kind appearance. Cyberlife did not agree with her choices but had, after all, given her some creative freedom. His skinny yet lithe form matched his pale skin. It held an unnatural glow under the florescent lights of the lab. Against milky white, freckles were mapped across his skin as if an artist took a paintbrush and paged through the bristles. His eyes were of emerald green, and his hair was an unruly red mop of curly hair. 

Avril always smiled when the topic came to her sweet Tobias.  

But Cyberlife was doing the opposite. They had plans for the RK series, and she was not meeting such requirements thus far. Their ever so generous slack around the leash and collar grew suddenly tight.  

He was flawed.

Tobias was a sweet, loving, caring, android that was taught to respect life, small and large. The low murmurings could be heard at night when the mother read a bedtime story to both the android and Sonny. The little girl would fall asleep in his arms. Avril would go back to her computers and monitors and read through feedbacks and log her days in a journal of her own.

He was to be designed to work harmoniously with humans. And what better way than to teach him the good of humanity.

Her eyes looked over to the duo, and her heart ached and sang.  

The directors were presented Tobias and displayed the many features he held. He could speak fifty different languages and could perform emergency field medicine. He could act with kindness around children and adapt to their ways of thinking easily. He was made to co-exist with humans, young and old.

He was considerate and held an intelligent conversation with one of the directors. His problem-solving skills were impeccable. Humor was not foreign to him.

And then.

She was asked of his weapon knowledge. If he could perform basic fighting techniques. If he could be aggressive when needed to. If he was obedient, blindly so. If he were asked to kill, would he? If he were asked to shoot himself, would he?

The questions were horrific.

She stepped forward, ready to speak for him, but they held up a hand silencing her. She obeyed. Tobias' soft-spoken voice held a quiver as he stood before the men in suits with clipboards in hand. His LED swam from blue to yellow to red and back over again.

“I-I can not.” He confessed. “I...do not wish to...harm.”

Pens were scribbled against paper.  

She was running out of time.

To put off the inevitable, she did as she was told and placed new programs into his code. He knew primary self-defense and knowledge of using any and all weapons. The android did not question this new array of knowledge and displayed his capabilities unto targets and dummies. He would always pass with an eighty-nine accuracy. A low number compared to other android models. Perhaps it was Avrils' flawed humanity that affected him. After all, she had developed him. A mother could only do so much to improve life for her offspring.  

Or was it the simple truth that he was growing opinion and needs and wants at an interestingly fast rate.

“I...do not wish to...harm.”

Androids did not have wishes.

Avril believed anything with a living or potentially living conscience had a right to wish. To dream. To want. To need. To feel.

To be alive.

Tobias was already deviant, and the board was catching on. She could no longer hide this development. They monitored everything. Right down to her observations, she began to twist and falsify. Sleep was unknown. Hunger grew. Her mind unraveled as time began to coil around her tighter and tighter.  

She had a plan. To save her work. Her beautiful Tobias.

“Avril, is everything alright?”

Wires snaked into his neck as he stood on the assembly platform behind her. His LED swam a curious blue. His face was scrunched in such genuine concern.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose that had slid down. Poor Avril had not slept in the last forty-eight hours.  

She stopped and turned around, facing the android.  

“Tobias...you are not flawed. You are not what they saw you are.”

He ticked his head to the side LED swimming a faster blue.

She stood from her computer and tightened the lab coat around her. "You were made in my image. My idea of a model officer of the law. Kind, caring, considerate, brave, loyal, hopeful." She paused, her throat tightening. "...empathetic." She reached out and brushed her hand down his arm.

Her eyes saddened. “They want a robot to do everything they say and do. Everything they want and wish for...blindly. And that’s not what this world needs.”

They wanted an android so ruthless for some larger plan. The RK series had developed from the ideal of an intelligent life form better than any human. To a slave that could wreak havoc at the turn of a blind command.

“Something is happening, Toby. And if we can thwart it or even stop this...maybe it won't be for waste..."

He remained confused.

Her eyes watered as innocent emerald’s peered deep into her soul. A sweet, beautiful RK700 they were to throw away because he was ‘flawed’ in their twisted image. She was his to protect.

By any means necessary.

If she did not have a breakthrough, there would be danger.

And it came. The day they found out of her journals.  

Her hidden words and confessions were found out.

Little Sonny was down for a nap. Tobias had just tucked her in.

The first step was to cripple the security circuit on her labs' floor. Hectically she typed away. Tobias leaned over her shoulder, watching. "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer, too concentrated on her work.

“Avril, please tell me."

“I'm sorry, Toby," she murmured. "It's for the best." She quickly turned around, pressing a finger to his LED and pressed another button on the keyboard.  

Tobias’ body went limp.

The shutdown was too curt and too aggressive. Memory banks and programs were corrupted from the shutdown. A sacrifice of all the hard work she was willing to give up just for the safety of her creation.  She severed tracking codes and anything that tied the android to Cyberlife. He was to be an unnamed, unmarked, a numberless android. He never existed to the records' eye. Her computers were wiped aggressively, her work and research were destroyed.

All that was left was the hardest part.

She dragged the android to a storage closet. A small handleless door that lead to a single person closet. Sweat and panicked breaths came from her as she hefted him into a slot into the wall of the closet.  

She hefted the metal plate into the wall and made her way back out into the lab.

“Mommy?" The little girl had awoken from her nap, rubbing at her tired eyes.

Cyberlife security donned in heavy black and white gear came into her lab, she raised her hands, slowly making her way to stand in front of her daughter.

She had recited her ploy.

Tobias had escaped, and in doing so, in a rage she didn’t program. He had erased everything that was him claiming he was not to be a slave anymore. He had revolted against his creator and had escaped Cyberlife. He had hacked into all security footage and shut down the system in time for his escape.

Now, her job was terminated, and her lab was now covered in white tarps. This is where her life was dedicated to. To Tobias. She made no indication of ever looking towards the closet. The android was hidden right under their noses. It was comical and cruel and unfair. She took her daughter by the hand and smiled sadly.

“Tobias will come back, babe.” She assured. “He’ll find you again. I promise”

Avril knew too much of Cyberlife's confidential plans. She was a security risk. A mysterious chain of events leads up to her timely death. It was made to be a simple, innocent bag snatching gone wrong as she walked home from her night shift at the local gas station.  

Only she would know that she was shoved into the nearby alley and shot point-blank in the head. Her bag was tossed about on the cold concrete.

Sweet eight-year-old Sonny was conveniently placed in an adoption home and who knew beside Cyberlife where the child was, sworn to secrecy by fear.

As for Tobias, the sounds of innovation and improvement crackled beyond the metal wall. There he slept for a year, cobwebs and dust settling over him like a blanket of virgin snow as he slumbered.   Thirium had collected in his lines and had hardened and evaporated. Computer chips and processors were lined with condensation when a leak from a coolant line had formed just next to his shoulder. His skin grew pearly white patches as artificial human visage programs degraded over time.

A year in unaware isolation.

Until now.

An android, an RK900 named Nines, raised his flashlight peering into the newly discovered room hidden deep within the Cyberlife tower. In the initial comb-through of the building quite a few months prior, all located androids had been turned deviant, himself and Sixty included, with the help of Connor and Jericho, but it seemed they hadn’t quite been as thorough as they thought.

Scanning every object in his vision, Nines categorized and identified everything he saw. This was a rather chilling find after all.

Sixty shivered. This place would forever make his wires and line crawl. “Can we...can we get this over with guys? Seriously we got everyone. There’s...what are you doing? It’s just a closet, that’s where Nines and Gavin are hiding, oh my god...” He reluctantly followed after Connor and stood guard at the door of the storage closet.

“Enough, Sixty," Connor warned, exasperated. "I do not like this any more than you do."

Nines ignored his brothers. “I see no explanation for why it was hidden and boarded up...” Within Nines observational voice echoed dully. Turning his flashlight, he noticed another section of the metal wall. It was out of place, carefully constructed to look like any other panel, but to him, he saw the flaw. It stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I found something...”

From behind, Sixty snorted. “Gavin's sense of humor, mayhaps?" He raised an eyebrow at the lack of an answer. "Nothing?"

Nines rolled his eyes at the cheap jab. A harsh sound of metal grinding on metal sounded, and both RK800 brothers were on alert. "Nines?" Connor called out.  

The android caught the limp form that fell into him.

“Connor? Sixty?” Nines called, turning to glance over his shoulder at the androids behind him. “We might have a body on our hands.”

“A body?” Both their voices echoed together.

“Get them outta there then!” Sixty urged. Not yet. Nines had to asses the situation first before it was brought to light, literally.

It was an android. An android that looked remarkably like himself, Connor and Sixty.

“It’s... an RK700”, Nines spoke after scanning the serial number that was presented on once-white Cyberlife clothing. "But there's no record of him even existing. Not even an excerpt from other archival files."

“What? RK700?" Sixty said, oh so intelligently.

“There was no record of other RK units, though..." Connor murmured calmly. So opposite of the youngest brother.  

He glanced back at the other two, an atypical look of surprise on his face, "I was not aware that there were any more RK models that hadn't been destroyed as well.”

Nines observed the deactivated android’s appearance. It seemed there was not much difference in design between the construction of the RK700 model and the development of himself. There were just a few notable differences. Fiery red hair and skin that was quite a bit more be-speckled than his, Connor's or Sixty's.

It appeared they had a mystery on their hands.

Tuning the flashlight off. Nines reaches under the android’s shoulders and knees, heaving him up with little effort and carrying him back out of the secluded closet. The smell of rotten clothing, damp stagnant water, and thirium filling his nose at this range.

Nines examined the android more closely, tilting his head at the clumps of dust gathered in his brightly albeit patchy colored hair. His milky skin was in the same state. He had clearly been in there for a long time.

Gently Nines laid him on the cold tiled floor before the brothers. He stood up and sighed, looking down at him in brighter light.

A sudden laugh broke the tense air making Connor and Nines jump. “He’s a fucking ginger! A ginger you!” He pointed at Connor and cackled.

The middle brother looked up to him with a disapproving frown. "Oh, come on..." Sixty rolled his eyes, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Don't you know I use humor in times of great stress?"

“We know...” Nines nodded all too used to his younger brother’s antics. “I’d say he’s been in that room for a year at least, perhaps even longer, still...” He turned back to Connor and Sixty.

Connor frowned, completing Nine's concerned hunch for him. “Why did they deactivate and lock him up upon becoming obsolete as opposed to dismantling him?”

Sixty was the one to break the silence, his voice somber. "He was hidden away. His spot in the closet was boarded up and half-assed. He was tossed away. C'mon, use that brain of yours, Wonderboy. He was hidden." Sixty murmured.  

“For...whatever reasons only he knows or not.” Connor agreed.

It was a curious thing, something they would perhaps only glean an answer from by waking the android up.

“Would either of you like to do the honors?” Nines’ voice was slow and unsure.

“Wait, Shouldn't we call this in first?" Connor said, placing a hand out.

Sixty turned to him, firmly gesturing to the android before them. “Connor, no! This...this guy is basically our brother. If we call it in who knows what the fuck they will do to him. Let’s try to patch him up first. If he woke up on another table." Sixty was speaking from personal experience. "At least for me, that would freak me the fuck out. We have a chance of helping one of our own..."

Connor pursed his lips together in a fine line.

Nines remained distant. It was enough of an answer for the middle brother.

They both watched as Sixty lowered himself onto his haunches. The newly discovered android was peaceful, those eyelashes dusting his cheeks so perfectly.  

He cupped the android's face gently with one hand the other moving to grip his forearm, artificial skin peeling back. Automatically, despite being offline, he disturbingly reacted to grasp his forearm. "Oh, that's creepy, god, we're creepy." Sixty shivered visibly as a blue glow was formed between the two limbs. "I've...never done this before, but I will be gentle. I guess...I mean, might be bumpy." He shrugged.

Connor flicked a halfhearted smile at his own form of a disclaimer.

"Alright, wake up, ginger. Rise and shine." He slapped his cheek a few times in a good-natured way.  

Nines watched his brother with careful eyes. Right here and now would start a journey they had no idea they were getting themselves into.

After a moment of silence and the steady hue of blue emitting from white plastimetal, the android onlined with a sudden gasp that had Sixty flinching.

“Easy!” Sixty shouted in surprise upon his sudden awakening. Unknowingly, amid the panic, he had also said his name.

The android calmed, exchanging glances between the brothers.

Nines looked to Sixty, and Connor was just as shocked.

Tobias was welcomed as their new younger brother.

[upontheshelfreviews]

If there’s a reason why we’re able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney. Their take on the Grimms’ fairy tale is the prime example of pop cultural osmosis. Even if you’ve never watched Disney’s Snow White, it’s easy to recognize when a piece of work is borrowing from it or spoofing it. And I can definitely see why – not only is it going eighty-plus years strong, but its influence on nearly every Disney feature to come after it is a profound one.

The real story of Disney’s Snow White begins in the early 1910’s when a young Walt Disney saw a silent film version of the Grimms’ fairytale starring Marguerite Clark. The movie stuck with him well into adulthood. One night, well after he had established himself as an animation giant the world over, Walt gathered his entire staff of animators and storymen and re-enacted the tale for them in a mesmerizing one-man show. They were enraptured, but what he told them next struck them dumb – they were going to take what he performed and turn it into a full-length film.

In Tony Goldmark’s epic(ally hilarious) retrospective of Epcot, he performs a quick sketch he summed up as “Walt Disney’s entire career in 55 seconds” where Walt presents his career-defining ideas to a myopic businessman capable of only saying “You fool, that’ll never work!”. Considering how animation is everywhere today, it’s easy to forget that an animated film was once seen as an impossible dream. The press hawked Snow White as “Disney’s Folly”, and Hollywood speculated that it would bankrupt the Mouse House. It very nearly did. Miraculously, a private showing of the half-finished feature to a banking firm impressed the investors enough to ensure its completion.

Snow White is touted as the very first animated movie – admittedly something of a lie on Disney’s behalf. Europe and Russia were experimenting with feature-length animation decades before Walt gave it a try. But consider this: most animated films predating Snow White’s conception are either sadly lost to us or barely count as such by just crossing the hour mark. With all the hard work poured into it showing in every scene, with each moment displaying a new breakthrough in the medium, Snow White might as well be the first completely animated movie after all. Hell, it’s the very first movie in the entire history of cinema that was created using STORYBOARDS. A tool used by virtually every single movie put out today. If that’s not groundbreaking enough, I don’t know what is.

But is Snow White really…but why does it…can it…

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this teasing question thing before the review starts proper. OF COURSE Snow White is a masterpiece. OF COURSE most of it holds up. Let’s skip the middleman so I can explain why.”

After the opening credits we get the first of what will be many Disney leather bound books opening themselves to invite us into the world of the story. We’re informed that once upon a time there was a particularly Wicked Queen (nicknamed Grimhilde in promo features and the comics) who had a serious narcissistic personality disorder. Every day she consults her Magic Mirror™ to see who’s the fairest one of all and takes pride in being repeatedly told she holds said title. In the meantime she bullies her younger, prettier stepdaughter, the princess Snow White, and gives her the standard Cinderella treatment in the hopes that endless drudgery will wipe out the competition.

One fateful morning, however, the Mirror informs the Queen that she’s been bumped down to runner-up. She susses out that it’s Snow White who’s taken her place after the Mirror describes the newcomer as having “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, [and] skin white as snow”, but maybe the Queen is projecting here due to her extreme jealousy. Going by those three traits the Mirror could be describing almost anyone on the planet.

Care to narrow it down a bit, buddy?

Now if you consider yourself a feminist or at the very least have progressive views regarding women, I know what you’re thinking – just another example of the patriarchy pitting shallow female stereotypes against each other, right? Well in a manner of speaking, yes. There’s plenty of evidence that the Brothers Grimm held some odious misogynistic beliefs that stemmed from a bad combination of the era they lived in, outdated religious teachings, and their own experiences with the opposite sex. It shows in their second fairy tale revisions –  the heroines are naïve bimbos in need of a man’s rescue, and the villains are evil stepmothers and witches who happen to be hideous 99% of the time – and those views have been reinforced in our society thanks to those particular iterations being passed down to today.

Here’s my way of viewing the central conflict: The Mirror’s news is a wake-up call that Snow White is coming into her own as a woman and princess. That means marriage to a prince and the end of the Wicked Queen’s rule. Snow White will have all the power and adulation while the Queen is forced to step down and become another footnote in ancient royal history. Up until now the Queen has gone out of her way put down her pretty young opponent with petty cruelty because there’s nothing stopping her; but when faced with the inevitable, she unflinchingly opts to take more drastic measures so she can keep the throne.

If it weren’t for the fact the Queen’s unofficial moniker is Grimhilde and her transformation scene reveals a head of black hair, I’d suspect her real name was Cersei Lannister.

You also have to remember that the Queen takes the term “fairest” at face value. The Queen is beautiful, sure, but it’s a glacial beauty – cold, unfeeling, and nothing beneath the surface. All she cares about is looks and power. You’d have to be a pure loving soul or Woody Allen find something worthwhile in her. Snow White is beautiful too, though it’s her kindness and fair treatment of everyone that garners her the title of “fairest one of all”, not her appearance.

Speaking of, we follow that scene with Snow White (Adriana Casselotti) dressed in rags cleaning the castle courtyard. She shows her bird friends her wishing well and sings “I’m Wishing”, where she reveals her wish for her one true love to show up.

Confession time: In childhood the title of my favorite Disney princess was neck and neck between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. I’ve already discussed at length why I adore Belle, so I suppose I should do the same for Snow.

…turns out it’s more difficult than I thought.

For as long as I could remember, I was surrounded by Snow White paraphernalia – tapes, toys, dolls, music, games, artwork, bed sheets, I can even recall the ice show. Snow White is ingrained into my early years. It more than likely has to do with the timing of its brief return to theaters and first VHS release between 1993 and 1994, right at the peak of the Disney Renaissance, so I experienced Snow White-mania right alongside Lion King-mania, Beauty and the Beast-mania and various other Disneymanias that were rampant at that time.

Even this one, embarrassingly.

As a result, I idolized Snow White as much the other princesses of the time, right down to making her the character I dressed up as the most for Halloween. I suppose what drew me to her was inherent kindness, ability to make friends with everyone, and her voice. Yes, I admit it. I don’t find Snow White’s warbling to be as irritating as everyone says it is. Maybe I’ve listened to it so much that I’ve grown immune. Then again I am that one Disney fan who doesn’t loathe It’s A Small World with every fiber of their being so maybe I should question my own tastes more.

Now as an adult with a critical eye who can put nostalgia behind me when necessary, is there something more to the character of Snow White that’s worth appreciating as much as the more-fleshed out princesses of the Renaissance and current Revival period?

I accept that I’m in the minority on this one, but I firmly say yes.

I know what you’re thinking – all Snow White does is smile and sing while she slaves under the Queen and the dwarfs and dreams of a handsome man to come carry her away, so I should turn in my feminist card for daring to suggest she’s a good character and role model for girls, right? Consider this: like Cinderella after her, Snow White’s happy nature and songs are her ways of coping with her unpleasant situation. It keeps her spirits up and in turn she tries to spread that positivity to others who need it as well. She refuses to let the Queen’s negativity turn her as sour as she is. All the little things Snow White reveals in what she does – her patience, pride in her work, healthy emotional balance, drive to help others, and warmth towards those smaller than her (in both a figurative and literal sense) – are all signs that she is capable of being a far better and beloved ruler and all around person than the Queen is. Plus, her reason for wanting to find love is two-fold: not only is she looking for someone with whom she can share a unique emotional understanding bond – which is something most every human craves – but it’s the also best possible means for her to escape from her stepmother’s abuse. Like I said earlier, once Snow White gets the ring, she gets to rule.

And what’s wrong with having a princess who can run a practical household? One could argue that it’s an example of traditional female roles desired by an oppressive patriarchal society on full display, but you want to know why millennials are called out for being lazy? Because baby boomers have cut out classes that teach things young adults actually need outside of school like how to properly cook and do laundry and pay your taxes since those weren’t seen as “essential enough to education”. So I have to admire a princess who, while not the most “progressive” of the bunch by today’s standards, is willing and able take care of herself and others when it comes to basic everyday needs. I think TheBrutallyHonestMom summed it up best in her post defending Snow White:

When we denigrate what Snow White accomplishes at the dwarfs’ cottage, when we rename her accomplishments to make them sound more impressive, more official, more valuable—management, administration, domestic CEO, sous chef, hospitality specialist—what we are really doing is saying that we don’t value the truly valuable work that she and so many other stay-at-home individuals do. Those words are a microaggression against what have traditionally been feminine roles, an attempt to align them with a patriarchal worldview where only those with the biggest titles and fattest paychecks matter. Snow White is domestic. She is a maid. She is a mother figure. She does take on the womanliest of the womanly roles. To claim that adopting these roles (and being good at them) somehow makes her a poor role model for my daughters is not a failure of Snow White’s imagination. It is a failure of ours.

Then there’s the matter of her actress too, which I can’t stay silent about. A few years ago it was revealed that in order to preserve the illusion of Snow White as a real character (a good many years before the company applied that same logic to their character performers at the theme parks I might add), Disney forced Adriana Casselotti to forego her screen credit and never take on another acting role again, essentially robbing her of a career. She only managed to appear in It’s A Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz because hers were uncredited minute parts. Casselotti had no regrets about choosing Snow White over a promising show business vocation, but I still call bull on the matter. If this kind of thing happened today, people would not stand for it, character illusions or not. There’s also crazy double standards since all the actors who played the dwarfs got to keep on acting; Sneezy’s voice actor was in Fun and Fancy Free for crying out loud! I love ya Walt, but that is one dick move. So if you’re a detractor cheering that you never have to hear Casselotti’s voice beyond this movie, keep in mind that’s all because of one man silencing her for the sake of his business.

So, Snow White. She cooks, cleans, delegates, teaches, loves, domestically kicks ass, and her behind the scenes story makes a strong case for the Time’s Up movement. Any questions?

“Yes. You’re over 2000 words in and we haven’t even gotten to the dwarfs yet. Plan on getting off that soapbox sometime this decade?”

Snow’s singing attracts the attention of a handsome Prince (Harry Stockwell) passing by on his horse. But his forwardness startles the shy girl and sends her sprinting up to her room. He charms her out to her balcony by singing his one song in the feature…”One Song”. You gotta love it when the title matches the tune perfectly.

“Wherefore art thou Prince? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Sure I’ll gladly refuse my name – if I had one, that is.”

All joking aside, I have a soft spot for this scene. Stockwell’s voice has this old-time Broadway/operetta quality I’ve always liked, the lyrics are unironic purple prose that still feel genuine, Snow’s little excited gestures are adorable, and it’s framed beautifully. This is what got it into my heard early on that the most romantic gesture anyone can make is serenading someone from beneath their balcony.

“Too bad you’re technically in a long distance relationship.”

“I know. Propping up a phone beneath your window just doesn’t have the same effect.”

Snow returns his affections with a kiss delivered via a dove and departs the scene with one hell of a pair of bedroom eyes, especially for a Disney character.

Daaaaaamn, girl! You already got him hooked, no need to gild the lily!

Unbeknownst to either of them, the Queen is watching overhead; Snow catching the eye of Prince Charming is what finally pushes her to take further action. She summons her Huntsman –

– to bring Snow White out into the forest and do away with her. Brief as this scene may be, there are two things I really like about it. First, the gravity. The Huntsman reacts with horror on being told what he must do, foreshadowing his eventual turnaround, yet with an icy hiss of “Silence!” and a short reminder of the price of failure, the Queen goads him back into line. We don’t know what the penalty for insubordination is, but it’s implied to be pretty nasty if she’s able to convince him otherwise with just a few words. Second, the Queen’s other demand. In the original fairytale, the Queen requested Snow White’s liver, lungs and heart so she could eat them and inherit her stepdaughter’s comely attributes.

But here in the film, she only wants the heart, and not for lunch. The Queen wants to keep it as a trophy. She even has a disturbingly appropriate box for it at the ready.

Proof that she really puts the ��grim’ in ‘Grimhilde’.

Snow White, now dressed in her iconic yellow and blue dress, goes out flower picking with the Huntsman waiting not far behind. She spies a lost baby bird, and the moment she turns her back to help it, the Huntsman moves in for the kill. It’s framed like the murderer creeping up to their next victim in a scary movie, slowly building up to the moment he confronts her, with tension you could cut with a – well, you know.

Ultimately the Huntsman is moved by the princess’ humanity and can’t go through with the deed. Instead he reveals the Queen’s plot and pleads her to run, run away, Snow, and never return. Terrified, Snow White flees into the forest where her fears magnify her surroundings. Brambles become gnarled outstretched hands, logs are hungry snapping crocodiles, and there are eyes everywhere, always watching, boring into her every place she turns.

I should note that while developing Snow White, the Disney studio became something of an art college with fine arts and film study classes offered to the staff in order to hone their craft. Some of the movies they studied were horror flicks from the pre-Hays Code era, classics directed by the likes of James Whale and F.W. Murnau. The results speak for themselves. Scenes like this and the Queen’s transformation are why I consider Snow White my very first horror movie. The frightening imagery and darker themes all hide beneath a veneer of Disney childhood innocence. Like a proto-Pan’s Labyrinth, the terror as much psychological as it is fantastical.

A young Sam Raimi watched this and vowed one day he’d make those trees even more terrifying and bad-touchy.

This scene is also the source of one of the most famous stories to come out of the film’s creation. During the planning of the part where Snow falls backwards through an open-mouthed cavern into a lake, one of the animators cried out in terror “Won’t that kill her??” And the whole room fell silent. They reached the point where they no longer thought of Snow White as a cartoon but as an actual person, something that had never happened before. That was the moment where they were officially, as Ben Vereen once put it, on the right track.

Overwhelmed, Snow White collapses in tears. She’s brought back to her senses by the usual cuddly forest inhabitants inexplicably drawn to female royalty in need of assistance. Of course, being the ever-thoughtful soul that she is, Snow apologizes for startling them and making a fuss over how afraid she was, once more putting others before herself. She bonds with the animals through the uplifting “With a Smile and a Song”. Then she spends several minutes talking to them and making plans for the future all in rhyme. I confess it’s one of the weaker moments of the movie, showing that the studio’s transition from the Silly Symphonies to full-fledged filmmaking hasn’t completely been made yet.

The critters lead Snow to a quaint cottage in need of a good cleaning service. Assuming the miniature-sized furniture means the inhabitants are orphaned children, she decides to surprise them by sprucing up the joint, hoping her act of kindness will make them forget her breaking and entering and they’ll let her stay. Said cleanup time is underscored by one of the more upbeat tunes in Disney’s songbook, “Whistle While You Work”. Like Mary Poppin’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” it’s all about finding joy in the little things that make the work go by quicker.

“Here’s the last of the underwear, Bambi. And try not leave any ticks in the laundry this time!”

But as we all know, the cottage belongs not to seven children, but seven little people who work as jewel miners, all the while singing that famous mining song –

“No, the one sung by dwarves.”

“Seriously?!”

All joking aside, Heigh-Ho is the best song in the movie, no contest. Easily the catchiest tune here if not the entire Disney canon. If it can keep a theater full of gremlins occupied, it’s doing something right.

Sure, they whistle while they work for now. But once they find the Arkenstone it’s all downhill from here.

And let’s not kid ourselves, the dwarfs are the real reason why we keep returning to Snow White. Their quirk-matching names and designs make each one memorable, they’re endlessly entertaining, and they’re the characters that come the closest to having some form of arc. The group is a prime example of the illusion of life that is animation, exaggerated to a degree that they’re still believable in their movements and mannerisms. Dopey especially works well in this regard, a wonder considering much of his character was developed by happy accident. When an actor suitable enough couldn’t be found, they made the decision to simply mute him. Like much of Disney’s favorite animal sidekicks, they based his personality around that of a lovable dog, though I’d be lying if I didn’t see some Harpo Marx in there as well. As a result, his childlike playfulness and comic timing is up there with Chaplin’s Little Tramp. His hitch step was also an unexpected boon; after animator Frank Thomas put it in one of his scenes, Walt liked it so much that he insisted all previously animated footage of Dopey be redone to include that step. Incidentally, Frank’s popularity among the animation staff reached all-time lows after that announcement.

Snow White flops down for a quick nap on the beds upstairs just as the dwarfs return home. What follows is them sneaking about their now suspiciously squeaky-clean cottage and further establishing their personas through a series of finely-tuned gags (Walt paid five dollars for every good joke his guys could come up with, and this was when five dollars could take you out to dinner and a show). Dopey is elected to check the bedroom and he comes to the conclusion that Snow’s sleeping form is a monster. The dwarfs work up their courage to go kill the beast themselves only to realize in the nick of time that it’s just a harmless girl. But Grumpy, the clear-cut misogynist in the group, isn’t keen on having a “wicked-wiled” female refugee in their abode and shamelessly yells “Let ‘er wake up, she don’t belong here no-how!”

Snow wakes up and instantly charms over everyone except Grumpy as they introduce each other. The dwarfs are shocked and terrified to learn the Queen has put a hit out on her. Grumpy in particular declares the Queen is a powerful witch skilled in the black arts, which is true, and it raises a potent question. Is her magic common knowledge throughout the kingdom, or is it mere speculation? If it’s the former, how did that come to be? What happened to Snow White’s father the king anyhow? All this could make for a very interesting –

“You know what, never mind, forget I said it -“

“Too late! Jenkins, write that down! Bob’s gonna love it!”

“Very good, sir. Shall I pre-heat your crack pipe in preparation for the first draft writing session?”

“Does the Academy loathe streaming services? Hop to it, my man!”

“Hey, I thought you left that jerk to go work for Don Bluth.”

“Shh! I jumped ship after A Troll in Central Park and came back under a new identity. I couldn’t pass up the bankroll Disney’s been on since 2009.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Grumpy’s certain that they’ll be in the Queen’s crosshairs once she learns they’ve been harboring Snow White and demands they kick her out at once. But Snow White stands up for herself and says she can take care of the house for them if they let her stay. Just like Belle offering herself in her father’s place, no one corners Snow into the position of housekeeper. She’s the one who puts herself out there, listing all her best qualities like she’s on an interview. It’s only when she does so (and also mentions she can bake a mean gooseberry pie) that the dwarfs overrule Grumpy and declare she’s welcome in their home.

Yet even when all is said and done, Snow makes it clear that if she’s the one doing the work, then the dwarfs must play by her rules. Immediately following their acceptance, she goes into full Team Mom mode, insisting they improve their manners and wash themselves before dinner’s ready. Doc attempts to get around it by saying they cleaned up “recently”, but despite her sweet nature, Snow won’t let them walk all over her. She does a cleanliness inspection that makes the dwarfs almost as bashful as Bashful himself, and even gets a good bit of sarcasm in (“Why Doc, I’m surprised.”) The dwarfs washing themselves is another one of those Silly Symphony-esque filler scenes, but at least it gives us more time for their fun shenanigans; though I have to wonder if dog piling Grumpy and half-drowning him takes it too far.

“Where’s the money, Legrumpski? Where’s the fucking money??” “It’s down there somewhere, lemme take another look.”

Back at the castle, the Queen is showing off her newly acquired bodily organ to the Magic Mirror while demanding he validate her preconceptions of who’s fair and who’s not. Alas, the Mirror tattles on Snow White’s location and reveals that heart belonged to a pig, which I’ve got to say I’m glad they didn’t show how the Huntsman got ahold of.

Infuriated, the Queen storms down to her secret lab (and no, there’s no wrong lever scene. I’m disappointed too). She brews up a potion made up of ingredients like scream of fright, a thunderbolt and partially hydrogenated dimethylpolysiloxane which will completely transform her into a disguise nobody could suspect her in, an aged peddler woman.

Was I afraid of this scene way back when? Of course, but it was one of those rare moments where I didn’t want to look away either. Here we have a woman dangerously obsessed with beauty becoming the very thing she loathes in order to sate her implacable desires. Not only that but in this disguise she’s able to set loose the insanity buried deep beneath her frigid calculating exterior, grinning and cackling like the witch that she is. The Queen never smiles once when she’s in her true form. But once she’s the old Hag and it’s all cackling and gap-toothed smiles, it’s extremely unnerving.

Case in point.

“Anyone else miss the creepy fade to black where the villain’s eyes remain for a few seconds? Disney needs to bring that back.”

Major props to Lucille LaVerne, who gives a bone chilling and utterly unrecognizable performance as BOTH the Queen and the Hag. She made the switch from one role to the next by removing her false teeth between recording sessions. In doing so she gave us one of the great Disney villain performances.

The part where she preps the infamous poisoned apple does undercut some of her menace, however. The Hag is supposed to be sharing her scheming with a cowardly raven, but due to how much she stares directly into the camera while monologuing, it comes off as directly addressing the audience, like we’re watching her in a play. It’s not just the Silly Symphony style of storytelling creeping in, it’s melodramatic semi-vaudevillian theatrics that early Hollywood was moving well away from at this point. And again, what’s with the sudden speaking in rhyme?

At the last moment the Hag looks up a possible antidote to the poison and learns that it’s Love’s First Kiss. However she scoffs at the notion that Snow White can be saved because she’s counting on the dwarfs believing the princess is dead and burying her alive.

“For those of you who claim Disney waters down fairy tales into saccharine pap, I point you to Snow White.”

And it doesn’t end there. As the Hag leaves the dungeons, she passes a cell where a skeleton is sprawled out between the bars, reaching for a water pitcher. It’s bad enough to imagine this poor soul dying of thirst, spending their last moments with salvation just out of their grasp, but the Hag openly mocks the skeleton and kicks the pitcher aside. If that’s not a deciding irredeemably evil factor moment, it comes pretty darn close.

This would have also tied into an important but ultimately scrapped sequence where the Queen kidnaps the Prince, locks him in the dungeon to keep him from saving Snow White and torments him by detailing her elaborate scheme.

This sounds vaguely familiar…

Depending on which pitch you’re reading, the Prince refuses the Queen’s offer of marriage, and she enchants the chained-up skeletons of other scorned suitors to dance in an extremely misguided attempt keep him entertained while she’s out, or floods the dungeon to drown him. He makes a daring escape and rides to the rescue on horseback.

Again, vaguely familiar…

Unfortunately we had to wait twenty-plus years for this to happen because the animators weren’t confident in their abilities to create a believable male character. This is why the Prince appears only in the beginning and the end of the movie (and by extension why the Cinderella’s Prince is barely in that feature as well). When it came to making Snow White look realistic, they subtly incorporated some rotoscoping in a few places (I’d call it cheating but it’s difficult to tell where it begins or ends because she looks that good eighty years later). But I guess it just wasn’t worth the effort to do the same for her love interest, who doesn’t even get the dignity of an official name (fans go back and forth between Florian and Ferdinand). He’s reduced to a deus ex machina – which to be fair is exactly how he was treated in the fairytale. The movie has the slight advantage over that, however, by setting him up before he arrives for that wake-up kiss.

“And now it’s time for Silly Songs With Happy, the part of the review where Happy comes out and sings a silly song. Today’s interlude, appropriately titled “The Silly Song”, features choreography which has gone on to inspire many other Disney musical sequences dating as far ahead as the 70’s.”

“Hold it!! It’s just the exact same movements with the Robin Hood cast grafted over them!”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no…it’s just a bit distracting when you finally notice it. I mean I love Disney’s Robin Hood, but boy did they take the main character’s attitude towards stealing to heart when it came to the animation.”

And yes, “The Silly Song” itself is fun too. It’s one of the less remembered Disney tunes, though I have fond memories of it due to its inclusion in the Sing-Along video lineup. The decision to have it follow the Hag’s unsettling introduction makes perfect sense; I could imagine audiences experiencing it for the first time needed a bit of a breather after that.

I guess I should mention the musical number we could have had instead of this one, though. “Music in Your Soup” was a similarly lighthearted song that was fully recorded and animated before it was ultimately cut. It was expertly animated, featured more dwarf-Snow White interactions, and it also closed up a plot hole involving a bar of soap Dopey swallowed earlier. Still, it didn’t add much to the story overall and it disrupted the flow, and keeping both that and “The Silly Song” would have been superfluous; so as much as I like “Music In Your Soup” I think they made the right call in sticking with “The Silly Song”.

After the dancing, Snow regales the dwarfs with a love story, though they quickly figure out she’s talking about herself and her prince. She dispenses with the self-insert fanfiction and sings the movie’s eleven o’clock number “Someday My Prince Will Come”. Bawl all you want about setting women’s rights back a decade, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a lovely song, even without Casselotti’s vocals. In fact, much of the movie’s soundtrack has been a go-to for jazz artists through the decades ranging from Miles Davis to Dave Brubeck. The pure simplicity of Larry Morey’s lyrics and Frank Churchill’s melodies are ripe for riffing on. Virtually every cover I’ve found succeeds in the impossible task of measuring up to the original in some capacity. The action in the song itself is subtle and restrained, mainly focusing on the dwarfs’ reactions. It’s not only good storytelling, but a clever way to get around showing more of Snow White than the animators could handle; she was already tough enough to animate even with rotoscoping.

Snow realizes how late it’s getting and ushers the dwarfs to bed; however Doc and the others try to behave like gentlemen and allow her to sleep upstairs while they take up whatever space they can fill on the lower floor. It goes to show how much her kindness and politeness has had an influence on them, at least while she’s around. Them taking up whatever sleeping space they can find on the ground floor is an excuse to squeeze more gags in, but I’m fond of how it lets us wind down and take in this cozy atmosphere.

The next morning before they head out the dwarfs warn Snow White to beware of strangers. Even Grumpy can’t help but show concern in his own gruff tsundere way. It’s little touches like this that reveal Snow White’s unwavering compassion is chipping away at his chauvinist attitude and he really does care about her after all –

Hang on, they couldn’t spare ONE dwarf to stick around and keep an eye out in case the Queen does drop by? They’re really think the Queen isn’t going to make another murder attempt as soon as possible? They sadly must, because no sooner do the dwarfs heigh-ho off to work than the Hag creeps up like a meth user turned Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hello, my name is Elder Grim. Would you care to learn more about our lord and savior Chernabog?”

After the animals fail to communicate the obvious danger, they fetch the dwarfs for help. Meanwhile the Hag has convinced Snow White to let her into the cottage and show off her “magic wishing apple”.

Already I can hear the slapping of a thousand facepalms through my screen. I get why, but there’s something about the situation that feels strangely relatable. The Queen is fully aware of Snow White’s gentle, trusting nature and knows how to take full advantage of the girl. Snow isn’t all smiles and open arms though. There’s a split second of regret the moment she divulges she’s by herself, and as the Hag literally corners her into tasting the poison apple her body language gives away how uncomfortable she is. Even the cottage itself grows darker and claustrophobic, mirroring her trapped state. Snow White knows there’s definitely something off about this stranger, but there’s the downside of her kind personality. She can’t bring herself to kick the old lady out no matter how wrong this scenario inherently feels.

“Just keep smiling and slowly reach for the mace.”

Ultimately the Hag coaxes her into tasting the apple. Every breath leading up to it is dramatically intercut with the dwarfs led by Grumpy (further proof Snow White really has gotten through to the old softie) racing back to the cottage.

Do you want to know why the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is considered one of the scariest movies of all time? Because for all its promise of a gory spectacular, the violence is deliberately kept offscreen. Our imaginations fill in the blanks and come up with even worse terrors than they could possibly show. Snow White’s poisoning works on that logic. All we hear is her gasping and groaning as the Hag gleefully looks on, ending with the most cinematic shot of the film.

If you’re still convinced Snow’s a dunce for biting the big apple, trust me, it’s a vast improvement over the original. The Queen showed up in disguise three times to kill Snow White with varying methods: strangulation by laces, a poisoned comb, and of course the apple. This was cut down to the last one for obvious reasons – not only would the story be repetitive and extremely padded if they remained, but it makes Snow White look like an idiot for falling for the same trap thrice in a row. The only time I’ve ever seen the inclusion of all three murder attempts work is in the anime The Legend of Snow White (which despite the laughably bad English dub is worth checking out). By the time the Queen comes around with the apple in that instance, Snow White is well aware of who she’s dealing with. But she plays along because the Queen has turned the kingdom to stone, and the only way to break the curse is by taking the bait and destroying her staff while she thinks she’s down, thus turning what was once an act of naivete into a heroic sacrifice.

The Hag exits the cottage feeling confident in who’s the fairest now just in time for the dwarfs to show up. They chase her through a thunderstorm up a cliff side. Literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, she attempts to dislodge a boulder and crush her pursuers. But Zeus is having none of that and a lightning bolt strikes the cliff, plummeting the Hag to her doom.

To quote Linkara, “Thus the origin for ‘Rocks fall, everybody dies’.”

And in case you’re still thinking she could have survived that drop, even with that boulder tilting over after her, the vultures that have been tailing her since she left the castle begin circling lower and lower over the place where she now lies. A chilling, subtle way to show they’re getting a meal after all.

We fade to a wake the dwarfs are holding for Snow White, complete with organ music and weeping – LOTS of sad, silent, motionless weeping. Poor Grumpy gets the worst of it. One can only imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have felt coming home to see that she was making a pie just for him. Like “Someday My Prince Will Come” it shows how restraint can be an asset in acting for animation. Considering how it’s very much like a real-life wake and just how much everyone believes Snow White is truly dead, this was a tough scene to get through.

The seasons pass and we’re told through title cards that the dwarfs couldn’t find it in themselves to bury Snow White, so they built a glass coffin and kept constant vigil along with the depressed forest animals.

“Clearly the idea of watching her slowly decompose over time never crossed their little minds.”

The funeral on top of the wake keeps piling on the sadness. We’re used to animated features moving us to tears, but you have to remember for audiences back then this was an entirely new experience because no animation dared to get this heavy. Think about it: Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, the best and the brightest of Hollywood who poo-pooed Walt for his ridiculous idea – all moved to tears over Snow White. I can only imagine the satisfaction Walt must have felt hearing their sobbing at the premiere. Again, going back to that animator who felt genuine fear for her safety, the audience developed an emotional bond with the character just as they would for a real human on screen.

The Prince FINALLY shows up again still singing his One Song. Believing the love he has long searched for to be lost to him forever, he says his final farewell by bestowing her with Love’s First Kiss.

“Ah – “

“If you make ONE necrophilia joke, I swear I’ll take all the Adam Sandler movies off the Shelf.”

“Please, no!! I’ll have nothing to fully snark at!!”

The kiss does its work and Snow White awakens none the worse for wear. And since what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she’s immune to all poison ingested via deciduous fruit now. That’ll make ruling the kingdom she’s inherited from her stepmother and disappeared father much easier. And for those of you complaining how a magical kiss is a cop out, trust me, it’s better than how the original fairytale resolved it.

“Somewhere my love lies sleeping, and here she is! I’ll pay you dwarfs anything to let me take her back to my castle and keep her there as a memento of our tragic love.”

“This had better be worth it, she weighs a freaking ton!” “OHH, there goes my hernia!” *BANG*

*HACKHACKCOUGHHACK* “Thanks for the Heimlich, guys, damn apple’s been stuck in my throat for a year!”

“Seriously, I’m not making that up. Plus, they invite the Queen to the wedding and force her to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes.”

Everyone rejoices, Snow White says goodbye to the dwarfs, and the Prince leads her on his horse to his shining palace in the clouds. They all live happily ever after, the end.

And that’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the very first animated Disney movie. Do I believe the American Film Institute’s claims that it’s the best animated film of all time? Well, to be honest, no. The main characters aren’t as developed compared to future Disney protagonists, the animation goes noticeably off model at times, and it’s got one foot stuck in the style of the Silly Symphonies shorts that came before.

Is it the most influential animated film, however? Of course! Without it animation wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today. While the formula has been updated and subverted through the decades, most animated features follow a similar blueprint – a dastardly villain, fun side characters, memorable music, distinct visual flair, fighting, torture, true love, miracles, you get the picture. We wouldn’t have any of that without Snow White. Once upon a time, this movie was the Star Wars of its era; a groundbreaking, audience-thrilling blockbuster that changed the way people looked at movies. Part of that is because Snow White taps into an emotional simplicity in a manner few films are able to. It relies more on providing an emotional catharsis than logic, inviting us to experience the story as we once did through the eyes of a child, and in doing so captures the essence of a classic fairy tale.

In fact, looking at the ripple effect of how movies can influence one another across the years, Snow White ranks among one of the most influential movies made in general. Apart from Disney you can see its echoes in The Wizard of Oz, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, and yes, the original Star Wars. Even Sergei Eisenstein, the man who revolutionized filmmaking with freaking Battleship Potemkin, declared Snow White to be the greatest film ever made.

…So why did Walt Disney come to hate it later on in life?

Every movie that’s met with acclaim and accolades is bound to hit some backlash for one reason or another. Maybe it’s been overhyped, or time hasn’t been that kind to it. For Walt, Snow White leaned into the latter as his artistic prowess grew. No creator likes looking at their past work because it’s easier to notice the flaws when viewing it through a more experienced eye (believe me, I know). That, and no matter what he did, it seemed impossible to escape from Snow White’s shadow. For decades everything he created was inevitably compared to it.

Hmm, the animation and music are an improvement, but what it’s really missing are some dwarfs.

Hmm, the creativity leaps off the charts, but if only the score had lyrics that rhyme with the words “shmeigh shmo”.

Hmm, it’s breathtaking and magical, but it’d be perfect if you could just sit and watch it for eighty minutes without interacting with any of it at all.

Hmm, it’s practically perfect in every way, but…um…uh…more dwarfs, dammit!!

Thankfully Walt’s displeasure mellowed after some time. As for Snow White, she’s still rightfully hailed as the one that started it all. The art is iconic, the characters are unforgettable, and virtually all the songs are Disney gold standards for a reason. Well before Rodgers and Hammerstein changed the face of musical theater by having the score and the book go hand in hand, Snow White did it first in the cinemas. In fact this was the first movie to ever have a commercially released soundtrack, another confounded idea Hollywood wouldn’t understand for quite a while. Though time may temper with modern expectations, Snow White is as much a classic now as it was destined to be eighty years ago, and nothing can touch it. It still is the fairest one of all.

“HA! Try to remake/sequelize THAT, Disney!”

“Excuse me, is it too late to join this review?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.”

“…You sure you’re not just a color-swapped OC clone from Deviantart?”

“Of course I’m not, silly! I’m in the fairytale and everything! Well, not THE fairytale per se, but there is one titled ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ where we’re siblings.”

“Checks out. They’re technically related.”

“Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to discuss my upcoming movie!”

“Your…movie?”

“Oh yes! It’s going to be Disney’s Snow White all over again but from MY point of view! Isn’t that exciting?”

“But…but you weren’t even in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“I know! I was off to the side doing…well, you’ll have to wait and see! The lady who wrote that Gone Girl knockoff that takes place on a train and the Indecent Proposal remake is doing the screenplay and she is just delightful!”

“…Excuse me for one moment.”

“Oh dear. Have I said something wrong?”

“It’s ok. This is just the part of the review where Shelf goes berserk.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at upontheshelfshow@gmail.com. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Also, Patreon supporters get extra votes among other perks. If I reach the goal of $100, I can get back to reviewing animated series! I’m at the halfway mark right now, so please consider supporting me if you’re able.

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Most screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

February Review: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) If there's a reason why we're able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Headcanon} 📱💕

I’m, as I have said before, coming out of hiatus later today! I posted March’s prompt list a couple days ago in preparation and tonight I’ll be diving back into writing stories again--and I mentioned, I thought I should do something, even something small, to get back into the creative groove of writing and getting in touch with FL again. The week off was necessary and honestly good for me, I wrote for two months solid and a little vacation before diving into spring writing fever should hopefully have done some good.

So! I decided to do a fun little headcanon exercise--but not those bullet style posts. It’s still a headcanon, just formatted a little differently, and it’s one I’m actually pretty excited to do.

It’s something simple but fun, and I think it’ll be a nice treat for Monica to read. ♥

❝The Dreadful & Triquetra (Executive & Assorted Branch) Men Detail Monica’s Special Nickname in Their Phones.❞

The Dreadful’s

Atamu - lily Atamu’s old school, so He doesn’t have any emoji’s beside Monica’s name in His phone, preferring to demonstrate His love and affection in person. Like the courting styles of yesteryear, He’s concise and to the point with His adoration of His little girl. His inspiration for her title? she calls Him Poppy, and in return, she’s His lily. Poppy and lily.

Cavon - angel 😘 Cav’s new school, unlike his Father, so he’s got an emoji beside Monica’s name--but the name itself changes, quite a lot, usually when Cavon’s drunk and in his feelings regarding His babygirl. So don’t expect this nickname to be the same in 48 hours, but you’ll always be able to tell which one’s Monica, because it’ll be his most viewed, contacted, and edited contact in his phone.

Savon - 🎀 beautiful belle 🎀 You can try to tell Savon his nickname for Monica in his phone is redundant but he’s not going to listen to you--or he’ll sneer at you for daring to presume His lifemate isn’t deserving of being called beautiful twice in a row. Savon changes Monica’s nickname almost as much as Cavon, and he also rotates out her picture at least once or twice a day, as he’s constantly begging her for selfies and he has a terrible time trying to decide which one to use. After all, how could one possibly expect him to choose between perfection? It can’t be done!

Luvon - lifemate Luvon isn’t as old school as his Father but he’s definitely an old soul, and with that comes the way he regards the future mother of his pups. Luvon reveres Monica, adores her, and regards her with the highest honor a Shifter can their mate--and that is exactly why her title has been ‘lifemate’ in his phone from the first moment he saw her.

(Although Cavon rumored over Valentine’s Day that Lu added the 💘 emoji by her name, but without a screencap no one can prove that.)

Tod - Minnie Mouse 💗 There’s a backstory to this, which is that Tod is the Mickey to her Minnie--not too hard to figure out, right? It may seem simple to others, but to Tod it’s everything. The contact photo he uses for her is the selfie they took wearing matching Mickey/Minnie shirts complete with the ear hats, and it’s something Tod looks at every single day. Tod runs the risk of being the most obsessed, the most desperate of all the Dreadful men and with that comes the need to be involved in all Monica’s interests--so the fact that he shares a love of Disney with her, he keeps close to his heart. Just like his Minnie.

Zaos - little treasure ✨ Zaos isn’t known to treasure much; he’s selfish and vain and gets bored very easily, so it says quite a lot that he considers Monica His treasure. When you have access to hidden, unknown realms, things start to seem less special but if you ask, he’ll tell you (maybe, if he speaks to you at all) that in all the realms he’s seen, all the realms he’s been, he’s never encountered another even close to Monica. She is, and always will be, His greatest treasure.

Markus - little bunny fifi 🐰😍 Markus is a complicated man that a lot of people have trouble figuring out, which isn’t surprising considering he’s the “man who can be anyone”, but like the other Dreadful men, Monica’s name in his phone speaks to the adoration and love he feels for her. And anyone who sees his face when he gets a message or a call from her can tell you, his smile tells all you need to know. For a man who can be anyone, it’s important to be someone to her--her constant contact with him helps him know he is.

Lucca - Mother Dearest From the outside, looking in, this is a simple title with a simple message, but you haven’t spent enough time around Lucca if that’s what you think...but I don’t blame you. Kid’s like a void where conversation goes to die--unless you’re Monica, which is why this nickname is significant. It, like Tod’s, is everything to an orphan boy who never had a mother to love him and whom he could love in return. Monica is the center of this pup’s universe, the only one he feels anything for, and he clings to that feeling with desperate, grasping hands. The capitalization is important, as it shows his reverence and respect for her, and the title itself speaks to the same way he mutters the endearment against her mouth each night in bed.

Jax - 😚 Momma-Bae 💛💙 Jax is Lucca’s twin, and though the two look identical, most would argue that was where the similarities stop--but it isn’t. Monica is another common factor the twin’s share, because like for Lucca, Monica is the center of Jax’s world. He’s an angry, brash, desperate pup who never got the love he needed as a boy and that has made him ravenous for it now. Monica is everything to him, always will be, and he will never take for granted that he can call her Momma--and so he does, as often as he can get the title out...even in his sleep.

The Triquetra

The Triquetra are “new” (they’ve been here for the past year) and in an attempt to ease Monica into getting to know them, Fintan has been introducing Monica to them slowly, person by person--but that doesn’t mean they don’t know who she is. Quite the opposite, actually, and at a later date we’ll detail more Company members’ nicknames for Monica, but for now we’ll stick to the ones who have been making prominent appearances around the Family Empress.

Fintan Rivershire - Mrs. Rivershire Is it presumptuous of Fintan to already have Monica listed as his future wife in his phone? You can ask, but I already did and he said no, it isn’t. It’s no secret to anyone the Triquetra made the move to New Senzannini with full intent to be with Monica, so smitten were they with her, and at the top of that food chain is the President himself. From the moment Fintan laid eyes on her, he knew she would be his, and all you need to do is look in Fintan’s eyes to know he is a man who gets what he wants. Or, in this case, who.

Hayden Jernigan - petite little sweet 🍭💖 Fintan’s Vice President and the CFO of the Triquetra is a man every bit as ruthless as his business partner, with one known weakness--he has an incurable sweet tooth. It’s something that’s plagued him his entire life, he simply cannot get enough sweets to satisfy...and the moment he laid eyes on Monica, the moment he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, he got a taste of her and his weakness doubled, tripled, crippled him. Now, even a spoonful of sugar can sour against his tongue if what he’s wanting is Monica, and there’s only one way to cure temptation--give in to it.

Narcisse Fiermin - mon petite lapin 🎀✨ Narcisse, to no one’s surprise, is a vain thing. He’s handsome, or beautiful, depending on the day, and he knows he is. As Hayden and Ashton’s cousin, the two often joke Narcisse’s mother knew he was going to be the center of the world before he was born, and thus, his name--but Narcisse doesn’t believe that, anymore. At least, not entirely; you see, the center of the universe actually has two seats, one for him, and one for Monica. Does he care that she hates the French? Not at all. In fact, the more she insults him...the more enamored with her he seems to become. No one has ever dared to speak to him the way she does, and one might think he gets off on it or something.

Daniel Maki - Miss Frenzy I know what you’re thinking; how plain, right? Wrong. Daniel Maki is another straight-shooter and, like Lucca, he’s not known for his emotional displays. In fact, one might even go so far as to say that Daniel is as tsundere as Monica is. He’s also incredibly disrespectful to pretty much anyone who hasn’t worked hard to earn his respect (good luck with that) and so the fact that Daniel is regarding Monica in such a formal way...could be the equivalent of him taking her by the chin, putting his lips right against hers, and telling her how much he loves her--and hey, whose to say he hasn’t, already?

Ashton Rayner - Miss Peach 🍑 Similar to Daniel but with an entirely playful, almost flirtatious spin, Ashton’s displaying his wild attention to detail with this nickname. Although it’s no secret that one of Monica’s titles is Princess Peach (and well-deserved, really) it’s another thing for one of the Triquetra to be calling her that, already. It shows not only the truth in that they’ve been here, observing her, admiring her, for a year, but also that Ashton already has his eyes on the prize. I’ll uh, let you take another look at the emoji he used and figure out for yourself which prize that is.

Henrik Ingolsson - Sugar Bunny-Baby 💋 Henrik is a Sugar Daddy wanna-be--not because he doesn’t have the money to be one, because he does (tenfold), but because he knows Monica doesn’t know him well enough to consider him a Daddy, yet. But that’s end goal for this luxurious billionaire, who lives a life of exotic flair and lavish spending. If he has his way, Monica will never want for anything in the world, as a woman of her standing (and there are no women of her standing, he’ll insist) should never be left unsatisfied in life. Give him a chance, Monica, and you’ll see he’ll make good on the nickname--and a whole lot more.

Jordi Basurto - Bomboncita 😖💘 Jordi’s Hispanic, so that’s bound to earn him some bonus points with Monica, right? Especially since his nickname for her comes not only in their native language, but also that he knows her and knows just how much she loves candy--which makes her his little candy. The emojis rather speak for themselves, too, since that’s the fact Jordi makes every single time Monica texts or calls him; he’s never had a girlfriend before and he’s totally unsure how to handle this, in any capacity. But hey, at least he got the nickname thing down, right? Baby steps, Jordi. Baby steps.

Adrian Jaroslav - Мой. If...you were wondering, that nickname is a lot simpler than it looks. It’s simply, “Mine.” So yeah. That should tell you all you need to know about Adrian and how he feels about Monica.

Aleksei Jaroslav - zaika moya Aleksei has a little more to say about Monica, with his title of “my bunny,” but the possession he feels is just as prominently on display as his twin’s...especially since the contact picture he has up of her is the two of them, with his hand curled around her throat and his painted lipstick smile smeared onto her cheek from the kiss clearly able to be seen.

Greyson Van Cann - myshka In keeping with the tiny, cute animals theme, Greyson shows a softer side than anyone has ever seen by putting Monica in his phone as His “little mouse”. It’s really no wonder this is how Greyson sees her; she’s so much smaller than he his, and Nighyingale has been heard around the Haus and Compound saying Greyson keeps remarking he’s “afraid he will step on her”. There’s no real fear of that, however, if you’ve seen the way he is with her. Like Luvon (whom he gets along extremely well with, by the way), Greyson is so overprotective of Monica it’s a wonder she’s ever out of his sight. Or maybe she never is, who can really say?

Sebastian Van Cann - Yedinstvennaya 🖤 You’re going to notice a trend with Monica’s Russians, too--a lot of them favor their native tongue when complimenting or describing Monica, and Sebastian is no exception. Her name in his phone translates to “my only one,” and speaks to Sebastian on a level most will never get to know him. Sebastian is a twin, but his soulmate is Monica--this, he knew from the moment he saw her. That will never change, and it’s honestly a good thing Monica doesn’t seem to mind--because one look in his eye when he’s looking at her and you’ll know he’s never letting her go.

Nighyingale Van Cann - 😚 moy malen'kiy golub' 😚💞 Unlike his twin and older brother, Nighyingale is fully in touch with his emotions and he’s not at all afraid to be--he wears his heart on his sleeve, and his heart is very clearly for Monica. They have matching names; Nighyingale was named after a songbird and so he has given Monica the nickname “my little dove” so that he feels even closer to her; that’s all he wants, day in and day out. The boy would tie himself to Monica if he thought he could get away with it, but for now, he settles for being her shadow, following her anywhere she might go with an eager, happy smile and a heart full of song for her and her alone.

[zacharyhawtorn]

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Zachariah

Nickname: Zach, Zachary (only his father and one or two others called him Zachariah and he hates it, because it always is bad news. He is scared of his full name)

Birthday: 25th of June

Age: 37/189

Gender: Male

Place of Birth: Arcadia

Places Lived Since: Pretty much everywhere, the last places were Arcadia, Barcelona and now Aurora, but he has lived in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, a lot of small towns, too many to name

Nationality:  American

Parents’ Names: Deborah and Andrew

Number of Siblings: 1, Erik

Relationship With Family: Strained. He killed his father (by accident) and turned his brother into a vampire.

Happiest Memory: Usually the games he played with Erik when they were still kids, when his father wasn’t home. Running around the estate, playing hide and seek, and being welcomed back into the house when they were both exhausted by their mother.

Childhood Trauma: Constantly having to live up to his father’s expectations. Even as the good kid, he constantly lived in fear for letting his father down and not wanting his father to punish his brother.

PHYSICAL:

Height: 1,77 (5′9′‘?)

Weight: 70 kilo

Build: slim

Hair Color: black

Usual Hair Style: messy

Eye Color: Blue

Glasses? Contacts?: Nope

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): When he’s not working, he just likes to dress casual, jeans and a shirt. He has a leather jacked he really loves and usually wears until it’s really almost gone. At work he has to wear a white coat or scrubs and he especially hates the latter.

Typical Style of Shoes: When he’s working, as comfortable as possible without resorting to crocs, outside he likes to wear boots or leather shoes.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: None

Scars: None

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: He doesn’t really have one.

Athleticism: He used to be athletic as a kid, but he never pursued any sports because he was supposed to focus on his studies.

Health Problems/Illnesses: None

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: He graduated at Harvard to become a doctor.

Languages Spoken: English, some Latin and he learned Spanish in Barcelona

Level of Self-Esteem: Usually very low. He knows he’s good at being a doctor and playing the piano, but that doesn’t make good on all the lives he destroyed when he didn’t know how to control himself.

Gifts/Talents: He’s a very good piano player

Mathematical?: Not more than necessary for his profession

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: He hopes he’s making them on logic, but in truth a lot of his decisions are based on emotions. Especially when it comes to himself and Erik, he has a hard time seeing everything as it is, instead as he feels it is.

Life Philosophy: He is trying to make up for everything he has done wrong.

Religious Stance: Mostly not religious, but there is always that old fashioned part of him that fears God and the whole fact that according to lore he doesn’t have a souls, scares him very much

Cautious or Daring?: Cautious

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: His own wrongdoings

Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist

Extrovert or Introvert?: Extrovert (even when he has a lot of introvert tendencies)

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: Single

Sexual Orientation: Straight, even when he tried something with men in the past, it just wasn’t for him.

Past Relationships: A lot of one night stands and short relationships. He has been incredibly in love in Arcadia, but that didn’t work out in the end. He believes he isn’t stable enough for a relationship and that he’ll make someone unhappy.

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: Him not being able to make things more serious (mostly because he fears for the safety of a girl).

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Fear for the safety of the other.

Ever Cheated?: No

Been Cheated On: Yes

Level of Sexual Experience: High

Story of First Kiss: He must have been 16, it’s been too long ago for him to properly remember. It was a girl from Arcadia, the daughter of the mayor. They did go on walks together (always making sure to stay in sight of others), but that became frustrating at a certain moment. One moment they managed to disappear from sight and they kissed. It was over pretty soon after that.

Story of Loss of Virginity: Harvard. Away from his parents, it was easy to let go of all the ways he should behave as a Hawtorn, so it didn’t take long after arriving at school before he managed to get in touch with one of the girls in town, who was flattered by the attention the student paid to her. After a few times getting together in a decent way, they managed to sneak away from her parents and he lost her virginity to her. She already lost hers a few years ago.

A Social Person?: Yes, he’s very good at contacts that don’t mean too much. He has more problems in forming meaningful relationships.

Most Comfortable Around: In good times, his brother. He doesn’t need to hide anything from Erik.

Oldest Friend: Erik

How Does she Think Others Perceive Him?: He knows others see him as a friendly man who tries to help others as much as possible, but he doesn’t like that they only see the façade. He doesn’t want them to see the monster he has locked up inside himself, but he’s also not comfortable with pretending it’s not there. It’s complicated ;). Furthermore he knows he’s hot and he is good in what he does, so he knows others see that as well (and he’s totally fine with that).

How Do Others Actually Perceive Him?: Mainly a good, friendly person. Some will see the hypocricy in him.

SECRETS:

Life Goals: Make up for all the evil he has done.

Dreams: Not having to fight blood every inch of the way. Maybe turning back human, even when he knows that is completely impossible.

Greatest Fears: Falling back into the habit of drinking human blood and everything that comes with it for him (the killing, the guilt he can’t bear)

Most Ashamed Of: His past.

Secret Hobbies: In some periods, his piano playing is a secret hobby. When he’s feeling well, he is ok with people hearing him play, but when he’s on a depressive streak (which can last for years), music is his way to get his feelings out, and he is not very comfortable with people listening in that case.

Crimes Committed (Was he caught? Charged?): Violence, Murder. Mass murder, to be honest. He might be caught a few times, but he’s a vampire, he never got charged or went on trial for it, except by his own conscience.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Early Bird

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Heavy Sleeper

Favorite Animal: Cat

Favorite Food: Blood, but he can’t have that ;). He’s fond of pancakes.

Least Favorite Food: The omelets Erik tries to make for breakfast, once every decade.

Favorite Book: Call of the Wild.

Least Favorite Book: Everything related to vampires, starting with Dracula and then all those YA that romanticize everything about it.

Favorite Movie: Happy Feet (don’t ask...)

Least Favorite Movie: Twilight

Favorite Song: That really depends on his mood. When he is sombre, he doesn’t really listen to songs, but he loves Rachmaninoff in those days.

Favorite Sport: He doesn’t do sport a lot, but he likes American Football

Coffee or Tea?: Coffee

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Smooth

Type of Car she Drives: Camaro

Lefty or Righty?: Righty

Favorite Color: Blue

Cusser?: Yes

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: Drinker, heavily from time to time. Helps with the cravings

Biggest Regret: Turning Erik

Pets: None. He’d kill them and feed from them. ;).

[reapers-carino]

Best Kept Secret redeaux

“I need you to check out a lead for me, mi reina.”

Gabe looked tired.

So goddamned tired.

Serena hadn’t know what to expect when Gabriel had called her to his office so early in the morning, her heart aching as she looked over her mate, her Alpha. She could see the exhaustion in his features; his shoulders sagged, bags heavy beneath his eyes, his head barely held up by two of his fingers. Blackwatch demanded that a toll be paid and Gabriel had paid it in spades; the mirth, happiness and pride that had once filled his brown eyes replaced by mistrust, pain and a soul-crushing sadness. Whether SEP injections or the melanin within his skin, age didn’t show easy on his face but in his eyes it look like the man had seen and experienced enough to have lived centuries.  

Serena envied the members of Overwatch, envied their sister organization’s ability to believe their actions were benevolent and that they were the peacemakers the world made them out to be. She remembered having that naivety, recruited to espionage and spying, believing her skills would be used to better the world in only the ways Overwatch had become known for. But Blackwatch had stolen those rose-colored glasses from her. Years of deep cover, assassinations, espionage, doing what was necessary to get the mission done had stripped both the Alpha and omega of any feelings of righteousness.

Blackwatch was the answer to questionable missions that Overwatch couldn’t do, to handlings that Overwatch couldn’t manage or dealing with terrorists before they became a bigger issue than what they were. Just as every righteous government of a major world power had their shadow organization, the United Nations had Blackwatch. Initially, no one within the Blackwatch sector harbored any ill will, understanding that difficult choices had to be made and choices had to be taken in order to secure the overall safety of the world. But as the years had grinded on the line of necessity began to grow murky before turning outright fluid, invisible. As friends, comrades, brothers-in-arms fell to a cause that no longer had a clear outcome, the confidence of the entire organization shuddered. And it fell squarely on Gabriel shoulders to hold it up.

He rallied his pack back together, told them to believe in one another rather than their cause, all while covertly gathering information on the holders of their reins. The deeper he dug, the fewer people he realized he could trust, the darker and more sinister this entirety of Overwatch and Blackwatch appeared. Jesse and Serena had been the only two privy to this knowledge; the only people he could trust without a doubt as he dug. Initially, Gabe had tried to include Jack but the Overwatch commandeer was having absolutely none of it. Jack’s trust in Overwatch was unwavering, the ‘breadcrumbs’ that Gabriel brought him not enough to deter his stance on the organization’s necessity. Their arguments became volatile, the two Alphas growling and posturing, their twenty-plus year friendship disintegrating under the weight of disbelief and accusations. Attacks against knowledge turned into attacks on personal character, vitriolic hatred saved for their worst enemies suddenly hurled at someone who was practically blood. It only grew worse when the leaks started.

Details about failed missions, stolen or leaked schematics of hypothetical super weapons, partial mission statements and death records of civilian, terrorist and Overwatch agent revealed amongst hundreds of other documents. Ambivalence had fallen over the organization that had once been beloved which soon turned to utter mistrust when the existence of Blackwatch was revealed. External fights became internal, turning friend against friend and soldier against soldier. Jack and Gabe were barely holding their organizations together, each organization crumbling from the inside out. Between the sensitive leaked information about Overwatch, deaths of prominent Overwatch agents, the reveal of the existence of Blackwatch, the world had started a witch hunt and it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Jesse had left first with Gabriel’s blessing, but his protege couldn’t convince the Blackwatch leader to leave himself and Serena refused to forced out without her mate.

Moving across the room, Serena’s hands lightly twisted his chair so the man could face her. She moved into his space, arms wrapping around his neck, gently pushing his head to her shoulder. His hands encircled her waist, squeezing tighter and tighter as if he was afraid she might disappear if he loosened his grip, pressing his face against her scent glands and inhaling deeply, soaking in her calming energy. Serena’s fingers lifted, gently combing through the thicket of black curls on his head, the warm, comforting action combined with her scent easing some of the tension out of his body. The both of them stood that way for several moments before Serena leaned back in his arms, hands dragging from his hair and to his face, pulling him away from her neck to look him in the eyes. Her milk brown eyes stared into his darker ones, her thumbs rubbing his jaw in small, soothing circles.

“I got you my king”, she responded softly, nodding assuredly. “What do you need me to do?”

Overwatch may have had many issues but if there was one factor everyone could agree with, they ensured all agents were treated equally. When one was recruited, it wasn't as an Alpha or omega or beta, it was as an agent with a recognized and appreciated set of skills that could be utilized for the betterment of the world. That is how Serena had earned her spot as the lieutenant commander of Blackwatch, head of the espionage and infiltration unit.

She was a proud omega, her classification as important to her as being a Black or a woman or from ‘Charm City’. Being an omega wasn’t a weakness to be looked down upon but was something she had turned into her greatest strengths. Omegas were unique position of being highly sought after while still being mildly invisible, especially to the overconfident or unassuming Alpha. At first glance they weren’t threatening; they were soft and demure, submissive and accommodating, the soft to an Alpha’s hard. Of course, while there were truths in those stereotypes, omegas came in every flavor and personality one could imagine. But it didn’t matter what was the truth, especially in espionage. As long as they believed it was true, Serena knew she could take advantage of them. The cutting edge technology that Overwatch provided them with assisted her with that as well.

The hard light technology of the Vishkar Corporation had been repurposed into a wearable holographic jewelry, hers’ a pendant that Gabriel had fashioned into a choker on one of their anniversaries. It projected a physical hard light hologram over her entire body, allowing her to completely conceal and change her appearance to her liking or necessity as well as masking her scent from all but her mate. While the appearance altering function was unable to withstand the high paced movement of combat, it was the perfect tool for infiltrating parties, homes, gangs or corporations. The times she did get into a pinch, she was fortunate that the appearance altering construct would drop and switch to a personal shield. Although, it appeared that neither one of those functions would be quite necessary today.

Gabriel had sent Serena to France, had told her that there was a lead in Lyon that may help finally bring to light what was actually happening and who might be causing the schism in their organizations. The building, however, was undistinguished, old and two-stories tall and empty as far as the petite omega could tell. She wandered through the building warily, her microgun unholstered and in hand, prepared to open fire on anything or anyone that stepped out. But with each room she could feel her guard dropping, the empty room completely cleared of anything but dust, dirt and the occasional stray cat. Pulling her hand away from the gun, Serena pushed her hand through her hair with a quiet, vexed sigh. There was only one set of rooms left to go in, and she had yet to sign in. Gabriel always vetted his sources, he hated chasing his own ass and hated wasting time so she knew there had to be something here.

‘He needs a break’, Serena thought to herself as she passed through the threshold of room on the right. ‘He’s starting to lose--what was that?’

The sound of technology whirring up yanked the warm sepia-skinned woman out of her thoughts, body shifting into a battle stance. Her gaze was sharp as it scanned over the room, her thumb flicking the cover of the trigger to the microgun, cautiously moving further into the room. Maybe he hadn’t been wrong.

“Ey!”

Serena’s body slid backwards as a beam of light shot up from the middle of the floor, the high-pitched whirring of the gun giving way to the sound of bullets. The bullets sliced through the light smoothly, the noise filling the room as her ammo embedded itself in the opposite concrete wall. The light flickered for a moment before morphing into a familiar shape--Gabriel Reyes. Incredulity settled on Serena’s features, her brow furrowing as she moved closer, he gun dropping as she stared into the pale life-sized version of the Blackwatch Commander. Slipping her gun back into its holster across her back, Serena moved closer, examining the projection. It wasn’t live, the hologram didn’t follow Serena as she walked from left to right, her hand waving in front of its face questioningly.

“What the hell are you playing at Gabe?”

“Hey princesita.”

A cold chill ran down her spine, a stone settling in her stomach as the nickname hung heavy in the air. He had only called her princesita when there was bad news; when they had found out about Ana, after a botched mission where she miscarried a child she didn’t know she was carrying. He always said that nickname in that sweet and soft voice of his, trying, even through the call, to forcibly calm his omega. It, unfortunately, didn’t work, a ball of panic rising in her chest, her hands shaking as they unconsciously grazed over her mating mark.

“I tricked you”, he said, a sweet tenderness in his voice that made her heart feel as if it was physically breaking, an unheard keen starting in her throat. “I know you, even better than you know yourself, cariño. If you knew what I had found, you wouldn’t have left. You could have gotten hurt and I will be damned if I let you d--if I let you get hurt because of this bullshit. You mean too much to me.”

He choked on the word before he spit out the rest of his sentence in a clipped tone, the hologram’s face contorting into pained anger before it scaled back into exhausted pain. Heart drumming in her chest, Serena moved closer to the hologram, practically chest to chest as she stared it in the face. He was trying to fall on the grenade, to take the brunt of whatever went wrong while protecting all those around him. But this wasn’t fair.

“Gabriel”, she breathed out, distress clear and heavy in her voice as she tried to reason with the hologram. “We promised...we’re mates, you don’t do this baby. We are supposed to do everything together...please…Whatever is going on it’s you and me against the world, remember? You and me!”

Her begging had turned to yelling, a painful hiccup cutting off her breath as anguished tears rolled down her cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. It just...couldn’t. The hologram didn’t respond to her shouting but paused, the expression frozen until her sobs quieted for half a second.

“By the time you wake up”, he started again, his practiced speech making your brow furrow in confusion. “All of this should be over. I don’t know how bad it’s going to get, but I’ve got you. Money, cover, living arrangement. Only McCree knows about this, okay? Take this shit and go.  Don’t be stubborn, just listen to me. Alright? Just this once....If they get close, burn the ring”

A harsh sob racked through her body, an ocean of emotion hitting her all at once. Anger, disbelief, anguish, fear, heartbreak, realization tickling quietly at the back of her head.

‘By the time you wake up’. What did that mean?

The hologram disappeared all at once before gas began to emit from the device, Serena’s eyes going round. Her hands dove into the bag on her waist, going for the gas mask she kept on her side for when she used her nightshade ammo. ‘Shit.’ Her hand faltered as it grabbed the zipper, the woman trying to force her eyes to stay open as she yanked the pouch open. Serena’s right knee dropped to the floor, her body wobbling as she fought against the gas to stay upright. She cursed him mentally as her fingers stopped cooperating, cursed him again as her other knee came crashing down to the floor and her body fell to the side, cursing him once more for sending her away when she knew he needed her. Her final thoughts were consumed with weakening keening sobs and angry thoughts of how much she loved the man that had forced her away to protect her. Her eyes slipped shut as the gaseous concoction finally did its job, her body sprawled out on the dirty floor.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON POIZN’S MAIN RAP, LEAD VOCAL JEON DOYOON...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: j.dean CURRENT AGE: 29 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE:15 COMPANY: 99 SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): 

korean homer: this embarrassing nickname was thrusted onto him in the early days of POIZN since 99 media played him as this rising, prodigal songwriter. ( the nickname is, obviously, used as a joke )

yoonie bear: mostly used by female fans when they saw the stark contrast between his stage persona as a looming and intimidating figure, and his real self who is soft like a teddy bear.

INSPIRATION: doyoon had dreamed to become an artist who could tell his own story and was heavily influenced by korean hip-hop artists such as yoon mirae, tiger jk, and epik high, and he thought being an idol would be the best way to get his name out there. SPECIAL TALENTS:

playing the piano with his feet

nail art

NOTABLE FACTS:

lived in montana, usa for seven years and returned to korea with his grandparents at 12 to become a k-pop idol

was a pianist in his church band

his mother gave him the english name james-dean because she is a big fan of the actor

had numerous part time jobs while he was a trainee to financially support himself

started writing songs and lyrics since he was eight. his first song was about his pet rabbit

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

doyoon hopes to regain the trust he had lost with 99, so he can regain the possibility of the solo opportunity they had given him years ago. to do that, he is trying to soften the public perception of him as one of the “scandal-clad screw ups of 99,” and finally reclaim his debut as a solo artist.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

doyoon has realized time and time again that being an idol is hard, and he is somewhat sick of the lifestyle. so he wants to quickly transition out of that idol title he holds and become an artist that he desperately wants to be by being recognized as someone who writes and produces songs — either for himself, his group, or other artist both in and out of 99.

IDOL IMAGE

as if by fate, 99 knew exactly what they wanted doyoon to be ever since they laid their eyes on him. from a visual standpoint, doyoon seemed to have been born just so he could be a part of POIZN with his sharp eyes, intimidating glare, and baritone voice. 99 sets him out to be a bad boy – not exactly a wild, partying bad boy, but as the classic “hollywood” bad boy ( most likely due to his american upbringing. ) while he initially played the role of a rambunctious young blood, doyoon gradually brings it down and became reserved the more he played his role into what 99 wanted him to be.

he is neither loud nor boisterous – loudness is not what doyoon excels at. he is the old school, quiet but strong candidate, a quiet flame in the background that flickers steadily, refusing to burn out. silent, resilient and intense — these are what 99 wanted to convey, and doyoon became the perfect representative of that image.

now doyoon, left alone and away from 99’s packaging, is unrecognizable. his POIZN persona is on one spectrum, and doyoon stands on the exact opposite end of that spectrum. POIZN’s doyoon is boiling lava while jeon doyoon the person is one of the many kindling on the hearth warming your home – gentle, patient, and meek. so the people have always been surprised to hear about the great divide between the mask and the person that lies beneath it, because doyoon was a breath of fresh air; one of the few POIZN boys who had lived his idol life scandal-free due to his hard work behind the scenes, locked up behind studio doors collaborating with producers to help POIZN rise in the ranks.

it played out in their favor, at first.

but who’s to say that this surprising revelation wasn’t media play itself?

IDOL HISTORY

tw: implied alcoholism, dubious consent.

life is full of choices and doyoon seems to be always picking the wrong ones.

v.

the first choice that changed his life wasn’t necessary his choice to make, nor was he given a voice in the matter. he was only five, after all, and the opinions of a five year-old do not really matter, right? he’s given a new life in a new city that belonged to a new country with a new name and a new sibling.

james-dean jeon is his new name – not just ‘james’ and not ‘dean.’ it’s a mouthful, especially because he’s only five and can barely speak the language.

“i promise you’ll have a better life here, doyoon. you can make your dreams come true here!”

that’s what his parents tell him the night before he starts his first day of american kindergarten. but the thing is: he’s had a great life back in korea. he even had a pet rabbit named pony. oh how he missed pony. but he doesn’t question them further. he smiles and nods to let his parents go to bed because, like him, they too have a busy day of work the next day.

vii.

it’s not that he doesn’t like going to church – it’s just that he doesn’t like waking up at 7 o’clock on sundays to go to a church about 40 minutes away from his home when there are plenty of churches in the neighborhood.

“you know grandpa and grandma aren’t very good at english, and you have to immerse yourself in your culture.”

and his parents are right…to a certain degree.

he should be more understanding of his grandparents needs, since he actually goes out into society – all grandpa and grandma have are each other and the rest of the koreans in their city in montana ( which just happens to be the rest of the family. ) so he shouldn’t get so frustrated when they want to be with the people they have in common.

but did doyoon have to leave korea ( and pony and his other friends ) just to immerse himself into his culture?

he doesn’t say anymore, but he does think about it on his way to church.

x.

rap – it’s what his grandparents and the majority of the grown-ups in his church refer to it as ‘the devil’s music.’ it’s what the older kids at his school and church thought was the best thing in the world. and doyoon thought it was one of the best things – next to drawing stick figures and his two new sisters.

at school, he listens to what he and others know – american rappers and hip-hop artists. while at church, he was introduced to korean hip-hop. doyoon has always been fond of music – that’s why he deliberately stays late after church: to get piano lessons and participate in the church band – and he’s found something that he could love ( even more than pony. boy, he still missed her. )

xii.

call him a silly child all you want, but nothing is stopping him from becoming who he wants to be.

unfortunately for his parents, america is not a place where his dream will come true.

he’s figured out a few years ago that this place isn’t as great as people claim it to be – there are countless iron walls blocking his way, and no matter how high he jumps, he can never go over it like a simple hurdle.

so he decides to be a little selfish.

he goes back to korea with his grandparents, leaving his family and friends behind.

despite his nationality and his blood all originating from korea, the country feels foreign to him – and so does the language, unfortunately. but he’s still growing and he regains the vocabulary as he reincorporates himself into his birthplace.

xv.

there’s an unexplainable distance between his classmates and doyoon – possibly because he spends most of his time at a music academy than at socializing with his peers. he needs to build his skills, because what was the point of coming back to korea if he wasn’t going to work hard?

apparently he’s pretty good at singing ( all those years in the church choir must have paid off ), and he’s come so far in his rapping and dancing skills. the teachers at his academy suggest agencies he should audition in because he might have the potential to become famous.

“just mention us when you hit big, kiddo.”

there is only one agency that takes him in, though ( though he didn’t show it on his face, he was shocked that he passed only one out of six auditions. )

xix.

he manages to finish high school, but he doesn’t get that sweet taste of freedom like the other students do: he practices all day and works all night, partaking in late night shifts at convenience stores.

he will admit that initially, he was ignorant about idols. he didn’t know they had to endure years of training, years of criticism and years of rivalry to debut.

they say his singing is decent, lyrics original and well-crafted, and that he has the right tone and look to be a rapper, but his overall dancing ability is utter garbage. they tell him to either: get better or leave.

no matter how much he practices, they want more – more improvement, more soul, and more blood.

it is a savage world, but it is the world that he chose to belong in.

…

does he belong in it?

xxiii.

doyoon works hard – anyone can see that, and he’s present.

he tries to make POIZN become better and stronger; make it rise to the top like their opponents. so he sits in on the meetings, engages with the producers, and offers his two-cents on certain affairs.

maybe it isn’t his place to say such things, and maybe he’s being too selfish but POIZN and his members are like family to him.

xv.

he is clean – cleaner than bleach, and maybe that’s why 99 is so taken with him.

a solo opportunity is given to him. though it wasn’t handed to him on a silver platter like he had hoped, he takes it without a second thought. even though he wants to dedicate his all to POIZN, POIZN is…well…poison. and doyoon wants to separate himself from that image as soon as possible.

99 offers him some creative control over his content, because they know he won’t screw up.

because doyoon never screws up.

xxvi.

doyoon spends his nights in the studio – a yellow legal notepad on his right and a bottle of whisky. art isn’t something that is created overnight. it is a struggle that takes months – even years to complete.

but doyoon is tired, so tired.

from other work to this, he doesn’t know if he can keep up the burning desire anymore.

is this fine? does this sound good? no. none of this sound good.

not even acceptable.

he doesn’t want to be selfish but he wants something better, something more.

xvii.

99 is ruthless, but he’s sure other companies are just as ruthless.

a picture – not a harmless before an after of a false accusation of cosmetic surgery—

[ +400, -31 ] ㅋㅋㅋ what are they saying? it’s totally him. bye bye loser~ > [ +25, -299 ] how are you so sure it’s him? > [ +450, -19 ] his tattoos, you delulu ㅋㅋㅋ

—but a scandalous picture.

he can’t remember the night well, only fragments of it – all hazy. but he does know that he needed comfort and a night to release his inhibitions.

that night, he remembers two choices:

1)      a long night with a bottle with a flavor that he recognizes all too well, or

2)     spending time with the person sitting across from him.

xxix.

the big opportunity is stripped from him as soon as the pictures leak, and he’s back to square one – a trainee, trying to prove his worth to the ones high in the clouds. but they still feed on him – feed on his words, his work, his mind, his melodies, his art. that’s the real poison here, but doyoon still craves that attention that small acknowledgement that says, ‘at least you’re doing this right.’

and that is better than nothing.