#deliberately left unexplained

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

With Emerald’s origin deliberately left unexplained,

Inspectators will be left to speculate as to her true parentage.

[osheamobile]

Reasons why the Benoit Blanc movies work so well

They are about women of color with everyday jobs (nurse, teacher)

These women are treated terribly by rich assholes in completely pedestrian and everyday ways that women of color with everyday jobs are treated in real life

These women get extremely cathartic justice in the end

The movie does not star Benoit Blanc, he is merely the driving vehicle for the mystery

He is barely a character, he is a plot device.

All we learn about Benoit Blanc in the first movie is:

He is a famous detective

He was so famous he was on magazines

Literally everyone knows who he is because of previous mysteries he has solved

These previous mysteries are not explained or even given any details, all we know is that they happened and he got famous for them

He has a kind heart

He has a Southern accent that continually shifts back and forth across the Delta

This is neither explained nor commented on

All we learn about Benoit Blanc in the second movie is:

He lives with a partner (marital status unknown) who is

A: British

B: Done with his shit

C: Trying to learn how to make sourdough starter in the pandemic

He plays Among Us with celebrities

He is very bad at mystery games such as Among Us and Clue

That’s it. That’s all we learn about him.

This is fantastic because these new details provide zero additional context to the unexplained force of nature that is Benoit Blanc, he just strolls into someone else’s movie, tells them they are good people, and gives them closure against rich assholes.

It is not Benoit Blanc’s movie. It is a movie with Benoit Blanc in.

The movies are mysteries with lots of twists and turns but they never make the audience feel stupid. This is because

All of the twists are foreshadowed by scenery details, camera angles, and other things deliberately left in the shot.

This rewards both the keen-eyed and the additional rewatchers

All of these twists are extremely well hidden on the first viewing

This rewards those who enjoy trying to work it out and enjoying them as they come

The correct reaction to guessing twists before they happen is that they were very well foreshadowed, not that the writers weren’t good enough at tricking the viewers, like some writers who put in twists that are completely out of left field and unsupported by the previous text because they don’t want their audience to guess.

Ben Shapiro didn’t understand the second one, which is just a nice bonus.

The fucking. Cameos. Are delightful, not hackneyed.

The fucking cinnamon tography.

Every camera angle is a masterpiece. Every still frame is a painting.

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

[backintimeforstuff]

This is directed at no one in particular but I don't think i've thought about Chris Carter even once. Certainly no further than: "He's the guy that wrote my favourite TV show. Cool." ...Some of you on here seem to think about him weirdly a lot.

Sure, when he was writing txf, maybe he wasn't paying attention to some things. Maybe he WAS. Maybe it's all deliberate. Maybe it really isn't. Maybe it would be better if everyone stopped giving a shit.

I see some people getting worked up over lack of continuity, or "trying to make sense of things that Chris Carter wasn't paying attention to", making him out like he's the worst person on Earth just because the choronology of some episodes doesn't really make sense or the fact that at one point Scully's apartment seemingly changes floors, (I have watched xf multiple times over the years and never actually noticed). What I mean is: you guys can watch the show without caring about any of it. Be blasé for once. It's surprisingly easy and will actually make you less pissed off every time something incremental happens and you feel the need to reply to a load of other people's text/meta posts going: "I don't know why you are trying to make sense of this, Chris Carter didn't!!!" It's. Really tedious, actually. I see see So MUCH of it. What is it even achieving?

So what if you think he never gave a shit. We enjoy it DESPITE that. If it turns out he really DID care deeply about the show he wrote for 25 years, (shocker), and just got lost and caught up in it along way then that's ALSO totally fine and we should have probably learnt by now to enjoy things for the sake of enjoying them. Like. It's OK that some things make no goddamn sense. You're still allowed to enjoy them. Conversely, if every single thing in txf DID suddenly make sense and a detailed explanation was given every time something happened, then it would be a significantly worse show, and would be the anti-txf, surely? I did not watch this show for over a decade a not learn that some things are better left unexplained.

[notbecauseofvictories]

also, I will say of all the movies I've watched recently, Crimes of the Future had the most on-point and thoughtful aesthetic---the combination of very grounded, broken down and fading (all the walls are tagged and missing windows, the dust, the rust, the sense of humanity surviving among the ruins of what came before) and yet futuristic (the machines, the sleek gowns in metallic colors, vague references to a bureaucracy that is left unexplained)

It's not a huge part of the film, but I thought it was wonderfully and deliberately imagined, I liked that very much.

[woodchipp]

OMORI and Detroit: Become Human's Plot Twists - How A Bad Plot Twist Ruins The Story Instead Of Enhancing It

In the 2020 game OMORI, the story's plot twist is that the main protagonist's sister, Mari, didn't kill herself as the player was led to believe - instead, the main protagonist himself accidentally killed her in a fit of rage after an argument they had and his best friend subsequently covered that up by staging it as a suicide.

In the 2018 game Detroit: Become Human, the plot twist of Kara’s story is that Alice, the seemingly human child Kara took care of after the two broke free of Alice’s abusive father, was actually an android all along. 

What do they have in common? The answer’s simple - not only are they emblematic of their respective games’ shoddy writing, they detract from the story they’re supposed to elevate.

First things first - both twists don’t make sense upon scrutiny. OMORI’s plot twist in particular hinges on a huge contrivance - the fact Basil just so happened to be present in Sunny’s house (for reasons the game leaves unexplained) at exactly the right time to witness Sunny committing manslaughter and come up with a plan to absolve him of any blame. Furthermore, the twist’s insinuation that Mari overworked Sunny and didn’t tolerate his mistakes comes out of left field, as Mari was consistently portrayed as kind and flawless (both in Sunny’s dreams and in the real world via the photo album)  throughout the game up until that point.

Alice’s twist only works because the story lies to the player: Kara finds a magazine with a picture of Alice’s model at the beginning of the game, but it’s conveniently blurred. While there are some hints that Alice is an android, such as the fact that she refuses to eat even when food is presented to her, this clashes with one of the main levels of Kara’s story, which has her looking for food and shelter for Alice’s sake. This implies that Kara deliberately ignored Alice’s true nature, for reasons that will be elaborated on later.

Alice’s twist, however, does have some solid hints at the very least. That brings me to a problem exclusive to OMORI’s twist - the game spends most of its runtime hinting at the red herring of Mari having hung herself as opposed to the twist of her having been shoved down the stairs. The only tangible clues to the twist are the prevalence of staircases in the brief cutscenes before Sunny fights his fears and the hands motif, but they are not enough. If the point of the reveal is that Mari didn’t kill herself, what’s the point in hinting she did?

Secondly, the twists’ linchpin characters are flat in terms of personality. Alice is the quintessential “little girl” in videogames: cute, small, withdrawn, barely cries (she doesn’t even go into hysterics at a concentration camp), constantly needs to be cared for and protected, at most steers you in the right moral direction if you do something “problematic”, even if for her sake. This, allegedly, is supposed to stem from her background, as she was abused by her father, but even the android that Kara spots and that makes her confront the truth has the same quiet, demure, sad demeanor, implying that it’s simply how Alice’s model is programmed to be. Alice is not a character: she is a pet you are supposed to find adorable. The twist that she was never a “real” human, therefore, falls flat on its face: she doesn’t prove anything about the depth of emotions androids can experience. For all intents and purposes, she is the doll racist humans see androids as.

Aside from a brief interaction with Hero in the first several minutes of the game (which is promptly forgotten as soon as it ends), Mari spends most of its runtime only as fuel for Sunny and his friends’ grief. She is given no personality beyond being the Team Mom, isn’t fleshed out in any objective flashbacks (as in, flashbacks not colored by Sunny’s perception of her), and if the vision Sunny experiences on Two Days Left is her ghost, she isn’t plussed in the slightest by her dear little brother profaning her memory by deciding to keep up Basil’s lie. The one flaw the game tries to give her - perfectionism - has no bearing on her character until the moment the game uses it to give Sunny a reason to lash out at her, and the negative impact said flaw had on her life before the argument is glossed over. OMORI’s point that her desire to be perfect was the reason for her downfall, therefore, falls flat on its face: for all intents and purposes, Mari is perfect. 

Finally, both twists are detrimental to the stories they are in.  Supposedly, the twist of android Alice is meant to make you question whether or not you, the player, are going to love her all the same even after learning that she’s not human (although the question should be moot since all three protagonists are androids and the most popular one in the fandom is the most machine-like one). What the game fails to answer, however, is why Kara refused to accept reality and deluded herself into thinking Alice was human to the point of endangering both of them for the sake of playing pretend (this, on top of everything else, makes replaying the game much more frustrating, as you no longer care to give Alice proper shelter as she doesn’t really need it). The implication is that she, herself, believes an android child is inherently less deserving of love as a human one, an interesting concept of internalized bigotry that is never explored. Even worse than this, what before could be seen as a touching relationship between an android and a human, who despite the hatred surrounding them can form a family out of natural love, is now nothing more than two androids following their programming: Kara keeps being a caretaker as she’s supposed to do, and Alice keeps being the perfect little child as she’s supposed to be. While they both rebelled against their abusive master, it means that, at their core, they didn’t even deviate in the first place, and instead forced themselves back into their pre-programmed roles. This is the complete antithesis of the message of the game, which is that androids are more than their programming and they are, instead, people.

Similarly, OMORI’s plot twist turns what could’ve been an interesting story about such topics as teenage suicide and suicide bereavement into a farce. It’s one thing to play this game under the impression Sunny and co. are struggling to live a life their beloved sister and friend unexpectedly removed herself from, but it’s very different to replay it with the knowledge that all the pain Kel, Hero and Aubrey went through was pointless since Mari never killed herself in the first place and stemmed from one of their friends desecrating her corpse. Without warning, the story turns from being about overcoming the grief of losing a loved one to suicide into being about grappling with the guilt of a manslaughter and a huge lie that destroyed multiple friendships - a lie Sunny directly facilitated by lying to his friends by omission to save his own skin. The only character in the game to call Sunny out on this is his suicidal depression, and its arguments are framed as irrational self-loathing so they’d be easier to dismiss; the game’s best ending, meanwhile, has him conveniently avoid the consequences of his confession by moving town, not caring anymore about the feelings of his friends (or the well-being of Basil, whom he leaves to bear the brunt of the consequences). None of this would’ve been a problem if the game simply focused on Sunny moving on from blaming himself for his sister’s suicide instead.

So, this brings me back to the post's title - not only should a good plot twist be properly foreshadowed, but it should enhance the plot when experienced multiple times. The twists in OMORI and DBH fail to do so, and create the impression they were haphazardly inserted into the plot for the sake of subverting the audience's expectations, with little thought given to how they retroactively affect said plot.

Unfortunately, the only expectation they manage to subvert is the expectation of a completent story.

[ouabhs]

acftl review (finally)

I give it a 3 ⭐️ (as much as it pains me) even then it’s only this high bc I love evajacks so much

so I was finally able to gather my thoughts into one post and while there were many things I enjoyed a few others didn’t sit right..

1. the whole story curse thing.. it makes sense that the story curse would twist things which is why some things were left unexplained but it doesn’t feel like it was done deliberately?? it just felt like stephanie genuinely didn’t know how to tie some things together.. like sure not every single thing needs an explanation but she emphasised certain things wayyy too much in the first two books for them to be completely ignored for example evajacks talking to each other in their minds. Even the broken heart scar wasn’t addressed again after like halfway through acftl

2. too much apollo.. sorry this is not even just me being biased or whatever like I do agree his pov helped explain the plot from a different perspective but he got wayyy more of a backstory and a conclusion to his character than jacks for a someone that wasn’t as present in the last 2 books.. and this was supposed to be jacks’ series kinda (ik it was evangelines too) but I feel like jacks got sidelined hard and that’s disappointing. It also didn’t help that whenever there was an intense scene between evajacks the pov would switch to apollo.. to be fair I think having 3 povs was just hard to execute in general

3. the kiss scene.. usually it would not be a big deal but it’s a big part of jacks character that he can’t kiss girls without killing them idk I thought him finally getting to kiss evangeline would be a lot more… grand? they barely got a page or any detail and then the next chapter was “once upon a time there was kissing and more kissing 🥰🥰” which was even more underwhelming. Even apollo and evangelines kiss scenes were longer and more detailed and they got multiple

4. the overall vibe of the 3rd book felt very different to the first two I couldn’t put my finger on it at first but I feel like it had something to do with the writing.. at some parts it felt familiar (like all the descriptions and the fairytale aspects) but others it just felt different?

5. during too many scenes it just felt like stephanie was rewriting tbona.. like I haven’t really seen anyone say this yet but a good chunk of the book was quotes from tbona which I feel took up a lot of unnecessary space and could’ve been used to develop other plots or characters? Literally someone that hasn’t read tbona could get a gist of what happened cause it’s all summarised in there 😭

6. the plot in general.. contrary to popular belief I don’t think this was that romance focused (as people claim as to why things weren’t explained) because I think stephanie incorporated more plot in here but it was just different to what we saw in the last books because previous characters (luc, marisol, tiberius, kristof) weren’t as present in this book and new characters plots and explanations were just thrown in.. not much felt connected

7. jacks’ backstory.. (going back to my second point) how he became a fate was really glossed over I feel and was only briefly mentioned but I just wanted more.. I do like the fact that he said he did it for chaos and I wish their friendship was delved into more because he literally turned to immortality because his friend would be alone. What about his parents? His friendship with Lyric? The merrywood three in general? His life when he was trapped in the card?

8. the first fox.. again wayy too significant to be missed out especially since jacks doesn’t really remember whether or not he had a thing for her and chaos said evangeline was similar to her.. how was there no link?

I definitely have more to add but for now my main takeaway is that while tbona was very hard to top I feel like acftl could’ve been so much more especially since it was set up so well.. I think so many people are disappointed because it doesn’t hold up as well for the last book in a series but I’m just glad evajacks got their happy ending 🫠

[da-mous]

My thoughts on Walnuts & Rain

Hello burgers, fries, and everything in between! I didn't think I'd wanna write another Adventure Time post so soon, but I remembered Walnuts & Rain and really wanted to talk about it. Unlike Puhoy, nobody really talks about this one, but it's actually among my favorite episodes believe it or not! Both settings in this one really capture my imagination, and I like how the whole thing feels kind of like a fable. It's full of the kind of potent, unexplained weirdness you get in old fairytales, and I think that's cool!!

So, as a refresher, this episode has Finn & Jake falling down two different holes and ending up in two different situations that explore class disparity and the dangers of getting too comfortable

Finn falls into the Huge Kingdom, which seems to just be this one big room with food lining the walls, where the Huge King forever sits in his throne, constantly fed big food by little food boyz and excitedly anticipating the hourly chiming of his big cuckoo clock in an endless loop

The Huge King of course embodies absolute wealth and fortune. He never has to lift a finger. His servants bring him all the food he'll ever need, and his clock not only provides entertainment, it gives him something to anticipate, like a long cooldown timer in a predatory mobile game

The Huge King seems to idolize the concept of waiting. Almost everything he could want comes to him in time, and he doesn't seem to be aware that this isn't a universal law--it's a product of his privilege. But I did say almost everything...

Next to the Huge King's throne, Finn is put in a second throne half the King's size, but still way too big for Finn. It feels to me like the king had a companion at one point who left, or maybe he never had one, but he's been waiting all this time for one. Either way, when he tries to prevent Finn from leaving with force, it starts to seem clear to me that the Huge King is lonely

In this way I think he's as trapped as Finn is. He isn't fully satisfied here, but how could he ever think about leaving? Here, he's as fed as he'll ever need to be, and the clock provides an endless distraction from what he's missing

This is the lotus flower island trope I talked about in the Puhoy post played straight

Despite the tragedy of his situation, the Huge King is not really a character I want to sympathize with. He may come off like he doesn't understand the ethics of subjugating the food boys to endless labor, but I think on some level he does. His clock, which I imagine he commissioned since it's his size, says "in toil we krimber." People use weird words all the time in Adventure Time, but even Finn doesn't seem to know what "krimber" is. The message feels like deliberate yet meaningless propaganda glorifying labor to the food boyz

Further, the throne next to him is only half the size of his. Even his ideal companion would be beneath him, and I think his attempts to trap his new companion Finn show us why

The situation Jake falls into is in some ways the opposite of Finn's and in some ways the same. Having been knocked out before he fell, Jake wakes up on this platform that this bear dude is living on, parachuting endlessly in the dark pit. The bear dude, 7718, has been stuck down here waiting to reach the bottom so long he's lost track of time and forgotten his given name, but he's been able to survive off of the occasional walnuts and rain that fall into the pit. He passes the time playing Freecell, a spinoff of Solitaire--a much more active hobby than the King's

Despite his absolute poverty, 7 is like the chilliest dude ever. While he convinces Jake not to try to leave, it's only because he thinks Jake would be climbing so long he'd die of starvation. And, even though his gaunt appearance suggests the walnuts aren't even quite enough to sustain him, he doesn't even consider not sharing with Jake

While, like the King, 7 was completely alone until Jake arrived, he seems not to want for anything more than what he has. When Jake suggests they could play some two-player card games, 7 says he forgot games like that even existed, as if he never even imagined he might have a friend down here. The one book he has, "Dividing the Day", seems to me like a book about structuring your day efficiently. Despite all the nothing going on, I get the impression 7 makes the most he can of every day

Interestingly, like the King, 7's food comes to him through no action of his own. It comes only occasionally, is very sparse, and walnuts are pretty tough to crack, but all 7 has to do is wait and crack nuts

7's situation is one anyone would reasonably want to escape, but it seems hopeless to try. There's really nothing he could do besides jumping and hoping to land in water or something... but his needs are almost kindasorta met here, and maybe one day he'll finally reach the bottom, so how could he ever think about trying?

In both wealth and poverty, it can be easy to find a relative peak of comfort and stay there forever, never questioning or challenging the system that keeps you forever unfulfilled. It can be easy to put off worrying about fulfillment at all, trusting that the system around you will bring it to you one day, when in reality, it likely never will. Not without action

The cruel twist is that 7 was never falling. He's inside the exhaust tunnel from the hood of the King's stove, perpetually kept running to prepare the King an endless stream of food, creating a persistent updraft that keeps 7's platform floating in place. Considering that the walnuts seem like not quite enough to sustain him, 7 could have starved in obscurity and poverty, with the change he was waiting for simply never coming

While 7 could truly have done nothing to change his situation, Jake, with his stretchy powers, is technically able, but he believes it would be impossible because he thinks the hole is much deeper than it is

The King could fix everyone's situations, but he's content enough with his own, he doesn't want to let Finn go, and he isn't even aware that his constant stream of food is causing 7 and Jake's situation

Finn, not satisfied trapped in the life of the King, is the only one to persist in his desire to escape the hand he's dealt. He forms a completely off the wall plan that would free only himself by using the resources afforded to him by the Huge Kingdom, but he changes his mind halfway through executing it and instead decides to disrupt the order of things by destroying the King's clock

In destroying the thing that traps the King, Finn inadvertently knocks over a pot whose water puts out the flames on the stove, finally ending the updraft that kept 7's platform in place and freeing him and Jake, despite Finn not even knowing they were there

Finn didn't need a rock solid plan, a thorough understanding of the system, or any idea of what he would do next, in order to change the majority's lives for the better just by disrupting the order set by the ruling class. He avoided the danger of getting too comfortable

Thanks for reading!!

Once again, I have a lot more to say about this one beyond broad, thematic analysis, so I might follow this up with another list of odds, ends, and little things :) I'm super happy people liked my Puhoy post! I'm not the most experienced writer or analyst, but I hope my thoughts come through clearly enough and ring true to people. I think I'll keep writing these every now and then as long as I keep feeling like I have something new to say!

[yxurstrulyy]

: ̗̀➛ The sky and you

synopsis :: Soft moments with Rafayel. A story from his childhood.

The sound of the waves are both tantalizing and serene. The sand grazes gently upon your skin, with the occasional waves that brush your feet. Cold air kisses your skin, and you feel it come down to the thin fabric of your clothes, releasing a slow shudder of your shoulders.

Rafayel, you noticed - is still where you both once were before you had ran towards the spot which captures the picturesque beauty of the sunset. His eyes hold a quiet, unreadable glint, a soft smile slightly lifting the corners of his lips. You are almost forced to look away from how intensely he stares at you, as if you are a memory he wishes not to forget.

Already embarrassed and undoubtedly shy, you cower from his gaze and move your legs to approach him. If he won't move, you certainly will. You stop just a few inches away from him, his hand automatically being held against yours, a practiced gesture. Just as he had been staring earlier, he is looking away now. Quite the mystery he is - who shies away from affection yet yearns for it just as much as you do. “You're acting unusual,” you point out, eyes scanning his face to catch a glimpse of how his ears redden for every syllable out of your lips.

“Not coming?” you called out, too in the moment to comment on his decreased momentum or the uncharacteristic change to his demeanor. “Soon. Let me look at you for a while longer.” he huffs out a laugh, eyes crinkling with a tilt of his head. He looks awestrucked, like a boy caught in love at first sight. If he had a polaroid with him, he would have already captured the unexplainable beauty that is you.

“It's just the breeze. You know how cold it is.” he reasons, eyes closing to let out the huff he's been holding in his throat. You blink up at him in confusion, and maybe a bit in concern, but do not push any further. Rafayel had mentioned this specific part of the beach in the past, and the memories he had made here from a long, long time ago. Could it be nostalgia that is acting upon him? Or the passionate moment getting caught in his heart, holding him tightly in place? Nonetheless, you take the initiative to pull on his hand and guide the both of you through the cool night.

Finally, Rafayel opened his mouth to let out his thoughts. "When I was young, I went here often.” Rafayel had never been one to keep quiet, especially around you. His words just come out naturally, as if he never runs out of things to say. It is an endearing part of him, a trait that just makes him, him. You don't stop your deliberate pace on the sand, and only look back when you feel him tug at your wrist. You follow the direction of his eyes to see the splashes of colors laid over the clouds to present the twinkle of the stars. For once, you wish you could stop time and let Rafayel admire the scenery for much longer.

"The sea didn't have a sky, so I was foreseeably drawn into the dark hues that appear in the horizon.” with his left hand clasped around yours, he reaches his right one out onto the sky, as if to grab the clouds that got overlapped by his palm. “I had wondered if the sky, too, had inhabitants of its own. At one point, I dreamt of touching the sky and stealing its color for a drawing, because nothing from the sea could replicate the shades I want.”

The thought of seeing Rafayel on the shore as a child, alone and at peace, graces a smile to your lips. You imagine his neck hurting from how long he would tilt his head to admire the scenery, and a soft laugh escapes through you. “There you are, laughing for no reason again.” Rafayel grunts, but not without an affectionate squeeze to your hand. He rests his head against yours, his eyes gazing at you with his signature smile back on his face.

“You once told me that you saw an otter hug a fish and spun it around. I'd like to see a similar scenario one day.” you blurt out, and immediately hear Rafayel laughing not a few seconds after. Although he is most likely going to start teasing you again, you can't help but smile along. He coughs out something along the lines of ‘you actually remembered!’ but you can barely make out the pronunciation from how much he's been laughing.

“There aren't many sea creatures that come here anymore,” Rafayel says once he calms, his head turning to look around the desolate beach that silences the cries of faraway seagulls. The sound of the waves accompany you in your thoughts, and you can almost feel the breeze pushing you towards him. “Buuuut,” he grins, surprising you by placing his hands on your waist and lifting you off of your feet. “R-Rafayel!” you scream loudly, your eyes widening once he commits the tomfoolery of spinning you around in his arms.

“You can't see it in person, so how about we recreate it!” you can't begin to explain how crazy he sounded, yet you swallowed down your pride to indulge in this moment's happiness, your screaming deliberately turning into shared laughter with the man you love. He glides the both of you on the sand, like a dancer on stage. His final twirl causes him to lose balance, yet thankfully catches both you just in time. He is inches away from your face, a comfortable distance for a passionate kiss.

"Originally, I wanted to experience that same feeling of awe when I saw the sky for the first time,” his breath tickles your skin, his head now buried in the crook of your neck. "But instead of the sky, I see myself looking at you."

He is just a man in love, and as any man in love would, he seals his words with a kiss.

[minothtime]

Xenoblade 3 Future Redeemed lore recap (obviously, spoilers ahead) but it's all just what I remember:

Lucky Seven contains what amounts to souls, most likely from the XC2 cast, and Shulk's Replica Monado presumably contains XC1's cast's due to both being forged with Origin metal (implied for the R. Monado)

What we knew as XC1 Alvis, a.k.a. Ontos, split into two: a half being a powerful, god-like machine (Alpha), and the other half being compassionate, amicable and having Alvis' memories and feelings, along with future visions (A).

Ontos was the intermediary between Logos and Pneuma in the Trinity Processor; where Logos presented as a male and Pneuma as a female, Ontos was neither, both, the middle, etc.

Some people were not assimilated into Origin for unknown reasons, though it's presumably because they were needed for events to happen.

Origin's architecture is based on Ontos' core.

Speaking about cores, Ontos (or A) remains watching over the world, Logos is heavily implied to be embedded in N's sword and Pneuma is straight up shown in Matthew's metal fists. Whatever that means.

Alpha's intention was to creat a world akin to that of Klaus', and for that he needed the people of the City as "fuel".

SPEAKING OF KLAUS' WORLD!!!! Apart from the apparent social unrest due to some human rights trouble (the "Saviourite Act" pretended to protect them), the main city seems to be divided in 13 districts (one of them called Minos, with a Dmitri Yuriev as a political figure). There also had been shuttle launches: the Radamanthus (XC2's First Low Orbit Station) can be seen, and the Terrestrial Evacuation Project aka Exodus had launched at least eight motherships to ferry out people. The eighth one, called Icarus, was intended to transport 480k people to "Eta Carinae, in the Carina-Sagittarius Arm in the Milky Way". So far there were 3M people shipped out, with plans to take out up to 10M in a new model (Philadelphia).

Shulk and Rex bent the literal rules of the world so Glimmer and Nikola (their children!!!!) could actually live their lives by using their own life force or whatever

N never wanted to kill Ghondor, but he had to do it and accept it because Ghondor asked for it.

The worlds did end up fusing through Origin properly! Everyone is fine and happy :D

Riku is one of Riki's eleven children, and was a disciple of Melia (his masterpon). How he's still alive..... is still left unexplained. I assume it's fuckery on Melia and A's side.

Both Pyra and Mythra are theoretically not connected to Pneuma's core itself anymore, as per the ending of XC2, and we do see Pneuma's true core without them nearby. Glimmer's core is not Pneuma, it just has the shape to hammer in the connection.

It is left deliberately vague if Shulk and Fiona ever got married. Though it seems to be the case, as Rex calls Dunban his brother-in-law.

Still unknown where Matthew's surname comes from........ XC1's Vandham, perhaps?

Riku did help create the Ouroboros stone, which is basically Pneuma's role in XC3.

[whumpitisthen]

A True Sacrifice

It's an exceptionally quiet day at the facility today. The corridors are empty, the guards are sparse and the cafeteria buzzes with a nervous anticipation.

The slop the staff have the gall to call food has never been quite this well received. While usually most of the captives find distracting each other with idle chatter more pleasant than chowing down on the watery stew, today no one even looks another in the eyes. Everyone is hunched over their own trays and concentrate on only that, whispering to their neighbouring chairs if they must. No one is absent.

He sits at the end of a mostly empty table, watching two women share worried looks, looking over their shoulders for danger. The guards stand at attention, a serious look on all their faces. The black armoured uniforms and powerful looking rifles, while not exactly unexpected to see, are certainly an upgrade to the batons and the lighter padded outfits they usually have on. They do not communicate with each other either, only murmur into their radios once in a while, keeping their concealed eyes trained on the inmates.

He had heard too, of course. He heard about what is meant to go down today.

He has learned to both love and despise things like this — uncommon things. On the one hand, every day is the exact same — same food, same chores, same tests, same abuse. Unpleasant and mind-numbingly boring; and so when something scary enough happens that even the guards don their full security gear, he finds a particular interest in the careful air that settles over them.

On the other hand, nothing good ever comes from disorder. Not when everyone is warned in advance for an upcoming 'event'. Not when nearly every doctor, assistant and low ranking security officer has left the building, and only the most highly trained special forces remain, locked in a room with all the prisoners. Not when the name of that creature is mentioned in the report.

There are many unexplainable phenomena that exist between these four walls. Some of them are harmless, simply illogical items that humanity does not understand just yet, and so they keep them here until they do. A lot of them are harmful, yet not fully understood, so they are kept for examination as well as safety concerning the rest of the world. There are even some creatures, some that seem friendly or non-violent at worst, but are nevertheless held here for the nature of their bodies or their abilities or whatever else the scientists deem them unfit to be let free for.

And then some of them are downright dangerous, evil beings. Ones who need to be kept locked up and closely monitored, because all they know is destruction. Ones that find their purpose in deliberately hurting humans or anything living. Efficient killers, chaotic entities, spirits of another time or even dimension who almost resemble humans, but are twisted in their minds, harming those they meet, even if hurting isn't their intention. Plagues, contained disasters, beasts, hypnotic objects, a hive mind. He has been lucky enough not to be sent to visit any of them so far. He has heard horror stories from some of the older, more experienced prisoners, and was allowed to read some of their files every once in a while by a doctor who seemed just as fascinated by these things as him. Just the thought of being in the vicinity of some of these subjects sends a violent chill down his spine.

Well, he has been lucky so far. Maybe he will remain lucky enough to avoid today's guest as well?

The lights flicker, and any idle noise that may have existed before then is sucked out of the air. Every captive is frozen stiff, hesitantly jerking their heads in all directions wide-eyed, looking for guidance. He, for one. chooses to lean on his elbows and hunch over, walking through a prayer in his head. He can feel it approaching.

He had read the note left on his wall over and over; a small, torn, yellowed piece of paper with dark spots and browning ink. Unsure of who could have left it there, he settled on it being a normal occurrence in this place, and that maybe one of the friendlier creatures decided to leave him with some advice. He hopes it's advice, anyway.

"It exists in laws set by your kind only as long as it remains entertained. It has been knocking on its door for a week, louder every day. Its observers are terrified!

Tomorrow, it will ask for more entertainment."

The lights flicker again, three times in a row, and now people are starting to panic. Everyone was told to stay still, quiet and calm — if they want to survive. Normal people would at least question that casual threat on their lives, but most prisoners here have already learned that if you are ordered to follow such strange rules that come from the researchers, there is most definitely a very good reason you were, and should do your best to do as they say. If they tell you you cannot, say, look inside an inconspicuous red book with a gash on its cover set on a pedestal in the middle of the cell it's placed in, you better not, because chances are, someone before you has, and whatever happened to them was bad enough to warrant a warning for those that follow. He, regrettably, has had first-hand experience with that one. The things he saw on those pages still haunt him to this day, mixing into vivid night terrors every time he closes his eyes. He hasn't disobeyed anyone since then.

Despite all that, warnings are truly useless when primal instincts take over. He can pick out a couple of people starting to break down in fear, who are promptly held close by other captives — not entirely out of worry for them, more so out of concern for the collective them. It's best to help out the weak link in case their own skins are on the line and they become collateral damage because of one idiot who couldn't just sit still like he was told.

The guard closest to him talks into his radio, and in the quiet, he can pick out that even the soldier's voice is shaking with nerves. He wonders if all these armoured, scary looking guys will even be able to do anything if shit hits the fan. This doesn't seem like the kind of experiment that can be fixed with some guns and ammo if it goes wrong. If it was, there would be hundreds of the guys and the doctors would at least be present in the vicinity. They must be here for another reason; maybe to observe what happens inside while the scientists are away.

One thing they were all told was that once the lights go out, it will enter the room, and that once it does, everyone is absolutely prohibited from moving or reacting to anything at all until the lights are back on. No exceptions. They were told to just squeeze their eyes shut, keep their lips sealed and bear it until it's over. If they can do that, nothing will happen to them.

Then they were told that one of them won't make it out.

That's when it all came together in his head. He knows exactly which creature will visit today. He knows why it's visiting and how horrible the consequences of being picked by it are. He knows exactly what that note meant.

This is a subject that cannot be contained. Not by humans, not by any specific material, not by any spell or limit or whatever else. It has no weakness to be exploited, nor does it have a special connection to anything that could be manipulated. It exists outside of the laws set for people in this world, including but not limited to the very laws of physics. The only reason it remains here and obeys the rules of the facility is because it is playful and conceited, and it fancies a bit of fun more than senseless, endless tyranny over this world. It likes messing with people, hurting them and distressing them greatly with its presence. It finds humans fascinating. It is confident they cannot do anything about its existence or actions, but it finds living without consequences far too boring and predictable. No fun at all.

So, it made a deal with humans. It would act in accordance with the rules set for it by humanity for as long as they can entertain it. It will remain in its cell, it will not hurt anyone, it will not cause problems on purpose, it will not show itself at all — remaining a shadow dwelling monster instead, making it so that as long as there is light, it cannot cause mischief. All that on the principle of  playing a fair game, of course. This makes controlling it not only possible, but easy. Unless, of course, the rules of the game are not adhered to well enough. Or it decides to bend some rules or find loopholes. It would not be the first time.

The price? A sacrificial lamb. It will be provided with one human of its choice, who it will ‘play’ with as much as it wants. However, its definition of fun and play are very different from what one might expect — it wishes only to bring that person to the very brink over and over, stretching them thinner and breaking them down to tiny pieces that it can build into something different and observe. And then, once that human breaks one too many times from the constant relentless torture and bending of the mind — if they even manage to survive for that long, — it tears them apart and demands another one. It will leave its cell to look for a new toy from the collection of prisoners provided by its captors. The deal seemed miraculously beneficial at the time to everyone, and it probably still remains so to this day. After all, what's one dead human every once in a while in exchange for control over what some believe to be the devil himself?

The young man reminisces about the note. It said the beast has been banging on its door for a week, getting louder and louder each day. It must have been getting very impatient after having finally snuffed out another life and waiting to be sent someone new. He heard it’s always a surprise when it decides it has grown bored. Sometimes it only takes a few days for the sacrifice to be tortured to death, other times it keeps its playthings around for months, slowly consuming them on a level no one could ever understand but them and their tormentor. It meticulously morphs them into something they never wanted to be and forces them into a corner by repetition and pain. It leaves him nauseous, the thought of what the poor guy who is chosen will be made to go through. This is an anomaly; there is no telling if the first chosen will even make it out of this room.

Now, the lights in the hallway leading to the cafeteria dim, flickering erratically until they finally die out one by one. It's like watching it approach in real time, not by seeing its body walk, only the darkness that follows it grow. Not long before it reaches the double doors — locked to keep everyone inside in the event of panic taking over and chaos ensuing, — he makes the conscious decision to take a deep breath and relax as much as he possibly can. He lays his head on top of the table in front of him, forehead warming the metal surface. He then surrounds himself with his arms tightly, building a little tent of warmth and protection to hopefully block out any sound or sight that may distress him. Maybe he can just completely ignore everything around him. Maybe it will be over quicker than he thinks. Maybe it won't even look his way if he can make himself small and unassuming enough, just quickly snatches up someone else and leaves right after, returning to its cell forever and he will never see it again. It's possible. That's the best he can hope for.

His heart stutters in unison with everyone else's when the last light outside goes out with a droning buzz, concealing what must be eyes peering in through the windows at the top. In the deathly silence, three slow, innocent knocks ring loud against every eardrum.

It is here. 

"May I come in?" — follows its intimidating voice soon after. A grin can be heard through its low, throaty timbre, twisted humour dripping from its tongue. It sounds like it finds the notion of obeying powerless creatures like humans amusing. Like someone pretending to be invested in playing house with their niece, struggling to keep a straight face as they play along in something so juvenile.

None of the guards react, while the captives only plant their hands firmer to their mouths. You'd have to be some special kind of stupidly arrogant to think anything you say will be taken seriously by this thing. He supposes if such arrogance exists, it would be found among the head professors here. They must think themselves deities to be fucking around with supernatural destructive entities like this one without fear.

To his surprise, the hesitant footsteps of the guard next to him reach his ears, fading towards the entrance. Are they actually going to open the door for it? A tremendous amount of concentration is required to squash any thoughts coalescing in his brain of making a run for it and slipping out through the door while it's unlocked. Even if he somehow miraculously got through it, what would it solve? He would get shot before he makes it that far, and if not, then he will be running right into the clutches of a monster. Nevertheless, his desperate mind tries convincing itself that there is a way out of this.

"Aw, really now... Is there no one willing to play with me? I'll behave, I promise," — it all but whines, but he can feel its impatience growing. He has never been more aware of the hairs on the back of his neck than now as they prickle and lift with the shiver that runs down his back. Maybe it is for the best that one of the security officers grew a pair and decided to join in on the game of pretend, if only so it will stop hauntingly musing and clawing at that damn door. — "Oh! Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The guard says nothing in response, completely ignoring its mockery. He hears the keycard sliding into its slot on the wall, unlocking the doors with a sharp electric shriek. With great hesitance, and an audible inhale, the soldier reaches for the horizontal bar to push down on and open up the way inside for the menacing thing, stepping off to the side in tandem with the swing of the door hinges.

As the door is pulled open, there is only a blink of massive, sharp claws latching onto it before the light bulbs inside the cafeteria explode at once, drowning everything in near complete darkness, leaving only the red hue of the emergency lighting painting the walls with bloody shadows. A small commotion breaks out, the dramatic change in surroundings managing to freak out a few people, causing a bit of a scene towards the leftmost corner from where he sits. Listening to others panic only serves to scare him more, but he manages to keep it all under his skin, trying to distract himself from his quickly rising heart rate by self soothing motions. Around and ‘round, over and over again his thumb travels the sleeve of his prison uniform. Slow circles. He concentrates on trying to do the most perfect circle he can on the smooth fabric.

The small panic is ignored by the creature for now in favour of focusing on the valiant effort from the guard who was brave enough to approach it. It must appreciate the gesture.

It breathes out a chuckle that barely sounds human at all. — "What a brave little soldier you are. Thank you for letting me in, Brandon. Lovely to see you again."

It knows the guard? As far as the prisoner knows, no one here wears name badges at all except for him and the other captives. It could be that he guards the creature's cell, and they have interacted before. Perhaps seen each other. However, that still does not explain how it could know his name when no one is allowed to talk to it.

"Tell me — is your wife still ill? Have you managed to scrape together enough money to save her yet?" — It coos at the armoured guard, enunciating each word to draw out the hurtful sentence. This seems like an incredibly intimate, serious conversation to be having right now. Something tells him that it's not that the two have been chatting away with each other when nobody's looking, more so that it just knows much more about the people residing here than it lets on. The way it phrased the question seems too mean-spirited and mocking to be genuine, and the sympathetic drawl it used was less than convincing.

"Now, what is that expression for? I'm merely curious." — The guard must gesture or nod in some way, because though he says nothing in response, the prisoner can hear the heavy, languid steps of the creature entering the cafeteria finally, huffing in dramatic annoyance. That grin does not leave its mouth. — "Alright, alright. Don't let me distract you from your very important job."

The doors close and the telltale buzzer of the lock sliding back into place seals the fate of each captive in the room.

For the first time since it got here, it finally acknowledges the presence of the crowd of people anticipating their possible deaths sitting in neat rows at long lines of tables. He can only hope no one is dumb enough to act out; there is no telling what it will do if it is displeased. — "Awe, just look at you all. Trembling in your boots, like newborn kittens."

As it stalks deeper into the room, he listens to Brandon move back to his position next to him. He catches the clicking of his armour sheets knocking into each other from his shivering, despite him standing completely still. Even through the mask it's obvious how hard he is trying to keep it together, taking long, deep breaths in order to keep calm. The captive wonders if it was an allotted job to open the door for the creature, or if he really just thought it best to play along with its games.

"No need to be so scared… After all, I'm the most harmless thing in this facility. Perfectly contained and controlled. Predictable!" — It bangs on one of the tables right after 'predictable', jerking everyone in the cafeteria terribly. It giggles to itself in delight. Despite the warning the prisoners received about not reacting to anything it does, it has yet to punish failure to follow rules. And truthfully, everyone flinched, including the security personnel surrounding the room. It pauses, glancing from prisoner head to prisoner head, then passes over the guards once, waiting a good few seconds before continuing. — "You are all so well-behaved — were you expecting me? Did you know I would come out to play today?"

The way it saunters through the room like it belongs anywhere near here is almost disorienting. Somehow he is the one who feels like he doesn't belong. And truly, he doesn't. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here if that one guard didn't see him sneaking out of his cell a few weeks ago. He would be free, finishing up university and truly starting out his adult life. He wishes every day for a miracle, but he doesn't even know what kind of miracle would be able to save him. One that could destroy this whole damn building, let everyone who was kidnapped against their will free, while also trapping all the abnormal, dangerous curiosities and experiments it holds safely deep below the surface.

The next time the thing speaks, its voice comes from a radically different direction from where he heard its footsteps leading. — "I did warn them in advance... It can't be that I frightened them so much they ran off, can it? There is not another soul in this whole place but us, little lambs."

A sharp gasp and a sob, somewhere to his far right. There is the subtle whisper of the uniforms the captives wear, the noise it makes as it is twisted. It has someone. Has it grabbed them? He wants to see what's happening so bad, but he wants to stay alive more. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut. — "It's so nice of them to leave me such a lovely gift."

"No, please, please — "

"It's just unfortunate that they had wasted my time — and yet more unfortunate that they didn't even come to watch me some more, as they so like to do."

It must have made its choice. He prepares himself for the death wail and desperate pleading of the poor soul, expecting the monster to latch into them and drag them away back to its own cell soon. He tries to plug his ears and curl up as tight as possible, to somehow block out the terrible, traumatising event and be glad it wasn't him that was chosen. What a morbid, inhumane thought. The only thing more shameful than being happy for another's misfortune is the fact he feels absolutely no shame for thinking like that.

“Hmm… I was really looking forward to showing them this."

The screech of agony comes and grows in volume so quickly he barely has time to jam his fingers deeper into his ears before it ends. Abruptly. A sickening crunch and a splash of liquid hitting the linoleum floor, then silence. Deathly silence. No one dares to utter a word. What happened? Is it over? He certainly won't be the one to risk asking.

Long enough goes by for one of his fellow captives to ask instead of him, tears audible in her voice. He would be lying if he wasn't close to bawling as well. — "I-Is it over?" — comes the innocent whisper. When her voice isn't immediately answered with violence and death, he dares to open up his fingers just a little to look through the cracks. She would not have been able to even finish that sentence if it wasn't over, right?

He sees a massive shadow cross the room right in front of him, blocking out the red light beating down on his face for only a split second. It moved inhumanely fast. It was inhumanely tall. It also had at least three more pairs of long limbs than a human would, each ending in too many bladed fingers.

It's gone before he could even squeeze his eyes shut again, already out of sight. It moves rapidly and without a sound — a horrible chill freezes his body in place at the primal fear that takes hold of him. He prays it didn't catch him flinching so violently.

Right after he concludes that it is definitely not gone yet, it answers the question for her, —

"I am afraid I am not done just yet."

The same woman who spoke up now screams for her life, her desperate cry only overpowered by the creature's demented laughter as it tears her apart without as much as another word. All that remains is the latter half of her corpse, fallen to the ground with a dull, final thud. This is bad, this is very bad. It must have killed its first chosen as well, — is he just meant to sit there until his turn comes? Just hope that his shivering and gasping of terror won't be too loud for it to end him? How long is he meant to stay like this?

Its long, deep sigh is filled to the brim with contentment. — "You break so easily..."

A shot goes off then, deafening like the screeching, roaring guffaws it lets out as it bends to dodge the bullet, leaping away into a corner swiftly. It clicks its tongue, probably at the one who shot at it. Its voice drops to a low growl that resembles the purr of a carnivore. — "Aww, did I break a rule? Did I make the big, scary humans angry?"

More shots follow in rapid succession, exploding from all angles, more and more of the guards lifting their respective guns to join in. Now the captives are made to scream from the added stress, frightened not only by the creature's antics, but from the gunfire as well. Some almost hope to get shot rather than ripped in twain by it. If any bullets reach at all they do not hurt it, as the only reaction it gives is uncontrollable laughter and mockery.

Worst of all, he can't even tell who's still alive anymore. Between the bullets and the creature roaming the floor, there's no way nobody is caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet catches his shoulder, singing his skin on its way. He cries out, gripping at it, but luckily it is more busy jumping from prisoner to prisoner to use them as living shields than with punishing them for their understandable reactions one by one. Something sounds almost bitter in its voice as it speaks between the rain of bullets.

"You almost got me!"

A muffled cry and the sound of a heavy rifle hitting the floor.

"Go on, make me obey!"

Ripping of armour, of flesh.

"Show me how scary you can be!"

Something bangs on the table in front of him with a sickening crunch.

"Oh, you shot your own. How sad."

In the end, when the fire dies down and silence stretches between drips of blood, no one dares to say a word. Whoever is still alive has either passed out from injuries or overstimulation, or has receded so deep inside their own minds that they still twitch and quake at echoes of long gone fire. He feels closer to the latter, unable to even move an inch if he tried, ears ringing like a church bell.

The room now strongly smells of gunpowder and blood. Most of the soldiers are dead, only a couple hiding away in corners, injured or just terrified, and a single one standing stock still, hands clasped tightly around his gun. He can hear him gasping for air.

It wanders between the corpses as if it was skipping through a meadow of flowers. It seems just as peaceful too.

"Mmm..." — It stops somewhere in the middle of the room, cocking its head to the side. It coughs out a snicker. — "Now you seem disappointed in me."

It's talking to someone again, but who? He's sure he's the only one left conscious after all that. His toes curl with the thought that it is talking to him.

"Oh, could it be?" — It sounds giddy, growing louder, condescending. It stretches every syllable threateningly, playful. His guts tie themselves in knots at its awful tone. — "I can hear you, Doctor! Brandon, you didn't tell me you had her on the line!"

If he concentrates, he can just barely pick out the tiny voice yelling orders at Brandon from his radio. He is obviously not following them, clutching that heavy piece of metal in his hands like his last lifeline, hugging it close instead of defending himself with it. He does not move, but the creature doesn't mind walking closer to him instead, kicking corpses out of the way nonchalantly. — "She has caught it all, has she? Doctorrrr, why didn't you show up today? I was looking forward to seeing you."

It is coming closer again, closer to Brandon most likely. He wonders just what in the actual hell this guy did to have made friends with something like it. One wrong move is enough for it to tear out your throat, and yet it treats him like a dear friend compared to everyone else. The tip of his rifle still burns from all the lead he shot its way prior to it killing off most of his colleagues.

The radio has become suspiciously quiet.

"You left me this delicious gift, but didn't even come to see me? Brandon, tell her to come visit me!" — It is right next to him, talking to Brandon — it's just his luck that he managed to sit next to the murder demon's only buddy.

Brandon says nothing. It's voice darkens then, purring out these words, — "I truly would have loved to see you today, doctor. It's a shame you weren't here. I would have been more than happy to let you join in on the fun. I would have loved to show you the consequences of your carelessness in person."

The radio sparks to life again, her voice coming hurriedly, — yelling at Brandon to shoot it now now now — but not much more makes it out before it grips the black box and tears it off of the guard, whispering right into it to make sure the one on the other side listens well, — “Next time you need someone to test your new toys out on, make sure they actually work before you piss me off. See you on Monday, love.”

Whichever scientist it is talking to starts yelling again, voice distorting with the steadily increasing pressure it uses to crush the small device in its hand. The last dying static that makes it out of the speaker is snuffed out viciously, causing both other men to flinch when it shoves the thing into the wall right next to Brandon's head, shattering it to pieces and letting the plastic shards fall to the blood covered floor. It's silent once again.

So the fuckers were watching. Of course they were, nothing happens in this godforsaken place without their knowledge. However, what the demon meant was clear — the scientists have displeased it by making it wait despite their agreement, angered it when they didn't even come in to witness its retribution in person out of cowardice — proving they knew fully well they had messed up — and then made it furious when they opened fire as soon as it began doling out more pain than they thought it should. All that, banking on these new weapons being sufficient enough to stop it. It’s all clear to him now — it decided to hold this horrifying spectacle as a punishment and as a warning in response to the arrogance that had let the researchers slip up and forget their place. Now, of course, the ones paying for it are people like him, with no control over the situation, not people like that doctor watching from a safe distance from what must be another lab, or even her own home, free of all consequences for her rash actions.

Well, free for now. He doubts it will forget her disrespect come Monday. If he was in her place, he would quit and never return.

"What do you think, my darling Brandon? Shall I make the message more prominent?" — Its spine creaks like a firecracker. He imagines the massive thing hovering over the cornered soldier with a scary grin, daring him to shoot it so it can make him regret he was ever born in the blink of an eye. The last bastion of this toy castle, standing between a wall and a creature that could tear down this entire building, if only it wanted to.

No shots are fired, no screams are heard. A loud metallic bang on the floor — Brandon dropping his weapon. The creature hums a pleasant sound after nearly a minute of unsettling eye-contact and only the sound of their own breathing, finally snickering and backing off of the terrified guard. It seems satisfied. — “Atta boy. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Brandon’s quivering lips part behind the mask of his helmet, letting past a shaky exhale. He pushes himself back further, searching for balance on the wall behind him with his knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Though he is a special case, he is far from immune to the vicious whims of the horrific creature.

The monster begins wandering the room once again, surveying the darkness for prisoners that may still be alive. Its demeanour has changed, though; it seems much more irritable, less playful. It is no longer hiding its heavy footsteps, and it no longer taunts and mocks neither Brandon, nor anyone else. He doesn't know if the change is a good or a bad thing. He's only glad it hadn't noticed him yet.

It finds a possible candidate for itself  but kills them off in the same moment when said candidate jumps to their feet in a blind panic and tries to run from it. It sends an arm through their abdomen, lifting them up towards the ceiling and tossing them into a wall, no doubt shattering their spine and killing them. The way it kills does not become any less terrifying, no matter how many times he has to listen to bones crack and flesh rip. It sighs, moving on. — “Disappointing. Awfully disappointing.”

Another life snuffed out not a minute later — it's almost dismissive with how carelessly it sends bodies flying through the air like puppets. No one seems to be able to satisfy it. It’s like it has lost interest in playing along. That isn't exactly surprising, if he thinks about it. If he was such an all-powerful, menacing beast with no kryptonite, and his fun was ruined by the people he had made a deal with out of boredom, he probably wouldn't stick to the rules either, but ignore them and look for other ways to amuse himself.

However, stuck with his thoughts as he is, the only thing he could truly concentrate on is one question: what if no one will be chosen by it today? It can surely just break out of here and look for more meat, if not just completely abandon the agreement and go on a merciless hunting spree. That would be disastrous, maybe irreversible. He can only hope that if he is killed today, unable to please it, it will at least find the motherfucker who kidnapped him and kill them too. All of them.

Bodies that still have a soul in them are scarce. The mental fortitude he needs to stay so still and quiet as he listens to it smashing someone's skull into a wall just a couple tables over has become even scarcer. He's going to die here. He will. It doesn't want a prisoner like him, it just wants to destroy. No rules tie it down until the doctors repent, and to repent they might have to give their lives. It's just going to kill off each leftover prisoner one by one; probably Brandon too once it runs out of defenceless captives.

“Is this it? This is what I was made to wait for?” — It comes up behind another man and doesn't even wait for him to react, snapping his neck in one quick motion. — “What a waste of my time. This is getting more and more boring, Brandon, and you know how I get when I'm bored.”

As if demonstrating, it snaps the arm of a person lying on the ground, already injured from a gunshot just to hear them wail. Once it heard enough, it tears off the whole limb, and moves onto the next one, not letting up until their body finally gives out. The prisoner can't see any of it, but he can more than sufficiently imagine it from the horrid sounds.

He can hear frustration clear as day in its otherwise emotionless voice. This is the end. It's only a matter of time before it finds him. At least he won't be taken by it, tortured for god knows how long; and he takes solace in that. His death will be brutal, but quick. Maybe he should just get its attention and be done with it.

He considers it, but his train of thought is swiftly interrupted. — “May I make a suggestion?”

It's a timid, yet loud, hesitant voice muffled by a padded helmet. No one but silence answers it. The beast stops in its tracks, pausing for just a moment. He cannot believe he heard that right. The first thing he feels is bitterness, for he really will be left all alone when the creature eliminates this suicidal soldier before him.

“Brandonnn…” — it sings at him, a vile, dangerous melody crawling with unsaid intentions. However, to his surprise, it doesn't instantly leap across the floor to tackle the guard and behead him for breaking a rule. Instead, its eyes find Brandon, humming to him from what sounds to be across the room. It brings small relief to hear that smile having returned to its face. If nothing else, at least it's interested again.  — “You are being very brave today. You aren't supposed to speak to me, don't you know? It's very dangerous.”

It purrs at him knowingly, but doesn't pounce on him. Not yet. What could Brandon's plan be? Distraction? Self-sacrifice? Maybe the monster whisperer can find a way to calm it down after all. He holds his breath, praying that whatever the guard is about to do doesn't end in more carnage.

“Well, seeing as, uh, we're all breaking the rules, I thought I'd, I'd join in.” — It's unusual to hear a prison guard so nervous; usually they sound either bored and emotionless, or antagonistic as they drag captives off to help out with deadly experiments that are too dangerous for more important people to take part in. It's hard to feel righteous joy at listening to one of the people who routinely treats all like him as less than human finally being on the receiving end of the cruelty of a subject like this when he may be next; but he can't say it's impossible. Every stutter makes both men more anxious, and the monster more intrigued.

The creature starts walking towards him at a languid pace. The guard tenses. — “You just can't help playing with fire.” — He can almost hear Brandon's heart pounding from where he cowers. The silence is deafening. — “And what may your suggestion be?”

He hesitates to answer. It’s approaching him, now closing in on him much too quick to think clearly. Like a timer, counting down with each step towards his death. Like convincing the Grim Reaper to grant him more time.

As it steps up to him, towering over the man in a terribly intimidating fashion, he forces himself to answer it in the smallest, most strained little voice he has ever heard from a guard, — “I think you would like this one.”

The confusion is quickly overridden by terror. It can't be. Brandon can't do this to him. It's not hard to imagine what the offering could be, but he still tries to come up with a different answer. Breathing becomes a challenge. The creature's curiosity has been peaked, however. It looks towards where Brandon points with a questioning hum.

The prisoner can feel its gaze landing on him. Its voice travels towards him while it addresses the guard.

“I am very curious why you think I would.”

For a moment, hope reappears in his heart. He at the very least managed to put it in a better mood and distracted it, but that is not enough to save anyone, especially not him, now that he drew attention to him like this. Everyone is still just as stuck, but maybe a miracle could happen, and he manages to convince it to go after someone else — the doctor, for example. Whichever one pissed it off so bad.

Brandon swallows thick as he thinks of the right words to say next. The longer he talks, the more his hope of ever getting out of this in one piece diminishes. — “He, he has been behaving perfectly this whole time. He has been quiet, and still, and, and I know you like the ones that, uh… that are easy on the eyes, as well as obedient.”

The creature is laser focused on every word he says, equal parts amusement and something darker lurking beneath. — “I must say, it is nice to hear your voice. A welcome change. Keep talking for me. Convince me.”

It turns away from Brandon to scrutinise the captive’s quivering body instead, burning holes into the top of his head. Though he cannot see what's going on, he can hear it very well, and when it starts walking over to him, he gags on a sob and his breaths become irregular.

“Right, uhh — I've seen him around a lot. He's new, but he's never really been a troublemaker. He, uh, seems smart, a bookworm. A loner. I heard he was a top student at a nearby academy before he was brought here. I always see him reading reports and docs. I'm sure he's read yours too. Maybe he could be… interesting, to play with. Right?” — This was humiliating, dehumanising and evil. With every word it became harder to stay still, yet easier to lose himself in despair. Brandon is basically killing him in the most roundabout, terrifying way. It seems to be considering this option, thinking it over. — “Come on, what else…  And, uhh, I spoke to him once. I think you'd like his voice, he's got this soft, light way of speaking. Maybe it sounds good as he… screams. You know? He cries easily too. I've heard from one of the others that he's a crybaby. He isn't used to pain. His life was pretty easy as far as I know, so he bruises easily. I think he, uhh, he could… entertain you for a little bit?”

“Mmm. Is that so…” — It's behind him, it's right behind him, what is he meant to do? He no longer supports Brandon's idea, and he downright despises it once the demon starts touching him. He feels its long fingers wrap around his shoulder, teasing at his neck. It purrs as it listens to Brandon, clearly delighted by some of the things he says about him in this awful, uncomfortable, much too personal rant. — “Oh, that does sound very enticing. And he is indeed very well behaved. I barely noticed him at all.”

As it leans over him to observe from up close, he gives up entirely on trying to survive, jerking away from those awful, dangerous claws with a whimper; to the delight of the monster. He doesn't want to be chosen, he really doesn't, he can't do this, he can't — but he can't even force a single plea out of his throat. He is frozen solid, yet pliable in its embrace as it circles him, inspects him, smells him. Possibly worst of all, he can't even bring himself to be angry with Brandon. He probably would have tried something similar in his place. However painful it feels to be betrayed by someone who seemed to be on his side, it is still for the greater good to sacrifice one for the lives of many. He just never expected to be sacrificed himself. He assumed there must be another from the hundred other prisoners next to him that would be a better choice, and found crucial comfort in that.

He tries to avoid looking at it as it pulls and nags at him. Its frigid claws freeze his lungs and burn his skin. This fear is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Debilitating, primal, fit for a prey animal in the clutches of a predator. It makes alien sounds that resemble giddiness, digging through his hair eagerly, grabbing onto a stray lock and jerking it hard enough to wrench his head to the side, keeping him bent like that. Its words chill him to the bone as it murmurs into his ear. — “You lasted so, so long, little lamb. If only your shepherd dog could have scared off the wolf on his own, huh? His owner is not here to help, and he is too cowardly to give up his life to save yours. How sad.”

It does not sound sad whatsoever; it sounds wicked and excited. It completely suffocates him with all those limbs, feeling every part of him. He has never felt so many hands on him at once. It's awful, he can't even fight off any of them before they have him by the wrists and ankles and waist and neck and chest and he is completely defenceless against all of it. He feels himself being lifted into the air and there are even more hands touching him, coming to caress his face and knot his hair, and when he opens his mouth to scream a desperate wail of helplessness, fingers enter his mouth to push on his tongue and explore his molars.

Brandon has gone quiet, averting his eyes and trying his best to ignore what he has done. It's for the greater good, that's all that matters. And he might keep his job after all, despite his failure to follow orders from his boss. If he returns in one piece and with a successfully tamed monster back in its cell chewing on its newest victim, perhaps he will be excused for it.

When it finally seems satisfied, it simply drops him, uncaring of the height he was held at. He lands painfully on his front, scraping his chin off the floor. He tries to clamber away immediately, blindly backing away from it, but those hands return sooner than expected, gripping him by the neck to keep him in place.

It forces him to look in its eyes. It has awful, terrifying, coal black orbs that pierce him right through. Whatever it is looking for in his teary expression, it finds it, because it grins with sharp teeth and takes hold of one of his wrists again, dragging him along with itself. It walks right past Brandon, tearing the doors open with no issue. It pauses in the doorway, turning to the guard once more.

“Thank you for helping me choose, my dear Brandon. I hope to see you again soon,” — it says, waving him goodbye. It wastes no time to return to its cell, a newly reignited curiosity pulling it towards the corridor. Brandon succeeded in exciting it. Ideas of torment materialise in its head already as it listens to the poor prisoner sob, pulling at the fingers gripping him tight.

In a moment they are both gone. The lights brighten, the danger is gone. The few people who survived this encounter are saved. Brandon escorts them back to their cells, one by one, taking the time to let quiet tears fall as he shuffles through the sea of dead. He does not have the peace of mind to write a report nor to notify anyone about it being over for another couple hours. And in reality, it isn't over. It never is. The prisoner will die sooner or later, and then he will have to do this again and again and again. He will have to live with his choices, and if it comes down to it, he will have to make the same decision again.

The next day, as he stands outside the cell door, listening to the unending wailing and begging coming from behind the solid steel, he will have to convince himself that this is better. That he made the right choice. He will cry and apologise over and over again to the locked metal gate.

And it will be listening to him, satisfied with its one true victim's pain.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[deathlessathanasia]

Ancient Greek texts never make an explicit connection between the Gigantomachy and Hera causing the storm that drove Herakles to Kos and subsequently being bound and hanged in the sky by Zeus, though we do know from various sources that Herakles played a major role in the battle against the Gigantes, that the participation of a mortal was necessary for the gods to win, that Athena brought Herakles from Kos to Phlegra so that he could fight together with the gods, and even that Herakles encountered some serious trouble on Kos and needed to be saved. Maybe the conclusion that Hera might have tried to prevent Herakles from helping the gods in their battle is a case of excessive interpretation, but the connections are there if one wants to make them, and doing so serves to add some reasoning to a few details that are strange and left unexplained.

To start with, why should Hera be so severely punished for what prima facie seems a relatively minor offense? Sending Herakles off course might be inconvenient, but is it as serious as, say, manipulating Zeus into swearing an oath that a descendant of his will rule over the Argives and then contriving that the descendant in question is Eurystheus rather than Herakles as Zeus had intended? Or sending serpents to attack Herakles as a baby? Or driving him mad and making of him a kinslayer and filicide? Or is it worse than her persecutions of Dionysos, or of Leto, a fellow deity? And yet, we never hear of Hera being punished for any of those other things, only for this one instance of meddling with Herakles at sea.

Then there is also the fact that Hera's hanging is attributed not only to Zeus's anger at her persecution of Herakles as it is in the Iliad and in the Bibliotheke, but it is also, in the Iliad scholia and in the Argonautica of Valerius Flaccus, claimed to be a punishment for her rebellion against the rule of Zeus. Assuming that Zeus was not so uncreative as to use the same punishment on Hera twice, then a scenario where she sends Herakles to Kos for the express purpose of preventing him from joining the Gigantomachy (where his presence was necessary for the gods' victory) would also constitute a conspiracy against Zeus's regime, and would more or less neatly combine both variants.

And what about that moment in the Gigantomachy itself when Zeus makes Porphyrion assault and almost rape Hera? It is a strange thing to do no matter how you look at it and we are given no explanation of what his intentions were. One could suppose that it was simply a careless distraction tactic that made it easier for Zeus and Herakles to subdue a powerful adversary, or it could have been a deliberate move by Zeus to indebt Hera to Herakles (he is also the one who suggests that Dionysos could help Hera when she is bound on her throne in Homeric Hymn 1). Or it could just as well have been a punishment that Hera was subjected to for some reason, say, her previous alliance with the enemies of Zeus, and such an interpretation doesn't have to contradict any of the others. Zeus could have meant at the same time to distract Porphyrion, punish Hera, reconcile Hera and Herakles, or any other combination.

As for Hera and her motivations... well, we know that she has worked against Zeus and allied herself with his adversaries in multiple myths: in the Iliad she is one of the gods who wanted to bind Zeus; in Homeric Hymn 3 she invokes Gaia, Ouranos and the Titans when she prays for a child more powerful than her husband; in a scholion on the Iliad that relates another variant of Typhon's origins Gaia approaches her after the defeat of the Gigantes with complaints about Zeus and Hera in turn asks Kronos for assistance; in Hyginus' Fabulae Hera encourages the Titans to remove Zeus from power and restore the rule of Kronos. All of which to say that Hera initially wanting the children of Gaia to defeat the gods in the Gigantomachy could be in character for her and consistent with her portrayal in various sources. If nothing else it's an interesting theory, in my opinion.

[houndfaker]

genuinely such a non-issue it bugs me a little bit that people misconstrue numerous parts of aigis’s functionality just because she’s a robot. this is slightly a Complaining post but also a quick examination of things in canon that say otherwise.

she’s deliberately made in the image of a human so that she can use a persona. her brain isn’t a search engine she can’t just look things up or go on social media with it, and if she somehow Can then she hardly ever does that, otherwise why would she get below average scores on tests in school? why would she express she actively has trouble learning certain material? she could Acquire an understanding of certain things by downloading the data probably but she’s likely specifically constructed so that her brain develops in the same ways that a human’s does.

there’s also the like fact of her eating. often the characters mention “she can’t eat” but we have multiple cases of her doing so (particularly trying takoyaki or eating popsicles and reserving sushi, but if we consider the food items in-game she’d be consuming those to replenish health in tartarus as well) so i have to wonder if these lines regarding it are intended in the sense that it’s not that she can’t physically eat but rather she can’t eat as a human would? something in the way of not fully comprehending taste or sustenance offering her no benefits or etc. but she actively Likes to try things at the same time with seemingly no major harm coming of it to her body given she consumes stuff right in front of everyone else and we never hear that she Shouldn’t be. much like with water in her initial appearance these things don’t seem to have an effect on her.

the first question one might have is “why doesn’t it effect her though” and i can honestly only assume it’s because of the nature of the papillon heart/plumes of dusk and just how powerful it is to be able to give life to a being. aigis shouldn’t be able to cry, but she does. aigis shouldn’t be able to sleep or dream, but she does. maybe when she eats it’s in a sense ‘digested’. maybe water doesn’t effect her because what powers her isn’t close enough to electricity that it would fry or short her. part of misconception is definitely that so much of this is left kinda unexplained but there’s bits to work off of.

[agentrouka-blog]

I've been taking a break from fandom for a couple of months and I thought I'd check in and see how the Jonsas are doing and, Rouka, what is going on with your anons? You deserve so much better than people dumping thoughtless essays in your inbox. I would kill for a Jonsa critical type to critically engage with the actual heart of Jonsa theories, not just baseless refutation.

What do you think the weakest point/argumentation is in Jonsa analysis, if you had to list any? Asking this as someone who takes Jonsa seriously in canon, not someone trying to bait you. I just think you might have a better answer than some of the theses put forth by unruly anonymous askers.

Hope you're doing well! It's lovely to see all the Jonsas again.

Hi!

What a great thought exercise! It's not easy for me because the theory is such an eye-opener in terms of cohesive themes and in tying loose ends together. It kickstarted my actual interest in analyzing the books, so my primary relationship with it is precisely how plausible and strong it actually is.

But let me try to find weaknesses.

I'd say the main and almost only detracting factor is that almost all of the evidence is - necessarily - subtext. It exists in textual parallels, cases of precedent, quirky and otherwise unexplainable clues, in following a red line of unanswered questions and answering them all with a specific hypothesis. The biggest "hard evidence" by far is the so-called "original outline" that contains the exact scenario of a romance between Jon and a Stark sister by the hand of GRRM himself, but it also deviates significantly from established plot in a number of other places.

I say it is necessarily all in the subtext because, much like RLJ, it's supposed to be a surprise to the reader, a paradigm shift and wake-up call that takes previously presented information and switches our perspective on it, from the worth and value of romantic idealism, to what exactly constitutes depravity, to whether the things we thought were true are actually true - another nod to the power of storytelling, in and out of universe. You can't prove an upcoming surprise twist.

And you can't prove things with subtext. You can point it out, in its almost ridiculous quantity and variety, but that's not proof. It's not spelled out. It remains a hypothesis, same as any other theory about future book plots.

Apart from that, I would say it's down to the individual specific jonsa theory, of which there are many. I've spend a lot of time arguing against blind refutations or weak counter-arguments, and most of them are, well, weak and rely on assumptions and arbitrary preconditions ("GRRM's message is that incest is bad" - is it really? "Jon hates Sansa!" - does he really?) so it's not like the lack of evidence doesn't go both ways. You can't disprove Jonsa, it has less going against it than many other speculative pairings, because of the blank space deliberately left by the author. If it was so easily assailable, I wouldn't be as convinced of it as I am.

I'd be happy if anyone added their own perspective on this? Maybe there are weaknesses in the theory that I am too biased to see anymore. :)

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: 73 Yards Review. Short Version: WHAT?

So, this review’s late because there’s not a lot to actually say about 73 Yards. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad episode, per se, but it definitely had a certain filler-y quality to it. The Doctor steps on a witchy string thing and vanishes because of supernatural nonsense, leaving Ruby to deal with a creepy woman in black who’s always exactly 73 yards away from her: a sort of manifestation bound to her at a set distance. Other people can approach the woman, but if they speak to her, she tells them something and they run away in terror, after which point they refuse to even speak to Ruby again, meaning she can’t get any useful information on the spectre or entity or whatever-the-fuck-she-is. And, to be honest, it’s all pretty effective and spooky: a good premise for a horror story that works well for as long as its happening. The problem is that there’s very little substance under the hood.

Oh, there’s some chaff about a psychotic Prime Minister planning to start a nuclear war, which Ruby has to fix by positioning herself 73 yards from the fellow so her mysterious stalker will appear besides him and terrify him into resigning from office. I’m not even sure that counts as a spoiler because it just kinda happens and then the episode continues to putter along, following the course of Ruby’s life as she tries to live without the Doctor and with her creepy shadow. Almost as though none of it mattered even slightly.

At the end of the episode, we finally get an explanation for the woman in black. See, it turns out it was Ruby herself all along! That is to say, when Ruby’s an old woman and on her death bed, the entity touches her and she becomes the entity, sent back in time to the moment she first appeared- or rather, just a few seconds earlier- so she can fix the timeline and stop the Doctor stepping on the witchy thing. As explanations go, it’s very Who-ish: a riff on classic sci-fi tropes with a twist. But, er, it doesn’t seem to match with what we know about the Mysterious Woman (fuck it, I’m just going to start using capitals for the sake of clarity, even if they were, in no sense, earned). I mean, why would Ruby’s older self scare away everyone Ruby knows and loves, alienating her and preventing her from living her life with any kind of support network? Also, how? I mean, Ruby’s old as balls by the end of this decade-spanning episode, but she’s not an eldritch, Lovecraftian horror. Sure, she’s probably seen some shit, but she doesn’t know any deep, dark cosmic secrets that would send everyone around her running for the hills. She’s just a nice old lady whose come in stuck in time, Slaughterhouse 5-stylee. The explanation we’re ultimately given therefore feels like it’s for a completely different set of events to the ones we saw. I’d have been fine with the Mysterious Woman being left completely unexplained, like the thing in the David Tennant episode Midnight (in which the best we get is vague theories and reckons from the tormented characters), and I’d have been equally fine with a full, satisfying explanation. This ‘explanation that doesn’t make sense’ thing… yeah, I’m not pleased. It feels like an attempt to resolve the episode while deliberately laying down a mystery at the same time, but it’s a slapdash way of doing it; an ill-fated compromise between true unknowability and a real resolution. I wasn’t a fan.

Another minor complaint: what does this episode have against the Welsh? When Ruby first realises she’s being stalked by the Mysterious Woman, she flees to a little Welsh pub and the locals use it as a chance to mock her relentlessly. They act like their steeped in the supernatural and don’t know about banking apps (for some reason), and then accuse Ruby of racism when she takes them at face value and believes them. They refuse to take the fact she has a potentially dangerous stalker seriously and diminish the validity of her dread at every turn, offering no help whatsoever. Later, the evil Prime Minister is also from Wales. Er, what? Why is every Welsh person in this episode an irredeemable cunt? I’ve been to Wales. Broadly speaking, the people are pretty nice, if a natz more sarcastic than the UK average. I don’t get what 73 Yards’ damage is.

So yeah: that’s the episode. A spooky story undermined by its own explanation and inexplicable anti-Welsh racism. Go figure. On the plus side, the upcoming instalment promises a scathing critique of social media and giant slugs, so that ought to be good for a laugh.

EDIT: someone just replied to point out that Russel T. Davies is, himself, Welsh. For those of you who don't read the comments, I figured I'd add this edit-y bit. I mean, I don't know if it contextualises the show's weirdly hostile portrayal of Wales or just makes it more baffling, but it seems like important information for an unbiased reviewer to provide and an informed reader to have. So there ya go. RTD is Welsh and this episode, written by RTD, portrays the Welsh as unreasonable nutters. Make of that what you will.

[kenny-the-ken]

PS: Please Remember Me

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! Warnings!!!: Mentions of suicide, mental health issues, drugs, alcohol, character death. My very first Stenny fic!! I love those little assholes so much, and I think their personalities really work together. Next chapter will focus on Stan. I hope you guys enjoy, it's gonna be extremely angsty

College was a strange place for Kenny, the friends he once spent his life with were no longer in contact with each other. Kyle was off to the city, studying in a prestigious university, everyday reaching closer to his dream of success. Eric deliberately followed Kyle, his entire life's goal was to be better than Kyle, and as far as Kenny was aware, it seemed to be working. And then there was Stan.

Stan and Kenny stayed in South Park, going to the local college together, the only real friend that he had left. Everyone else had made lives for themselves, careers, relationships, jobs. But not Kenny.

Sure, he worked in a shitty convenience store for just about minimum wage, sure he was in college and the top in his class but, he couldn't help but feel... lonely. He knew he wasn't alone, Stan was his roommate, they shared an apartment together, but even Stan had his life more in order than Ken did.

Stan had a solid relationship with Wendy, he was top of his own class and he was working a pretty well paying job, what more could a guy want, really?

Stan was out tonight, he and Wendy had date night every Friday evening, he knew soon his roommate would be home, gushing about his evening, how great it was, how much he loved Wendy, it made Kenny feel sick evening thinking about it.

The embers at the end of the half smoked joint glowed in the dark living room, lighting up Kenny's soft features, his pale freckles adorning his awfully pale face. People had told him before that his completion made him look sickly, I guess that's what happens when you've died more times than you can count. This was pretty much a routine now, Kenny would spend most evenings alone, or with Karen, the only other person aside from Stan that made this miserable existence somewhat bearable.

He knew that things weren't good, his mind really was a war behind his eyes, but recently it was getting worse. Ken was glad that he and Stan didn't share a dorm and had rented an apartment instead, because neither of them would get much sleep if they did, and for once, Kenny didn't mean that in a flirty way. No, in fact he could barely sleep, the thought of being alone in a dark room with his thoughts swirling like a tornado through his mind, it was more than he could cope with. And on the odd occurrence that he did get asleep without much issues, he was always woken up by his own mind, and the tricks it played were beyond cruel. He would wake up, his scraggly fringe matted, and soaked with sweat, stuck to his forehead, his heart thumping in his chest, and desperately gasping for air.

What made him awaken in such a state you may ask? Kenny had been killed and murdered in so many unimaginable, and unexplainable ways, the easiest way to die was to be shot, it was rather instantaneous, and Kenny preferred it that way, he'd rather not prolong the pain he would feel, he wanted it to be quick, painless.

The worst way was probably to be torn apart, feeling each limb being pulled, veins, muscle, bone, tissue, skin all being plucked apart like a loose thread was holding them together. It was gut wrenching, so much so that often after a nightmare, Kenny would throw up, not that he ate much anyway.

So most of his evenings were spent alone, in the dark with a dumb ass movie or television series, as Kenny smoked his way through as much cannabis he needed to completely numb his mind, he just wanted it to shut up, if even for a little while.

He had self medicated for a while, or at least that's how he saw it. He wasn't a drug addict, just a drug enthusiast, they always switched his brain off, which is exactly what Kenny needed.

But no matter how numb his brain may be, no matter how many drugs he'd taken, how much alcohol he'd chugged, there was always one thing that was consistently on his mind.

Stan.

The thought of his name alone was enough to have Kenny's mind in a spin, the butterflies in his stomach swirling. He knew that his wish would never come true, why would it ever? Kenny had tried his whole life to be a good person, hoping that karma would finally catch up with others less deserving than himself, but that never seemed to happen. He swore he was just destined to a life of nothing but pain, misery, drug problems and never ending deaths.

Kenny sighed, placing the joint between his chapped lips, taking a long drag and watching the pale smoke dance gracefully through the air. He felt the familiar warmth fill his lungs, holding it there for a few seconds before sighing the smoke out, his body relaxing into the worn out couch.

His mind was full, enough negative thoughts to suffocate anything above his shoulders. PTSD, wasn't an easy thing to deal with, not to mention when it wasn't just from dying all the time. No one close to him aside from Karen and Kevin truly knew what their lives were like.

The two people in this world that were supposed to teach him how to live, breathe, grow as a person, they were supposed to protect and care for you, and instead they were the ones harming him, just mercilessly beating him, berating him, forcing him out of his own home, getting them put into care. No amount of anti psychotics or therapy would ever allow him to forget, when that's all he desperately wanted to do. Forget.

Kenny took another long drag of the joint, before stubbing the butt into the ashtray at his side, exhaling slowly, and chasing it with a long swig of his neat vodka, jaw clenching, his body shuddering as it burn its way down his oesophagus.

He knew this night wouldn't end well. He had finals tomorrow, and work, yet somehow, Kenny couldn't have gave less of a fuck, nothing mattered anymore, no matter what he did, things would never change. He was destined to a lonely life, drowning his sorrows and running from his deeply internalised trauma. At least other people that were riddled with sadness could end it all. In fact, Kenny had ended it all, multiple times, he strangled himself, albeit by accident, shot himself in the head, twice, threw himself off a cliff, right onto trees that embedded themselves through his chest, causing him to bleed horrifically to death.

But it never stuck. It was as if death feared him. It would come and ruthlessly rip him away, often in the most inconvenient of times, and then he'd awaken, in his bed, in the same shitty place, wearing the same old fuckin' clothes, with the same thoughts spiralling his brain. And the worst part, no one remembered. Their memories either matching that of someone with Alzheimer's, or they were having their minds wiped. The latter seemed the more believable to Kenny.

The last thing he can remember is laying down on the sofa, he'd finished his vodka, an entire litre of it at that, and swallowed enough anti-psychotics to knock him dead. At this point, it was the only way he could get a decent nights sleep.

Dying was always a strange experience for Kenny, it was always painful, and each death was different, no matter wether he'd felt it before or not. But the pain was worth what came next. Silence.

His brain no longer functioning, it was the only peace he ever had in his life. It allowed his true thoughts to come to the forefront, allowed him to forget, it helped him cope in a weird sense.

And with a final breath, one last rise and fall of his slender chest, his eyes glazed over, his lips parting and changing colour, his skin paler than ever, veins almost visible. Finally! A decent fucking rest with peace and quiet, and thankfully, not having to hear the love of his life tell him about his date night with someone who wasn't him.