#gonna get my nails done..: i kind of want to do bow themed this time

[robyn-goodfellowe]

hi tumblr :3 bats my big beautiful eyelashes at you

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 3

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter three

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

always, always, always because of @thisonesatellite​​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ thank you AGAIN to the amazing team at @captainswanbigbang​

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

chapter summary:   Emma’s tracked down her suspect but then he looks into her eyes like he can see her, like he recognizes her--

And it’s a big fucking problem. She doesn’t trust him.  They are not a team.  No matter what he says or how blue his eyes are when he reads her like an open book.

--

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” James Hook said. “A woman such as yourself deserves my full and prompt attention.”

His voice was familiar; exactly as she had heard it in her dream down to the cadence of his accent.

“Does that line ever work?” Emma asked.

His eyes twinkled with appreciation. “I,” he said seriously, “will let you know, yeah?”

He was wearing eyeliner, kohl smudged around his eyes. Blue button-up shirt--partially undone, matched his eyes, would look even better on the floor--buttoned waistcoat, jeans that showed off his--

Fuck.

Emma needed a drink before she ended up like one of the co-eds.

“MacCutcheon,” she said simply.

“How do you like it?”

“In a glass,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough lass,” he said with a laugh, pouring her a shot.

“Yeah, well,” she said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one. The condensation left a ring on the cocktail napkin. “It’s been a long day, and I’m thirsty.” She looked around, taking in more of the place--anything to look at instead of staring at Hook and his partially-unbuttoned shirt. “What’s with all of the swords?” Emma asked, gesturing at a wall covered in weapons.

The Rabbit Hole fell on the upside of ‘dive’, but only just barely. Maybe it was the Edison bulbs. The soft yellow glow gave everything a patina of ‘vintage’ instead of ‘grimey’. 

“And what are those, boat hooks?”

“Aye,” he said.

“What are you, some kind of sailor?”

“In another life,” he said, the fake grin stretching across his face, “I served in the Royal Navy.”

“You’ve practically got an armory in here,” she said.

“That’s the idea,” he agreed.

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to collect old-fashioned weapons.”

“Aye,” he said again, the eyes twinkling--again. “I collect blondes from bottles, too.”

Emma was a natural blonde--probably another legacy from one of her parents. She returned his gaze and said only, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There it was: the real smile. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps I would. James Hook.” He held out his right hand to her, and Emma shook it, which was when she noticed that he only had the one.

“I know who you are,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. “So you’ve heard of me? Well, it’s always nice to leave an impression.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “You have. You’re handsome, and charming--”

“Do go on,” Hook said, shifting his weight against the back counter.

“The kind of guy who--now, stop me if I’ve got this wrong--steals a man’s wife and leaves a boy motherless, then keeps up the grudge by breaking into his home and stealing from him again.” Emma watched him during her recitation. This was her favorite part: skips always broke down when the hot piece of ass they’d been planning on nailing turned the tables and cuffed them.

Not in the fun way, either.

But Hook just looked at her, stepping forward again and bracing his elbow against the bar, his chin in his hand. His fingers curled against his upper lip, his eyes were wide and innocent, and the fake grin had returned; the change was so smoothly done it was--almost--imperceptible.

“Sounds like a lovely tale,” he said. “But I’m going to wager the truth is rather more gruesome.”

Emma was calm. She was focused. And he was not lying.

“Besides,” Hook said evenly, “I’m going to need you to be a mite more specific in your accusations; you see, I’ve had many a man’s wife.”

“And I need you,” Emma said, matching his tone, “to return what you’ve stolen.”

His smile--the fake smile--faltered. Just for a second. “Tell me something, love,” Hook said, leaning into her personal space, his eyes never leaving hers, “If a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away, is that theft?” He ran his tongue over his lower lip and winked at her.

“But--why would she leave him?” Emma asked before she could stop herself. The son, they had a son--

What were they even talking about?

“Because he was a coward,” Hook said easily. “Because she loved me.”

Emma pulled herself away from his gaze. Whatever was going on here--he wasn’t lying.

“So, lass,” he said, “you know who I am, but you won’t even tell me your name?”

“What fun would that be?” Emma said.

“If you’re helping Rump--Gold,” Hook said, with particular emphasis on the name, “I’m afraid you’re fighting for a lost cause.”

“I’m not fighting for anything,” Emma said, “except for my fee. Tell me what you know about Graham Humbert’s death.” She grabbed his wrist. “And I’m gonna let you in on a little secret--I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“He came in here the other evening, on the hunt,” Hook said, biting down hard on the ‘t’. “He often did. It’s rather a target-rich environment, as you can see.” He gestured at the crowded room and leered. “That’s the last time I saw him.”

Emma smiled, the kind that showed no teeth, that was small and controlled, and tightened her grip on his wrist. With her other hand, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it and scrolled to David Nolan’s entry. “He came here looking for you the night he died,” she said. “A fact I think the sheriff--” Emma held up the phone to show him “--will find fascinating, don’t you?”

He started to pull away, but Emma twisted his wrist just enough to put pressure on it--enough that pulling away would make a scene and potentially force someone to call the sheriff anyway. The singer finished a song to a scattering of applause, and Emma kept her grip and her gaze on Hook.

“Well done, lass,” he said. Emma let go of him and his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. He had rings on two of his fingers and his thumb, and a freaking earring, a black stud. “You’ll be Emma Swan, then.”

“There goes my air of mystery,” she deadpanned.

“On the contrary, love,” Hook said, licking his lips again. “You’ve bested me. I can count on one hand the number of times someone has done that.”

“Is that a joke?” Emma said drily. “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

“Ask me what you’ve really come here to ask, Swan,” he said, and something in his face had shifted, like he had dropped the act of whatever part he was trying to play. His eyes were serious and the tone of his voice had lowered.

“Did you kill him?”

“I did not,” Hook said.

Emma believed him. Shit.

--

“Now then,” Hook said. “Emma Swan. Bail bonds, private investigations. Twenty-eight years old?”

They weren’t in the bar anymore.

According to the paperwork Graham had pulled, Hook had owned The Rabbit Hole for more than twenty years--clearly a typo as the man appeared exactly as Gold had described him: mid-thirties, no more, no less. It was difficult to picture him running off with a woman Gold’s age.

He’s older than he looks, Gold smirked, and had looked at Emma in a way that made her want to shower. And rather partial, I’m afraid, to brunettes.

Emma had confirmation of this, at least, when Hook had called out to a beautiful brunette in a micromini, tights and an artfully ripped t-shirt. Lacey, my darling, cover for me here, will you?

She’d laughed and given him--and Emma--a wink, and it was obvious what she thought Hook and Emma were doing, and why they needed cover. I’ve got this, Jamie, she’d said.

And he’d taken Emma to a small but immaculate office, dimly lit, rimmed with books, and offered her a chair with a bow before taking a seat behind the desk. She’s new, Hook had said of Lacey, but she does the job like she’s been here for decades. Something about that had amused him; Hook seemed consistently to be amusing himself with jokes only he understood. Any man who kept a skull-and-crossbones on the wall was definitely a man with an unusual sense of humor--in fact, this room had a distinct nautical theme, with a red flag draped above the black one and an honest-to-goodness ship in a bottle on his desk, and it was all a far cry from the badly-curated murder-tinged whimsy that made up the decor of the main bar.

“That’s oddly specific,” Emma countered. “Do I, like, get a prize if you’re right?”

“An educated guess,” Hook answered, and said nothing else as his eyes settled over her. Emma felt like she was being evaluated; not the first time that had happened, and she had no idea what he thought he was looking for.

“So, then,” he said. “Your Graham Humbert came looking for me.”

“He wasn’t my anything,” Emma said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Aye,” Hook said. “Of that I’m well aware.” He twisted his thumb against the metal of one of his rings and broke eye contact, looking down and away from her. “We weren’t friends, you know. Barely even acquainted. But you might say that we had certain connections in common.” Hook looked at her quickly and looked away again. “I hadn’t seen him in as long as I can remember.”

There was something strange underlying the words. Not a lie, but not the truth. And something about the phrase tickled Emma’s memory, like she had heard it somewhere before.

“He was involved with Regina Mills,” Emma said, realizing it at the same moment she said it.

“Indeed he was.” Hook made a sound, almost like a bark, and it took Emma a moment to realize it was a laugh. There was no amusement in it. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but she rather held his heart in her hands.”

Emma winced.

“Apologies, love,” Hook said quickly, and with apparent sincerity. “That was in rather poor taste, I admit.”

“You were too, weren’t you?” Emma asked instead of acknowledging his half-assed apology. “Involved with her?”

Another harsh laugh escaped him. “Indeed I was,” he said, “though not in the way you’d think. I did some work for the family. A long time ago.”

Emma smirked. “A man who used to be a sailor and now owns a bar?”

“‘Used to be’ is right, Swan,” he said, “but one might consider the bar payment.” He did that thing again, where he over-emphasized the harsh consonants. “For services rendered.”

“You realize you are the only one in this entire neighborhood who owns their property outright instead of paying rent to Robert Gold?”

“Am I?” He examined his fingernails. “That’s fortuitous.” It was obscene, the way Hook made words sound, but Emma knew a distraction when she saw one. This man used words as deflections, armor not unlike her collection of leather jackets.

“She came to see me,” Emma said.

“Did she?” That got Hook’s attention. “And what did you think of Her Majesty the Queen?”

“Her what now?”

“Regina, love. Latin.”

“You speak Latin?” Emma’s eyebrows definitely went up.

“And Greek,” he pointed out, smirking.

“They teach you that in the Royal Navy?”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

Emma’s head was beginning to hurt. This was shaping up to be the world’s worst first draft of “Who’s on first”--she wasn’t getting anywhere, and she needed another drink.

“What did she want?” Hook asked, and for the first time, there was genuine curiosity in his tone. He twisted behind him, pulling out a bottle, then repeated the process and came up with two glasses pinched between his thumb and forefinger, placing one in front of her. He pulled the cork with his teeth, poured himself a shot, and then gestured at her with the bottle.

Emma gave him a look.

“You’re something of an open book, Swan,” Hook said, the picture of innocent hospitality, “or did you not want another drink?”

“Regina wanted to know,” Emma said, ignoring his outstretched hand, “what I was doing about Graham’s death.”

“Don’t make a man drink alone, love.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she lied. “Or a man.”

Hook pouted. “Now who’s not telling the truth?”

Emma took the bottle from his hand and poured herself three fingers’ worth.

“I do find that spirits can be an excellent solution to so many of life’s problems,” Hook said with false cheerfulness, “so I am glad to see that you are making progress.”

Emma left the glass on the desk and leveled a glare at him.

“Are you?” he said, raising his eyebrows, “making progress?”

There was a knock on the door at the same time as it opened, and a young man stepped in. Nearly as tall as Hook, he had long, dark blonde hair that he’d slicked back, leaving some fringe to fall messily at his temples.

“Alright, Liam?” Hook said.

The young man--Liam--coughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, only Lacey said you were back here--”

“And you wanted to interrupt?” Hook asked, a mix of exasperation, fondness and something sharper in his voice.

Liam shrugged.

“Swan,” Hook said, “allow me to present my lit--younger brother, Liam, who was just leaving.”

Emma nodded at him, with his slightly-less-blue eyes and the curious way they watched her.

There was a look in Hook’s eyes as his brother walked out that Emma was not prepared to acknowledge. She pushed her untouched tumbler of rum back toward him and snapped, “Enough. Why did Graham come here to see you?” Emma demanded.

Hook shrugged.

“He tracked you down through property records,” Emma said. “Because the Mills Organization paid you in real estate for work you did for them a long time ago?”

“So it would seem,” he said.

“You know it says on the deed that you’ve been the owner here for as long as I’ve been alive?”

“Does it?” he smirked. “And yet I’ve retained my youthful glow.”

There it was again--not a lie, but not the truth.

He’s older than he looks.

Emma sat, toying with the tumbler she had pulled back toward her seat, running her forefinger around the ring of the glass and saying nothing.

“What can I say, Swan,” he said. “‘I contain multitudes.’ Not unlike your Graham Humbert.” He looked at her as though he was expecting a reaction; Emma stared at him.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Ah,” he said, as though to himself. “Not a believer, then--well, surely that will stop you getting killed.”

Hook considered her for a moment before tossing back his shot, then said: “Walt Whitman, lass. American poet.”

“Didn’t study poetry at any of the high schools I got kicked out of,” Emma said. “What does my listening to you recite poetry and mutter to yourself have to do with Graham?”

Hook shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, love,” he said. “Merely pointing out that you might be surprised by what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

“You don’t know anything about what I believe,” Emma said sharply.

His blue eyes blazed. “I know that everything you think you believe is wrong,” he said.

“A man is dead, Hook,” Emma said. “I need you to stop fucking around and give me back whatever it is you’ve taken.”

“She’s dead, Swan,” he said sadly, the fire gone just as quickly as it had come, “and whatever that bloody crocodile has you looking for, I don’t have it.”

He had that look again.

Crocodile.

“Just like Milah, when the crocodile took her from me.”

“His wife?” Emma said. “Look, I’m sorry she died, but Graham--Graham was murdered.”

“Died,” Hook snorted. “Like it was some kind of accident--”

“That’s not what I said,” Emma protested, feeling suddenly on the defensive.

“--lass, it was no more of an accident than Humbert laid out in the alley.” Hook poured himself another shot and held it. “And you, Swan, helping him? I fear we’re working at cross purposes.”

“I’m just here to retrieve something on behalf of my client,” Emma said, exasperated and confused, “and to get paid Same as Graham, only he ended up dead and I would prefer to avoid that.”

“It’s a shame, really, Emma,” he said, apparently not listening. “I think we could make quite the team.”

“And what,” Emma wanted to know, “would our objective be?”

Hook paused and looked at her before he drank the second shot, and Emma still had no idea what he was looking for. He took a breath and said: “To avenge your partner,” he said, as if it would be that simple. “To exact revenge on the man who took my hand, Rumplestiltskin.”

--

“Swan!” Hook called, rushing after her. “Swan, wait up!”

Emma was ten or fifteen feet out the door of The Rabbit Hole when she doubled back quickly and pushed herself against him. “Whoa!” she cried. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Hook smiled at her and pulled them closer together. “It’s about bloody time.”

Emma hit him. “I seem to have a shadow,” she said, gesturing at the figure running into the darkness--the one that had lunged itself at her and forced her up against Hook.

“I suppose,” Hook said, pretending to consider it, “that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

Was the man insane? “Do you have any idea what you sound like right now? Who the fuck is Rumplestiltskin?”

Hook’s face fell. “I sound like a crazy person,” he said. “Apologies, love, I realize Humbert didn’t--” He paused, took a breath. “Would you settle for ‘dashing rapscallion’?”

“Excuse me?” Emma stuttered.

“As opposed to ‘crazy person’, Swan,” Hook pushed, and then leaned in closer at her continued silence, angling his head so their eyes were level. “Scoundrel, perhaps?”

He was close enough to--

He was very close.

“I think, Swan,” he said, very softly, his eyes boring into hers, “that you are not the only one with a shadow. Don’t turn,” he warned, “just look at me.”

The full focus of this man’s attention was nearly unbearable. Emma desperately needed to break eye contact and maintain her wits, which was how she noticed the red streak on his shoulder.

Where she’d grabbed him.

Unfortunately, that drew his eyes to the spot as well, and he knew immediately what it was.

“Swan,” he said, and he sounded disappointed. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Emma insisted. “Just, the jerk who came after me must have had a knife or something.”

“Give me your hand,” Hook said.

“What?” Emma said, trying to pull away.

He wouldn’t let her. “It’s cut,” he said, getting impatient. “Let me help you.”

“No,” Emma said, taking a definitive step back. Hook countered by stepping forward, back into her personal space. “It’s fine.”

“Swan,” he sighed. “It’s not.”

And he ran his hand down her arm, curling his fingers around her wrist and lifting it for closer inspection, balancing her hand on his left wrist against his prosthetic.

“I’m not taking medical advice from a man who has named himself after a character in a fairy tale and who thinks my client can spin straw into gold,” Emma muttered. “Not even when he suddenly decides to be a gentleman.”

Hook’s face twisted, that already-familiar smirk pulling at his mouth as he took something out of his pocket. “I,” he said, and his tone was serious in spite of his expression, “am always a gentleman.” He looked at Emma through eyelashes that were thicker than hers were after several rounds of lash primer as he repeated his bit with the cork and moved to pour the contents over the small slash in her palm.

“What is that?” Emma asked suspiciously, then swore as the liquid hit her skin.

“It’s rum,” Hook said. “And a bloody waste of it.” He handed the flask to her before she could refuse and pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, pressing it into her hand before Emma could try to pull away again and tying it off with his teeth.

Just--his teeth . Why?

His eyes never left hers, not even as he stepped away from her.

“He’s gone,” Hook whispered.

Emma sighed and took a swig of the rum in resignation. “Scoundrel it is, then,” she said, taking a definitive step backward and crossing her arms across her body in the universal signal for back off. Because she knew what he was doing, she had seen this movie before, and it hadn’t ended well.

They were not a team.

They could not be a team.

“Why were you following me?”

“I wanted to continue our conversation,” he said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Emma shook her head slowly.

He grinned, shrugged. “And," he said, "I would like to see Regina Mills. I was hoping you would be so kind as to facilitate transportation.”

“You don’t drive?”

“I don’t drive a car,” Hook said. “It’s not by choice that I live here in the city, love, it’s by necessity.”

Emma felt her resistance wavering. “What makes you think I’d be willing to help you?”

“You seem,” Hook paused, as if searching for the correct word, “motivated.”

“What happened to cross purposes?”

“I look at this very simply,” Hook said. “I help you get what you want, and it gets me what I want. No more, no less. Besides, I find that I quite fancy you--when you’re not yelling at me, that is.”

“I don’t understand you,” Emma said.

“The mystique is part of my charm, I assure you,” Hook said, raising his eyebrows.

But she had already given in to whatever scheme this was, had given in the minute she pushed herself against him.

The minute he had held her arm and pushed into her space.

Emma gestured for him to go ahead, and they started walking to her car. Hook took in the careworn yellow Beetle with a grin on his face. “Quite a vessel you captain here, Swan,” he said, pulling the door open on the passenger side.

“It seemed like the best choice at the time,” Emma said softly, meaning it, momentarily hating herself for how wrong she had been--and how much this felt like the same beginning all over again. She ran a quick address search on her phone and came up with nothing; it was odd, given the extent of the Mills Organization’s influence.

“I know where she lives, lass,” Hook said. “I’ll navigate.”

Emma pulled out of her spot, the silence growing between them, interspersed at odd intervals with his muttered directions until he spoke. “You know, Swan, most people would find your silence off-putting, but I should warn you that I love a challenge.”

“No challenge,” Emma said. “I’m not looking for someone who’s gonna give his heart to the world, or some true love riding to my rescue.”

“But?” Hook prompted.

“I mean,” Emma said, dripping with sarcasm, “somewhere in the universe, there's gotta be a guy who'll keep me warm when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry and maybe, on occasion, take me dancing.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not it. You’re afraid--to talk, to reveal yourself.”

“Am I?” Emma said flatly. “What are we doing now? What happened to ‘a bit of an open book’?” She finished with a horrible imitation of his accent.

“You’re afraid to trust me.”

“Afraid to trust the guy who believes in fairy tales, Captain Hook?” Emma snorted. “However did you guess?”

“Bartender’s a sympathetic ear, love,” Hook said, “but I don’t need you to share. You have that look in your eyes.”

Emma’s entire body went still.

“The one,” Hook said, as if she didn’t already know--didn’t own a freaking mirror--hadn’t seen the look on his face that very night, “you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Now I’m some kind of lost girl?” Emma forced herself to laugh. “Nice try, Hook, but my world ain’t Neverland.”

He made a noise, halfway between the unamused bark-laugh and a sigh, and said: “My point, Swan, is that an orphan’s an orphan.”

Emma said nothing, but Hook pressed on. “And True Love--well, that’s the rarest magic of all, or so they say. Have you ever even been in love?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, took a deep breath, and lied. “No,” she said simply. “I have never been in love.” She pulled the car against the curb and turned off the ignition. “We’re here,” she said.

“Who’s the guy, Swan?” he said, and his voice was almost free of affect. She could--almost--believe he meant it.

“What guy?” Emma said, because fuck him and his open-book bullshit.

“The one,” Hook said as if it was obvious, “who left you with such a high opinion of me.”

Emma got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her.

--

@kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @eirabach​ @winterbaby89​ @stahlop​ @teamhook @iamlaxdris71 @snowbellewells​ @carpedzem​ @scientificapricot​ @ultraluckycatnd @therealstartraveller776 @wyntereyez @nikkiemms @searchingwardrobes​ @courtorderedcake​

[ramblingguy54]

Louie’s Eleven: Dewey & Louie Breakdown

Welp, I was expecting Louie’s Eleven to be a mostly Louie and Donald bonding episode, but it being an balancing act between Daisy & Donald/Louie & Dewey’s chemistry was a very welcoming surprise that I greatly enjoyed every bit of! I’ve been waiting for Dewey and Louie to have screen time together for quite awhile, as well as a good number of people in the fanbase from what I’ve seen for those two to interact. Especially since that funny gag in A Nightmare On Killmotor Hill where Louie said his best friend was sleep over Dewey made me very interested in seeing what could be done with them, too. There’s a lot of fun and interesting exchanges to be had when Dewey’s more impulsive nature on improvising clashes against Louie’s more composed and calculating mentality, which this episode delivers on down to the very letter. Louie may have been very humbled by events in Season 2, during his character arc, but he’s still prideful about his skills for crafting elaborate schemes that make him very stubborn about being open to the concept of listening to others at points when the kid wants to do things his own way. Which when you’ve got a character, like Dewey, on board who wants to be apart of something and be heard as an equal you’ve got a recipe for an episode of insightful character exploration between these two kids.

Dewey isn’t one to make it all about himself anymore, like in Season 1 when he kept the search for Della a secret, but he’s still not gonna tolerate getting policed on what he does and doesn’t know by Louie. Dewey’s all about being an entertainer who does things with as much style as possible, regardless of whether others view it as good, while he tries not to let others judgement weigh him down from being himself, but this is his own brother we’re talking about here, which is obvious to see that Dewey’s very bothered by Louie ignoring his ideas for trying to help with the scheme to get The Three Caballeros more noticed by the public at this event. Dewey is the perfect candidate for such a gig like this, where Louie doesn’t realize he’s the trump card underneath his own nose, but he’s too blinded by his own pride in seeing the truth that he’s putting down Dewey’s competence in his abilities to get this job done better in areas he couldn’t hope to accomplish. It honestly made feel very bad for poor Dewey being treated as if he were a nuisance by Louie, even if he wasn’t necessarily acting rude toward him per-say. That moment where Dewey finally confronts Louie about why he’s been ignoring him was so well acted by both their VAs’. You could feel how hurt Dewey was by Louie undermining all his ideas, but Louie was still trying to put him down easy and not be brutally harsh. The only harsh part was Louie calling his idea completely ridiculous that Dewey takes it fairly hard to be told that by someone he deeply cares about. Dewey’s insecurity really showed here about not being seen or heard as an individual. Ben Schwartz nailed that very saddened delivery for Dewey’s character, overall.

Louie’s Eleven’s ongoing theme was all about understanding and being treated as equals when listening to the other. We see it hilariously with Mark Beaks trying to earn his mother’s approval by getting on the IT List, Daisy trying to achieve her dream as a dress designer to be acknowledged for all her hard work, Donald connecting with Daisy due to his own similar experiences in life, and Dewey feeling put to the side at every turn by Louie all come together in a neat bow. Louie gets a serious harsh dose from Emma when she sees right through what he believed to be the perfect scheme, due to her own previous experiences in the entertainment industry of dealing with sneaky people trying to benefit from her success before. However, she didn’t just see through his plan.

She curb stomped Louie’s self-esteem into oblivion. There’s not a doubt in my mind Louie felt exactly like Dewey in this moment when he was getting ignored, except much worse given Emma’s harsh verbal beat down on his scheme. 

Emma totally crushed whatever confidence Louie had about this plan succeeding making him seriously insecure about having faith in his ideas working at all anymore in this scenario. That’s what I loved most of all is getting to see Dewey and Louie’s layers as characters shine here with a situation that pushes Louie outta his comfort zone more, while showing Dewey’s strongest aspects of his character that make it easy to root and empathize with where he’s coming from when he finally gets through to Louie about allowing him to help fix the situation they’ve gotten into currently when Falcon Graves pulls a robbery for Glamour’s phone that Beaks buys off with the highest bid, so he can put himself on top of his mother’s IT List. What I appreciate in this small, but important, moment is seeing the subtle facial exchanges between Louie and Dewey. Louie’s regret is shining through here and Dewey finally happy to be recognized for his own capabilities by his bro is such a moving moment to see these two have. This was the kind of content I hoped to see for them and I adored it.

Much like Beakly and Webby getting screen time together in The Lost Harp Of Mervana, it’s about damn time we got an episode to see Dewey & Louie work off one another with their strengths/weaknesses as characters. It was everything I wanted and more for Dewey & Louie’s dynamic, where I can’t wait to see them working together again in Season 3 because this episode had some powerful underlying drama around them here. Louie and Dewey have both come very far as characters, where neither aren’t selfish as they used to be in those earlier episodes of the series. It makes for interesting exchanges like what happened here in Louie’s Eleven. Louie has seriously matured in how he treats Dewey, where unlike in Season 2 when Louie called the idea of Dewey working for him that he’d be a terrible employee for Louie Inc., he wants to show respect to his brother hearing him out genuinely when Dewey is attempting to help out. The writers are really putting it out there with how much Louie has improved from Season 2′s final episodes and it’s so damn wholesome to observe.

In a nutshell, I can’t praise how much they’ve been showing Louie’s character growth in Season 3 enough and Louie’s Eleven was another big helping of that statement. Not to mention, getting to see Louie spend time with Dewey at long last was so worth the wait, where I’m ecstatic to see them team up more because these two can bring out the best in each other, no question.

What a damn great episode this was.

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 6

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

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You don’t know how long it takes you to wake. When you do, the storm is still raging on, but you’re back in bed, lying on top of the covers. Sam’s sitting on the edge, his jaw set. When he sees you moving, he glances down at you. 

“Welcome back.” His voice is tight. He’s upset. “You’ve been out for a few hours, I was able to put you on the couch while I finished working.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry, I know I broke the rules.”

Sam stands up, looking down at you. “You might be sorry, but you know what happens now, Omega.” He goes to the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out a long leather strap, which he folds in two. 

A belt.

Your stomach rolls with fear, and you cower back against the headboard. “No,” you whimper, “no, please, don’t…”

“You broke the most important rule I set for you,” Sam says firmly, slowly approaching the bed, “you could have waited at the top of the stairs and called for me, or simply stayed here and waited for me to come back. But you went into the basement, where I’ve told you time and time again, never to go for your own safety. You need to know that you can’t break the rules, Omega, and this time you won’t be getting pleasure from it.”

He lunges. You scream, kicking out as he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you back until you’re bent over the edge of the bed. You don’t submit to it; if it was Sam’s bare hand you’d be getting, you would take the pain, but a leather strap can draw blood if used hard enough. 

You struggle against his grip and manage to roll over, fighting him with every ounce of your strength. “I swear I won’t do it again!” you sob, “please, don’t, Sam, please!” Sam grunts as you wiggle free and duck under his arm, making for the door, His hand catches your hair, twisting in the thick locks, and you go limp, falling to the floor with a loud squeal of pain. 

“I’ll do whatever you want,” you whimper, digging your fingers into the legs of his slacks, “please, I’ll do anything, you can—you can take me, if you want, you can use me, Alpha—!”

Sam grimaces as you look up at him, face stained with tears. Your eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, lips quivering. The man in him knows he should punish you for your wrongdoing, wants to see your ass red and bruised from his lashing, but his Alpha is telling him to comfort you, that he’s doing wrong. All you’ve done is look for him in a time of desperation. 

“God damn it.” He gives in to instinct, throwing the leather strap down to the floor before he collapses onto his knees. You fall into his arms, sobbing wildly, and he hugs you tight, feeling your body shake violently against his chest. “Shhh,” he whispers, “it’s all right, Omega, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You clutch his shirt, burying your face in his chest as he lifts you up, sitting on the bed and gently rocking you back and forth. “I won’t do it ag-again,” you sob, tearfully looking up at him. “I p-promise, I won’t go down there again.”

“Good.” Sam brushes your hair from your face and watches you take a shaky gulp of air. “But you know that if you do that again, I will have to punish you.”

You nod. “I won’t. I won’t break any more rules, Alpha, I swear.”

Sam cups your jaw. “What do you swear on?”

He watches as you let out another short sob before speaking again. “My maidenhead,” you answer. “I swear on my maidenhead that I won’t disobey again.”

Sam nods, acknowledging your apology and vow. He says and does nothing, only holds you until you’ve stopped crying. 

***

You wake tucked underneath Sam’s arm, as usual. It’s normal at this point to wake up cuddled together, and he shifts when you stretch, grunting in his sleep as he rolls onto his back, remaining fast asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake him, you slip out of bed and quietly pour a cup of tea that’s gone cold since it was made. You haven’t slept very well, and you quickly give up on the thought of trying for a little more.

It’s stopped raining, and the sun peeks through the clouds, shining down in soft yellow rays. The sight pulls your thoughts from the events of the night before, of Sam holding a thick leather strap, or the flayed open thing on the table in the basement. You shudder at the memory of Sam pulling the gore-encrusted organ from inside the chest of the beast and retreat to the bathroom to splash water on your face. Your eyes are still puffy and red from your mindless crying the night before.

Sam’s sitting up, stretching his powerful arms over his head when you come out. His eyes flicker to your face, and he sighs at the dark circles under your eyes. It’s pointless to ask if you’ve slept well, so he settles for a stiff “g’morning” before getting out of bed and walking past you to the bathroom.

Breakfast passes silently. Dean’s nowhere to be found, so you and Sam make do with cooking bacon, sausages, and eggs for yourselves. After eating, you pop the question that’s been on your mind all night and all morning.

“What was that thing you were…?” you motion with your finger, lost for a descriptor.

Sam catches your meaning and swallows a mouthful of coffee. “It was a hominid species native to parts of Africa. They’re called Anthropophagi, one of our acquaintances in Massachusetts just killed a pack of almost thirty. One specimen was fairly preserved, so she was sent to us.”

You swallow thickly. “Are there… are there other things out there?”

Sam nods shortly. “Vampires… werewolves, some things you’ve probably never heard of. If there’s a legend about it, it exists, or existed at one point in time. I didn’t want you to find out about what I really do because I didn’t want you knowing what’s out there.”

“Well…” you look down at your plate, “I know now… so what happens?”

Sam exhales, standing up and sweeping the empty dish from in front of you. “You learn. We have books that you can read, but you don’t go in the basement.” He says the last bit with a smile, as if he knows that you’ve learned your lesson without needing a punishment. “Understand?”

You bob your head slowly up and down. “Yes.”

Sam smiles down at you. “Good girl.”

***

A month after you discover the Winchester family secret, John returns from Boston. It’s been a rough time, and he’s not pleased to find out that you’re still unclaimed. Sam bears the brunt of his father’s anger, and you stay out of his way until he’s rested and in a better mood. 

To celebrate the successful completion of the near extinction of vampires in almost all of Massachusetts, the Winchesters throw a dinner party. Every hunter within a three-hundred-mile radius (only about ten in all) is invited, and the morning of the dinner, Sam goes into town with firm instructions for you to bathe, wash your hair, and set your hair in braids to dry. When he returns, you’re sitting on the bed, filing your nails. He’s carrying a large white dress bag and doesn’t try to hide the smile on his face. It’s strange seeing him this happy.

“What is that?” You watch him hand the bag up on the door of the closet.

“Come here.” Sam beckons you over and makes you stand in front of him. “Cover your eyes.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Why?”

“Just do it,” he says. He waits for you to have your palms over your eyes before stepping away. You hear the hiss of the heavy zipper, and then the rustle of fabric. Sam places his hands on your shoulders, turning you slightly, and you grin behind your hands. “Open.”

You lower your fingers and instantly cover your mouth. The most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen in your life is laid out on the bed. The white skirt is puffy with chiffon and satin. The neckline falls low over the shoulder, and the short sleeves are puffy and trimmed with gold lace. 

“Oh, Sam…” you run your fingers over the lace and delicate embroidery. “It’s so beautiful… where did you find this?”

“I had it made.” Sam smiles and runs a palm over the fabric. “It’s one of a kind, just for you.”

You sniff. “I thought I’d be wearing my usual dress for dinner.”

“That?” Sam casts an eye at the simple frock draped over the back of a chair. “No. You’ve been good, and tonight is one of few nights I might get to show you off for my colleagues. Not very many of them get to see a beautiful woman as often as I do.”

You turn to look up at him. He’s never called you beautiful before; Sam’s terms of endearment normally range on the more sexually vulgar side. “Beautiful?”

Sam nods. “Since you’ve been putting on weight,” he squeezes your sides and wiggles his fingers, “you have become quite the figure, ‘mega.” 

***

That night, you and Sam finish setting the dining table and hurry upstairs to dress. You help him with his bow tie (something you’ve become used to) and straighten his jacket. In turn, he helps you into the brand new dress, tying the thick ribbon in back until the corset is cinched neatly around your waist while you fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Well,” he says, once you’ve done a full spin for him to survey the look, “you look like a million dollars.”

Your cheeks burn. “It’s just the dress.”

Sam chuckles and holds out his hand. “Come on. I can hear everyone downstairs.”

He leads you down the steps, and the moment you’re visible, every head turns. Dean and John are mingling with the guests, and you see John raise an eyebrow as Sam loops an arm around your waist, a silent display of his ownership. Many of the men are Beta, but you catch the scents of a few Alphas, one of whom stands in the back, beady eyes fixed on you over a chalice of wine.

“Gentlemen,” Sam begins, “may I introduce my Omega, Y/N.”

You offer a practiced curtsy, keeping your eyes averted from theirs, and then Sam leads the way into the dining room, you by his side. You take your normal places at the table while the others situate themselves in the first available place. The men tell stories of the monsters they’ve hunted, ranging from a pack of vampires that a hunter named Gordon tracked across seven states, to a family of Djinn that had been working in the ghettos of Philadelphia several months earlier.

The conversation turns to you soon after.

“So,” a man named Gabriel begins, “when did you acquire an Omega, Sam? We all thought you were abstinent for life.”

Sam chuckles and wipes the corner of his mouth. “Crowley’s place. He was auctioning off almost twenty girls, she was up for cheap.”

“How much did you pay for her?”

Sam answers shortly. He hates discussing his finances. “One-fifty.”

Several hunters whistle and exchange glances. Gabriel leans forward, swirling wine in his glass. “She worth it?”

Sam clears his throat, not looking at you. “We, um…”

“Oh, come on!” Gabriel pounds a fist on the table as the other men chortle with laughter. “How on earth can you not have claimed her yet?”

Sam makes a deliberate effort to change the subject. When he mentions the Anthropophagi, several men inhale with surprise, instantly captured by the gravity of the new topic.

“I thought they were native to Africa,” another hunter, Castiel, says, “how did they end up in America?”

Sam shakes his head. “Long story. Had to do with one of ours in New Jerusalem back in March. He wouldn’t give us the full story, but I suspect his father had something to do with it.”

You clear your throat softly as the men begin a conversation about how the monsters could have migrated to America. The presence of so many men is overwhelming, and you know that Sam won’t be upset if you need to take a break.

“Sam?” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “can I go upstairs for a few minutes? Please?”

He hears the slight desperation in your voice and nods his consent. You politely excuse yourself to no one in particular and leave the room, lifting the skirt of your dress so that you don’t trip on the stairs. Back in the bedroom, you sit down on the edge of the bed and heave a deep sigh, rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hands to try and push back the tears that threatened to appear.

After several minutes of silence, the door creaks open, and you raise your head. 

The man who’s entered is tall, close to Sam’s size, with sandy blonde hair and dark eyes that glitter maliciously. It’s Nick, the same Alpha who’s been watching you all evening, and you feel your chest tighten as fear shoots through you.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask, trying to sound braver than you feel, “Sam won’t be happy that you—”

“He’s busy.” He smirks wickedly. “Thought I’d let myself have a taste of the goods… almost in heat, I can smell it.”

You stiffen as he steps closer. “Please don't touch me, Sam’s going to be upset.”

“Sam doesn’t give a damn who does what with you, apparently.” Nick glances at your neck. “An Omega’s no good without an Alpha making use of her. And if Sam’s not marked you yet, he’s leaving you open for anyone to take. There’s four other Alphas downstairs who’re thinkin’ the exact same as me, except I actually act on my intentions.”

You pull away, trying to scramble back across the bed, but Nick’s bigger and faster. He grabs you, pulling you back until your hips are on the edge of the bed. You cry out, and he reaches up to press a hand over your mouth. 

“Shut up,” he snarls, “this is what you’re made for.”

He pushes the skirts of your dress up and shoves a hand between your legs. You try and close them, but only succeed in squeezing his hips with your knees as you try to fight him off. Your instinct to escape unharmed takes over, and you bite down on his palm, tasting his blood on your hand. He yells, pulling his hand away.

The sharp smack of Nick’s other palm across your cheek sends you reeling to the side, and he takes advantage of your shock to grab a fistful of your hair and drag you down to the floor, one hand wrapped around your throat to cut off your airway. He yanks the skirts of your dress up, working your thighs apart with his knees, and you reach up, trying to scratch at his face as you choke and gasp for air.

“Gonna do what Sam doesn’t have the balls to do,” Nick growls, “show him how a real Alpha’s supposed to treat his bitch.”

You twist your body hard enough to make a seam on the corset split, and the moment Nick’s fingers slip from your throat, you let out the loudest, most bloodcurdling scream you can make in an effort to let Sam, or anyone else who might be within earshot, know that you’re in trouble.

“I told you to shut up!” Nick strikes you again on the same cheek, and your head smacks against the carpet with the force of it. He rips your bloomers down the middle and tugs his belt open, reaching down to free his cock. He leans over you, a tight smirk on his face as you struggle against the arm he braces across your shoulders.

The door crashes open with a loud BANG! Sam races in, his cheeks red, eyes burning with fury. Nick jerks in surprise, and whatever excuse he’s got catches in his throat.

“Get off of her!” Sam grabs him by the collar and drags him off of you, slamming him up against the wall before landing a solid punch across the side of his face. Nick tries to get a kick in, but Sam’s too fast. He delivers another solid slam of his fist against the other Alpha’s temple and shoves him out into the hallway. You hear the fight progress, slowly moving down the hall until there’s a loud yell, a grunt from Sam, and the sound of something heavy falling down the stairs.

Moments later, Sam returns, his chest heaving. His jacket is rumpled, and one sleeve is torn from the shoulder. He’s got a bloody lip, but he pays it no heed as he lifts you off the floor and sets you on the bed. 

“Oh, God,” he clutches you to his chest, and you can feel his hands shaking as he gently cups your face. You dissolve into tears, unable to find the strength to make a sound as Sam examines the reddened mark on your cheek. He stares down into your face as your eyes go wide. 

“C’can’t breathe,” you stammer, “Sam, I can’t—”

“I know.” Sam reaches around and undoes the bow on your dress, quickly pulling the ribbons free. He lifts you up to drag the bodice down and over your hips. He leaves the dress in a pile on the floor, leaving you half-naked on the bed. You feel cold, and it’s hard to breathe. 

“Shh,” he soothes you, gripping your hands and bringing your fingers to his lips. “You’re in shock, you need to stay warm.” He pulls the comforter up and tucks it around your shoulders, waiting for you to stop shaking enough to step back.

“Wait here,” he murmurs, “if you need me, call for me and I’ll be right here.”

“Where are you g-going?” You pull the thick covers around to hide your bare torso.

Sam heaves a sigh and rolls his shoulders back. “Nick’s dead. We need to dispose of the body.”

***

It takes Sam nearly two hours to come back. When he does, you’re still sitting in the same place, eyes fixed on the floor where you’d been pinned down. He snaps his fingers, effectively pulling you from your trance, but his words and gestures are soft. 

“What did you do?” you ask, your voice scratchy.

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry about that. Everyone’s gone, save my brother and father.” He gently cups your head, tilting your neck back so he can examine your neck. “Some light bruising… does your throat hurt?”

You nod. “Only when I swallow.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, but his touch remains soft. “The bruises should heal in a couple of days. I’ll make some honey and chamomile tea for your throat.” He turns your face towards the light and grimaces at the bruise on your cheek. “Christ…”

“It’s not that bad,” you lie.

“Y/N, he was a large man, he could have easily killed you,” Sam says firmly. “I’ll bring you some ice for this as well… do you think you can handle a bath?” When you nod, he retreats to the bathroom. You hear the squeak of the taps and water gushing into the tub, and then Sam’s coming back and helping you into the bathroom. You’re slightly unsteady on your legs, and he helps you finish undressing (he murmurs something about burning your bloomers) before lowering you into the warm water. 

“I’ll be back with your things,” he whispers, and then he’s gone, leaving the bathroom door open. You focus on the sound of the water pouring out of the faucet and into the steadily filling basin, trying to make yourself weightless as the tub fills enough to allow you to float. 

Sam returns after several minutes. You hear the soft click of the door closing and sit up, heart thundering in your chest. He steps into the bathroom, rolling up his sleeves as he pulls up a stool to sit beside the tub. Wordlessly, he reaches for the bar of soap and lathers his hands, gently rubbing the suds over your back and shoulders. You spend the better part of an hour bathing, and it’s only when your fingers turn pruny that he helps you stand and dries you off.

He carries you back to the bed, tucking you in and stripping down to his linen underpants before climbing in beside you. He offers you a bag of ice, which you hold to your cheek with a wince as he lifts a cup of tea to your lips, making you drink the hot liquid until half of it’s gone. The honey soothes your throat, and the sweet chamomile gives you something to focus on rather than the pain of the ice against your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers,“I should have kept an eye out, or kept you close.”

You close your eyes, wishing you could just give in to the exhaustion and melt into the warm heat of his body. “It’s not your fault… but why did you kill him?”

Sam grits his teeth. “I saw him on top of you, about to… about to take you, and I just lost control. I just remember dragging him off of you and the next thing I knew he was lying at the bottom of the stairs.” He sighs heavily. “I never wished anything like that to happen to you, I swear it. I’ve seen what that can do to a woman.”

You tip your head back on his shoulder and let him squeeze your hand. “I’ll heal.”

“I know you will, but…” he darts his tongue over his lower lip. “You are going into heat. I estimate only a few days before…”

You shiver. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam nods and rests his chin on the top of your head. “Would you like me to get your nightdress? You’re shivering.”

You let him stand, fetching your gown from the closet. He helps you dress and slides underneath the covers, turning you onto your side so he can lie protectively behind you. His bare chest presses against your back, expanding as he pulls in a heavy breath. As if to anchor yourself to him, you reach for his hand, winding your fingers through his. He squeezes your palm and presses his nose against the top of your head. 

“Go to sleep, ‘mega,” he murmurs, “I’m going to keep you safe.”

[englass]

Bury Me Low

Pairing(s): Yandere John Seed x Reader

Warning(s): Yandere themes; non-consensual touching/kissing, possessive behaviour, imprisonment/kidnapping (kind of...)

Word Count: 4,952

A/N(s): Inspired by @yanderedad‘s Doki Doki AU. I don’t really know what happened to this fic along the way, but it’s finally done and that’s all that matters; I just really wanted more yandere John in my life and this is the result. Now, I’m gonna go to bed because I’m shattered, but happy reading!

Likes, reblogs and constructive feedback is always more than appreciated!

- - -

The air is stale, thick as congealed tar and laced with an underlying bitterness, a metallic twang that taps at the tongue like a beater to a triangle. It rings on the taste buds, defined but not completely obvious at first taste. There is a sickly sweet aroma that also intermingles with the varied smells, a spray of too much perfume that has bile fingering the back of your throat, invasive and acidic.

Your breath stutters at every breath you take, staccato bursts that you work feebly to get a handle on; deep inhales followed by slow exhales that each catch on one another as you quiver. Hands clasp tightly to your chest, fisting at your well-loved jumper in a poor attempt at comfort, as you plead with watery eyes for your drumming heart to let up in its relentless beat; so tight and tangled within the box of your chest that it physically hurts, battered in its gruelling journey so far.

A ghostly touch plays on the keys of your spine like a piano, perfectly tuned to elicit the sweetest response out of your quaking form. It is a perverted blend that gets you to play so beautifully, a radiating fear that feeds off of wild assumptions and known tellings in equal abandon, lingering beneath the residual chill of the metal maze that you find yourself lost in. A rat in brutal testing.

Pressing tightly between a cluster of wooden crates, joints aching at how tightly wound they are, you tilt your head back to glance at the ceiling of your metal tomb. Red engulfs the walls, emergency lights painting bloody lines into the bends and crevices, haunting shadows reaching out from darkened corners just out of sight, but never far from mind. Dread creeps like a devouring ivy beneath your skin, pushing into the foundations as they burrow deep, carving a place for themselves as they watch on uncaringly as their host falls to ruin.

The walls moan gloomily, rattling echoes that cast a despairing spell throughout the ants nest of a bunker. Winding paths stretching on, dull and never ending, leading to nowhere but subjugation. Cages made of steel and sin, rooms of iron and blood; intentions paved by pain and falsehoods. Crude promises of salvation mar the walls with sharp words, cutting in image as they are from tongue. The bunker is empty, hollow, so cold and distant, and it nurtures the moulding terror in your marrow with a soggy touch.

A writhing shiver worms at the base of your neck, teasing your body into tensing before refusing to rise to the horrifying occasion that you have found yourself trapped in. It sits in a twisted anticipation that has you twitching.

With a wrecked sigh you bow your head, body sliding weakly down the wall, to press into the pad of your bent knees; curling in on yourself as a headache pounds cruelly behind your eyes. Thoughts rearing against thoughts, logic gasping in the face of the illogical, as your instincts war over the other in a harrowing cry for action; or a lack thereof.

This can’t be happening...

Leaving the soft comfort of your jumper, an old buy that feels too long ago, your hands trail to cup over your eyes, shielding them from the crimson dyed world you are now a part of; nails scratching at skin as your fingers grip for purchase. Something to hold on and weep to. A new wave of tears threatens to get the better of you, teeth biting hard into your bottom lip at the situation you are stuck in. An anguish so raw, and a loneliness so visceral, that you can not help the clawing sob that they retch from you. The idea that you can never leave, that you are forever stuck and may very well die down here, is suddenly a very real and terrifying one.

Taking a deep breath you raise your head back, bashing it gently into the metal wall behind you, the sound small enough that there is only a fleeting second of worry, as you hiss out a broken curse between your teeth. Another quickly follows, bashing the back of the head a little harder as your jaw tightens and your teeth ground against each other, a bite of anger slipping into the deluge of your despair. Blinking hard in an effort to ease the sting and fatigue from your eyes you suddenly wish you had not run, had just sat there and let him do whatever it was he was planning to do. He was right after all; you are trapped. There is nowhere else to go.

With a deep and rickety breath you press yourself into the crate beside you, concentrating on the rough wood digging into you as you try to remember how you got out of this world all the times before this. You are not sure exactly how it worked, but it seemed to be based on the concept of ‘Will’ if you understood it well enough. A theory that you would quietly talk to yourself about as you paced back and forth in your bedroom with bitten nails and a ticking mind; the more you focused and willed yourself to leave the quicker you could. The only problem was that every time you caught yourself here (not here here, but in this world as a whole) you found it getting harder and harder to pull yourself back out. As if it was chipping at something within you that you could not touch nor protect.

Quickly, it became a painful cycle.

While nursing a bloody nose after another fateful escape, one that had taken far longer than any before it, you had figured that they were getting stronger, that their influence was steadily growing. Every time you found yourself here they were more prepared, able to keep you locked down for longer while you struggled to evade and escape. Always on your tail, always talking and propositioning– near on begging for something that you were not willing to give to them.

You didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want to be a part of their twisted fantasies, you didn’t want them constantly taking you every time your mind wandered; you didn’t want to be the flu shot that was gradually immunising them against you. It wasn’t fair that while you had gotten weaker, lost control over something that you owned and had held dear, that they had only gotten stronger. They were now at that point were they could change and mould the world however they wanted it; free to hack into the code and make it all a special playground just for them. Their very own Eden.

Only the truth is they never got stronger.

A low whine eases against your throat, a sound full of shame, arms wrapping around to hold onto yourself tightly as you nurture your still bleeding pride. You had thought yourself so sure, knew how this world worked and what you had to do to get out of it. Foolishly, you had started to grow accustomed to the abrupt trips to the County beyond the screen; became frustrated as your fear at the unknown and unbelievable began to grate against the uncanny familiarity you were forced to face against every other day. Shamefully, arrogantly, you had thought yourself in control. That you were better. That this was your game (you were real, they weren’t) and therefore you had a say in it. You had a choice.

They made sure to prove you wrong.

For a second you find yourself broken away from your helpless thoughts, a question on the brain as you listen into the dying silence; a new sound suddenly prowling the halls. With a sharp jolt you look up, eyes wide and ears open as a familiar tune slinks against the walls. Sharp and high it cuts through the labyrinthian bunker better than any blade, the telltale hiss of a particular breed of serpent making your blood freeze with a revitalised fear.

He’s here.

Your breath picks up, short bursts that you try to keep quiet at the expense of your shaking heart, as you war over what to do; do you cut your losses now, hand yourself over and get it done with, or do you just keep running until one of you finally gives up the ghost?

Truly, it’s a pointless battle.

You know he won’t give in. He’s committed, ruthlessly so. Sadly, you’re not. You are already so exhausted, pushing yourself past limits you shouldn’t be crossing in a failing bid to escape from this hell-scape. Trying to find a freedom that is now nigh on impossible. How much longer can you really go on for? How long until your legs collapse from underneath you, until your wailing from the weight of your own body? You don’t imagine it’s much longer if you’re actually thinking of giving in.

It’d be so easy. Just one word, just one small word, and this chase would be over. This cruel game of cat and mouse finally brought to a close. But the humiliation, the embarrassment you’d face... the last vestiges of your wounded pride shiver at the thought. Despite all of this, all that you’ve been and are now going through, your pride still holds as tall and firm as an old king refusing to give up his crumbling throne; even in the face of irrefutable defeat.

What a petulant child they are.

Before you can even decide whether to bolt from your fortress of crates or remain tucked against them like a mouse hiding from the local cat the decision is taken from you, an evenly paced tapping beating to the viper’s hiss. Whatever chance you may have had is now slipping through your fingers like water, and worryingly enough you are not too sure how you feel about that.

The tapping stops, a loud and final ring that brings with it the weighted anticipation of a gong announcing an awaited sacrifice; pure and virginal and a promised meal for a beastial deity. Slowly and shakily your hands move to cup over your mouth, vainly attempting to soften your breathing as it races to compete against your quaking heart. Eyes wide and dilated as you silently beg to whatever god that lays beyond and within this coded space to show you even an ounce of mercy, to get him to walk away and leave you be.

You should know by now that no such god exists.

Catching the faintest ruffle of what sounds suspiciously like clothing you bury yourself as much as you can between the crevice of the crates, praying that your dark clothing will be enough to shield you from his keen eyes. He is much closer than you assumed he was if you can hear the shifting of his clothes, the sharp ‘tsk’ of his serpentine tongue as he stands meters away, unmoving.

The silence that follows the universal reprimand does nothing to quell your rattled heart, barely containing a strangled whimper as a hollow buzz washes through the bunker. White noise staining the walls in static sounds that reverb and move like roiling maggots, chewing at the mind as if it is a festering carcass, as you get lost in its numbing haze. Time unknowable and inconceivable.

You very nearly jump out of your skin when the silence shatters, your heart tripping over its own beat as ice burns through the blood in your veins, sharp and needling. A new wave of despair pins you down like an avid butterfly collector would their treasured specimens when he starts to speak; his voice as refined as a blood-cut diamond and laced with powdered bone. Darkened promises that speak threats of painted gold lurking within the underground twang of his muted accent.

“Dearest,” he drawls with a mocking lilt, tone a soured saccharine that faintly echoes throughout the bunkers skeleton, “as much as I love a good chase I do believe it is about time for you to come home. I didn’t exactly appreciate you running out on me like that after all; you hurt my feelings. Although I must admit, you certainly caught me off guard. I didn’t take you to be the rash sort, but I suppose we are still getting to know each other after all.” A secret chuckle ricochets through the bunker, a bitter admission that sands down into a blissful sigh.

“But, that’s alright. I’m not angry; this is all so new to you that you merely got cold feet. Joseph always tells me that I have to have patience, that I need to give you time, and that with it you will eventually come to us. You’ll come to me. And yet,” his tone twists, snaps into a restrained snarl, a bite of annoyance. “I have given you time. I have given you space, free reign within my own little piece of Eden, and yet you are still not here. You still refuse to listen to me, refuse to accept me and everything I could give you! I could-”

He cuts off, holds his tongue and lets the space fill with a pregnant pause that tugs the walls in tighter; crowds the already cramped space until it chokes. There is a faint shuffle, a shift in movement, before he speaks again.

“However,” he sighs, anger drained but forever lurking like an eldritch horror, “we– I have ways been very good at making people listen, showing them the errors of their ways and helping them down a greater path so that they may be set free. Helping to cut out the sins that they bury so low within themselves, an infectious collection of dirty secrets just begging to see the light. To be ripped out for all to see and bare witness to! And you? Oh dearest,” the hiss of a laugh between the viper’s fangs overshadows the affectionate purr of the endearment, turning it sour and rotten, “you harbour the prettiest collection.”

You are not too sure how to respond to such a comment, wide-eyed and as petrified as you are, but you do find yourself slightly thankful in the knowledge that he hasn’t quite found you yet. Although, how long he will put up with your resistance is a beast you would rather not think about. John is eager – ravenous – in his desire for attention (attention you unknowingly fed him), and there is nothing more terrifying than a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“And I understand,” his chuckle is low, a drag around his words that would make you question whether he truly does or not, “oh truly, I understand. This must all be so... deeply overwhelming for you, darling. You must be so scared, lost in my bunker; lost in a world that you thought you knew. Thought that you understood,” he ‘tsk’s’ something disappointed; a pitying reprimand for someone who doesn’t know better. “But, you don’t. You are still young, riddled with the temptations of sin; the promise of something less than glorious. You don’t understand. You don’t see. But that’s alright. You will. All you have to do is accept the truth. Accept the Word of The Father into your heart – accept me and all that I can offer you...

“I can keep you safe. I can you give everything you have ever wanted, anything in the world and I can give it all to you! You have a choice here, darling. So, either you keep yourself in denial, connected to a world that does not care or want you, refusing to make a choice just as you are right now between those crates-” what, “Or, you could be a good little girl and come to me willingly. Accept the truth – the devotion that I can give you, that I want to give you, and this little game of ours can very well end. All you have to do... is say yes.”

The silence hangs, his tongue dragging lecherously around his favoured word; skimming along the walls as a rising sun, filled with the promises of an ill fated day ahead, dawns within you. He knows where you are. That revelation alone is enough to scare you solid, any half-conceived plans falling to ash in the wake of his admittance. Just what do you do now? Surely there’s nowhere left to run to, and even if there is how do you get there; where do you go?

What do you do?

“I won’t ask again, dearest,” he chimes with a dark lilt. “You are testing my patience as it is; do not keep me waiting.”

Still and racing, empty and stuffy, your thoughts get caught in the crossfire of your vibrating nerves. So violent in their frequency you start to feel dizzy, off kilter, as your head pounds and your stomach rolls.

The silence lays thick for an agonising beat.

“For fucks sake!” His shout makes you jump, the following bang, quick on its tail and roaring through the bunker, makes you scream. Blinded by fear you don’t even realise you’ve made a dash for it until you go sliding around a corner, shoulder bashing roughly into the jut of a bunker wall, the corner of a crate catching your hip, as you stumble and cry out.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You hear the spoiled call of your name, a tangled mess of interwoven threats and lacing pleas that do nothing but push you to run faster, to get out – to get as far away as you possibly can.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, this was never supposed to happen! You feel the panic rise with the speed of a broken dam, rapid and crushing, as the walls narrow and the air fizzles and the bunker keeps going and going and going.

This isn’t real it can’t be real, dear god don’t let this be real–

You startle, exclaim, try to stop, trip, collide into a stack of crates that weren’t there but now are. Vaguely you see them shimmer, iridescent flashes that glitch with shapes and textures that don’t belong until they do. The air warbling as if impersonating a mirage as different scents flutter in and out, change and remain, swap and shift, until it settles on that initial metallic twang, underlined with something sweet with the faintest brush of an ensnaring spice that looks to pull and hold; never let go.

One crate topples over, shakes loose from the mountain it is a part of, as you grip your bruising arm with gritted teeth and wet cheeks. It’s tender, your whole body feeling beaten and exhausted, as you slide down against the remaining crates. Legs giving in with the loss of your momentum. The wood scraping against the cotton of your jumper as you deliberately press into the stack of crates to keep yourself standing; hunched over your throbbing arm as you cradle it against your abdomen.

A dreadfully familiar voice chimes throughout the now tunnel of a bunker, malicious mirth buried low within the undertones of a plastic sympathy. A show decorated with a spiteful substance that you know, with unquestionable certainty, will burn you worse than any acid ever could.

Your eyes close tightly with the sharp prick of defeated tears.

“See? I told you that you didn’t understand, dearest. This is my world now, my Eden, not yours to run around and play pretend in; this is mine. And if I want to keep you locked up within it, within my home or my bunker, safe from the intentions of my brothers and anyone else that would dare to come between us, then... well,” his chuckle is low, head ducked as he looks at you with electrical eyes; charged on greed and sparking with sudden flashes of lust and muted flares of wrath, “I will damn well do so.”

No response could do the utter insanity behind his declaration justice. The only thing you are even able to utter is a hushed and broken, “you’re crazy.”

For a second John tenses, screwed too tight with a primal and instinctual need to lash out, to correct and reprimand. Only as quickly as he tenses does he visibly relax, the tension coiled tight like an aggravated snake within him loosening in its constricting hold; huffing a breath of a laugh as his expression lightens, turning into a soft and fond smile. Under a different circumstance, not drowned within crimson lighting and buried low beneath the map, he would no doubt look absolutely breathtaking.

“Only for you, dearest.”

That is far from a comforting thought.

You shake your head, a slow and terrified rejection as you feebly try to bury yourself into the crates behind you; trapped at a dead end. Tears running fresh trails down your cheeks as a heavy hopelessness begins to physically weigh you down, slivers of a fleeting courage draining like water spilt from a shattered glass.

John must be able to see the cold realisation on your face, the dreadful fate that you are still pitifully trying to reject despite the hollowed acceptance that you have reached, as he takes a step toward you. You only hug yourself tighter, allowing yourself to fully slide to the floor on aching joints; knees pulled stiffly to your chest. Eyes falling downcast as he stops in front of you, kneeling on bended knee.

For a moment nothing happens; the silence chiming like a ceremonial bell as the bunker groans like a sleeping giant on every toll. Creaking and moaning as your thoughts go painfully still, stale and empty. Despair chewing through you until there is nothing but a gloomy void in its place; a swallowing maw.

Flinching you glance up, eyes caught in a tangled web of stark blue; a mirrored maze of crystallised turquoise that gleams on cut and unpolished edges, raw and unrefined, masquerading as the smoothest of gems welded onto the finest of crafted metal.

John’s oceanic eyes never leave yours as his fingers skim against the apple of your cheek reverently; water changing, ebbing and flowing, as emotions dance like fading stars.

With a startling amount of focus John watches, tantalised and near disbelieving, as his fingers explore your features; the pads of his fingers trailing unhurried paths across your nose, cheek, jaw and down your neck. If he notices the way you jump and flinch at his feathered caresses he doesn’t comment, merely continuing until his free hands joins the other in its exploration.

Following down – lingering on where your collarbone lies shielded by your jumper – his hands flatten against your arms, rubbing a brief, and intended, comforting touch against you before sliding down the line of your arms; stopping, contemplatively, at your wrists. With ease your slim wrists fit effortlessly within the bars of his light, but caging grip.

Shifting his hold slightly he raises your wrists to press them against the bunker wall and beside either side of your head, fingers loosely curled in a surrendering gesture, as he edges forward, invading your space to press his forehead against your own; his nose brushing against yours in a faint display of affection. His deep and blissful sigh does not go unnoticed.

Fearfully you allow the contact, the potential consequences that could very well be brought down upon you if you weren’t to allow it running rampant. You don’t even realise you are trembling, whining quietly within your throat like a frightened puppy, until you feel the gentle pressure of John’s thumb against the pulse of your wrist; drawing indiscernible patterns, back and forth, as he cooes adoringly at you.

“Shh,” he soothes, crowding closer, “it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay; I’m here now, dearest. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

He reluctantly pulls away a few inches, eyes twinkling chasms formed from frozen seas. His smile is serene, a loving expression that looks to put the mind at ease, but is tipped with an edge of something that you can only describe as erratic; restrained, but vibrating. A rotary blade buzzing hungrily.

There is a strange stillness that ripples between the both of you; a heaviness that darkens his eyes a shade or two, makes them glint within the abyss, before he glances down at your lips. Suddenly, you find yourself reminded of why you ran in the first place. Why, with invisible hands on your shoulders – pushing and shoving and guiding, you had bolted from his home and found yourself lost within the endless maze of his bunker; manipulated codes glitching and looping as he saw and sees fit.

With a tightening chest you take in a shuddering breath, shrinking in on yourself as your eyes sting with the onset of fresh tears. There lies no comfort in them.

“Please,” you plead with fear-ridden eyes, water in your voice, “don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

“But I do,” a smile plays on his lips, the end of a failed laugh trailing into something weaker and uncertain; doubting. “How else would you stay with me otherwise?”

There is something so broken in the way he says it, so raw and heart wrenching that you go cold. With a disjointed interest you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with an anxious swallow, his aqua eyes tracking your every flicker of emotion with an obsessive intensity. Slowly, cautiously, you shake your head.

“This isn’t how you get someone to stay.”

“Then what will!” His grip tightens, jostles you in sudden flare of rage, ocean eyes ablaze with frozen fury and a horrendously hidden hurt. “I try to be nice. I try to have patience, but you do nothing but resist me. You do nothing but say no– just say yes! Please, for fucks sake, just say yes!”

A cry catches in your throat as your head collides with the wall, hands feebly flailing to shake off his hold as you twist, attempt to stand and dash; body wailing at the strain, begging you with creaking bones and stiffened joints that have you crying in distress. He only pushes closer, allows you to shift and struggle until he’s above you, pinning and straddling your hips; his breath fast and frantic, daring and desperate as you go still and tense and cry beneath him. Ocean eyes widen, spark and glitter, engulfing you in waves that look to submerge and drown. The light of an acquired realisation turning those shallow waters deep.

“Please,” he whispers in a hoarse voice, accent drooling as his eyes dart between every feature, “please let me do this. Let me prove how good we could be together; how good I could be for you. You don’t need anyone else, but me, dearest. Please. Please, let me...” there is a panic to his words that taint his next actions, the intended chaste press of his lips scorching fierce with a ravaging hunger. You let out a startled gasp as his lips press aggressively against our own, tongue not wasting time and slipping into your mouth. Teeth clacking against your own as he furiously devours you, grip pulling and tugging you as close as he possibly can; hips rocking against your own as he looms over you, his hand sliding under your jumper, kneading the flesh with desperate, clawing touches.

He growls something feral against your lips, a breathless curse spilling like liquid lust as he pulls away, pants into the curve of your neck as he rolls his hips; a whine falling unbidden, uncaringly, from his parted lips. Muffled pleas scraping against your flesh as his teeth nibble and press into the sensitive skin there, threatening to bite and mark and bleed.

Whimpering you turn your head away, nuzzling weakly into the cotton of your hood beneath and taking what fabric you can between your teeth; cringing at the texture against your tongue and the weight of John above you, the wet drag of his own tongue flat against your throat and the leisurely grind of his hips against your own.

“I promise you, sweetheart,” your sides tingle at the new endearment, his breath hot and hushed against your ear, “you’ll want for nothing with me. I’ll provide everything you need and more. I’ll guide you,” a fractured laugh, a huff of delirium, “I’ll guide and lead you just as I’m supposed to; teach you how to say ‘yes’. You can’t fight fate after all, dearest; and this,” his hand under your jumper, stroking absently against your waist, moves to press lightly against your stomach; a trembling caress to an unspoken promise, “this is where our future lies.”

A sob shatters from your lips, cutting and splitting, as your heart ceases at the implication. Your now free arm falling over your eyes; a poor hiding spot as you grit and gasp in newfound anguish.

This is really happening... fuck, this is really happening...

All the while John comforts you. Gentle reassurances coupled with softened touches; carefully controlled. Pulling your arm away so he can see the way your eyes sparkle, submissive stars drowning beneath the waters of your fear, under the blood-tinged lights that illuminate you so prettily. The silent need you hold for direction and acceptance a sacred song that cannot be silenced nor ignored; and it is one that John intends to listen and dance to for longer than infinity.

And as you cry and whine helplessly beneath his disease, moulded and devoured into one, safe and secure and forever his within the ones and zeros, he buries you low within the gilded embrace of his corrupted Eden.

[renaer-is-allegedly-hot]

session 13

wow i’m really out of it tonight lmao uh some highlights bc these r rlly atrocious:

adam shit himself and vomited over the dwarf in our basement

fought some ppl n killed; gotta hide six bodies

pregame !

Jacob n dom r talking abt other dnd campaigns

Jacob rigged explosives somewhere

They need souls to open coffins or smth

I REALIZED MY MIC IS MUTED SO THEY CAN’T HEAR ME SING THE GOLDEN GIRLS THEME SONG THE WAY MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER DOES HAHAHAHHAHA

Thank you for being a friend

Bum bum bum bum

Travel round the world and back again

If the truth be told you’re a friend and a confidant

Etc

Jacob explaining his eye scratch

I’m just sitting here singing the golden girls theme song

Tunnel vision in smash

I’m just renegading while they talk smash

Jacob wants to home alone our house the next night we have

Immovable rod is abt 3ft long

Last time on dnd asyna heard a window break

Roll initiative

Aerana and theo roll 22

Asyna rolls 21

Adam 13

Cel 6

Asyna was waking everyone up

Halfling size ballista ? In our turret ? Maybe

Ooh trebuchet is an interesting sans font

Aerana is going first

Double dash downstairs

You hear stuff on the first floor making noise; you and theo get to the second floor about to go downstairs

Theo in master bedroom double dashes towards where I am

Asyna

In watchtower, asyna's gonna try and do stuff from above ? Maybe .

Proposes turning into a hummingbird

Spike growth ? Grows spikes

Also creates rough terrain

In front of the door

Oop they're speaking goblin

Goblins

2d4 damage for each 5 ft they move

Some of them were able to get inside the house but still slowed down

Adam

Will cast cantrip

Thaumaturgy to boom voice 3x louder than normal "WHO DARES ENTER MY HOUSE PLEASE LEAVE WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS AND YOU WILL BE SPARED ,,, PLEASE"

Intimidation check

Lmao a 7

Entire house booms; everyone heard it but like effect?

Adam sleeps naked

Cel

Right in front of door to hall on second floor

Aerana

2 squares away from action at back of house

Theo

Also goes for pantry, same place generally as aerana

Asyna

Starts downstairs

Gonna turn into ape and try and make way down side of building as ape

Down p much by next turn

Goblins

Apparently being eaten up by spikes

Should I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'm kinda craving

O shoot I gotta run soon for medicine

Adam

Dashing

This is just slow running in a dream

Cel

Base of stairs ?

Also heading towards pantry

Aerana

Bust in

Momentarily frozen

To the right next to basement hatch r two hulking figures covered in thick dark fur; kinda pointy ears, look kind of like goblins and v tall like easily 7ft

Big mauls

Bugbears

Can I fight?

23 to hit, 7 damage to closest one

The goblins trying to move the thing but not working well

Theo

I'M GONNA RUN TO GRAB MY MEDS

Slashes at the one aerana didn't hit lmao I rlly just did that I'm breathing

15 barely misses

Goblin blocks lillian's strike

Asyna

Srsly should I make a sandwich

On first floor outside

Bro my headache went to the other side of my head wtf

Gonna go through a window

Follows them in and attacks a bunch of them

Bro I kinda rlly want a sandwich

17 and 18 to hit, 6 and 4 damage ?? 10 damage ?? 10 damage for both ??

KILLS BOTH OF THEM N I C E

Bashes their heads together

I'm making a sandwich

"it's a very forceful kiss"

Third one readies self

Lashes out at asyna, misses

Goblins

R also gonna try and attack aerana and theo

12 damage to theo

I'm eating my sandwich

One of the middle ones is gonna go for asyna, hits, 5 damage

That was a good sandwich might get another one

Adam

Bro I kinda want another sandwich

Gets downstairs w max speed and peeks in, sees aerana and theo and two dead guys by window and two more living fighting an ape

Looks at theo

Bro again I kinda want another sandwich

Makes the one that hit theo make a wisdom saving throw

Did not make it, hideous laughter

Mans can't stop laughing, has to make wisdom saving throw each turn ig

Adam has to tell a joke

Comes down and looks at bugbear, locks eyes

Our party walks into a bar . But most of us walk under it

What

Is this a short joke ?

I don't get it yikes

Panicked dom laughing

Tells us to not hit the guy laughing; save him for last

Bonus action uses cutting words on the one aerana is fighting; "fuck you"

Cel

I still kinda want another sandwich

To clarify my sandwich was like half

I think yesterday or smth I like hit my foot lol and I did the thing where I compose myself rlly quickly to ignore the pain and up my pain tolerance and it left a mark but like it literally doesn't hurt so not saying I'm upping my pain tolerance but one day if I ever got like idk shot or smth I'm not gonna have a reaction

Cel hits the one that's doing better w a spell and then does shortbow 25 to hit, 12 damage

"how do you want to do this?"

Takes an arrow right through his brainstem and the arrowhead goes out his mouth

Aerana

Wasted insightful fighting, didn't hit

Scream of frustration that I missed

Theo

Takes bow and tries to hit, 13 misses

Asyna

Do I rlly still want another sandwich

Hm

Hits on one roll, 7 damage

Guy is barely alive

Goblins

One that tries to attack aerana misses, guy on ground is now up, guy attacking asyna hits, 11 damage

Adam

Cutting words on guy that just got up "oh you're finally awake"

"ever heard of the one where the guy got back up"

Goblin rolls nat20

Cel

22 to hit, 9 damage

Stabs him, hurts

Aerana

13

"next time remember it"

If an ally is within 5 ft of you you get sneak attack

If u have advantage

Don't need advantage if another enemy of the target is within 5 ft of it

Start over

When rogues have advantage, get to add sneak attack

Can add sneak attack when u don't have advantage if

One of allies is within 5 ft of you

And if u don't have disadvantage

Theo

Gonna try for the bow again

Going for the one asyna's fighting

8 damage

Guy is on last legs

Asyna

Kills

Fun fact apes have been known to rip off the faces of their enemies

Rips face off then gently puts him down

Still two goblins left

Goblins

Try and run

Attacks of opportunity from celandine, theo and aerana

Nat20 from cel

Theo and aerana miss

I've missed like every hit what is this

14 damage from cel

They're still able to get away

Asyna makes attack of opportunity

I still kinda want another saaaandwich

Neither hit

Adam

33 across board for both for sleep; both fall over and hit ground, asleep

Adam goes outside and looks if anyone is watching outside their window

Looks like one of our neighbors is at their window out of the apothecary

Uses infernal legacy to cast darkness, blocking their darkvision

Puts it between fallah's house and bodies

Then drag the bodies

Adam is kinda sweaty n exerted

Aerana is watching ot, asyna takes one body cel adam and theo take the other

Theo is rolling damage

Cel binds their feet first and adam prepares sleep

Theo rolls 13 damage and one dies, other 15 and also dies

Why is my eye glitching lmao

Maybe I still want a sandwich

What time do I need to be up tomorrow wait

Idk lmao

We've brought our bodies in, the night is ours

It's 10ish at night

Adam's gonna sleep in jeans

Adam was not naked in combat ?

Or maybe he was

Adam doesn't wear pajamas so he had pants

Sleeping downstairs shifts for the night

Adam takes first shift

Adam is sweating a lot, feeling a little odd; feels super weak and cold and feels a little sick like he might throw up

Constitution saving throw

"can I feel this coming and give myself bardic inspiration?"

"uh . Sure"

"hold it in hold it in hold it in"

Check to see if he can make it to the bathroom

"boi that's just nasty" adam wakes up someone ? Adam

Adam wakes theo up

"you must be real glad I'm wearing pants right now"

Rolls nat1

Adam vomits onto theo ? Vomits into theo's cloak

Adam becomes violently ill

The key eventually comes out the butt

A 4

Able to makes way down hatch towards bucket by ot

Vomits on ot

"ot is, like, weeping"

Adam is weakened

So adam shit and hurled

Adam stomps it down the drain ?

Next morning

Adam comes down with the key

Adam's exhaustion is cured after long rest

We're not talking to adam today

Adam sets key on table "did you wash that first" theo / adam slowly takes key back

Adam casts sleep on ot to kind of relieve him

Cel goes to jones, one of the goblins informs cel that jones is out ,,, just out

Cel can't find jones

Home alone-ing the house now ?

Aerana

House was in state of disrepair before

Spike spell tore up front of house, lots of windows knocked out from fireball explosion and were damaged during fight

Bad to a little bit worse

Theo 20 for investigation

Random ropes and bricks, nails, wooden planks

Intelligence check w advantage

19, sets up a few different traps; two swinging brick traps when a door is opened + simple nails stuck into plank so would hurt if someone stepped on it

Asyna 9 for investigation

Cel sees jones putting a bunch of keys into the lock

Jones can't find the key to open his door

Jones is maybe gonna get some stooges to remove the bodies

10 dragons

Henrietta is gonna dump em

Astigmatism lmao

Back at the manor

Adam is done cleaning

Ot asked if he could be set free, adam says "this is my fault, I got it buddy"

Adam is going to the apothecary down the street

Walks up to counter, fallah is there

"heyo what's poppin fallah"

Takes out potion of necrotic resistance

Adam says he bought it at sea ward, roll for deception; 12

Why am I sO LETHARGIC ALL THE TIME !!!

Offers adam 50 gold

Pushes for 60, 10 for persuasion check

Just takes it for 50

Fallah gives medicine, smells like oregano

Adam goes in for a hug, hesitates then retracts

Goes to bardic school to talk to master

Yava is there

12 insight check

Yava is usually v composed but today

Yava is an elf so is like bruh wdym u trust me after knowing me for like a month

Asks abt house security

Adam just straight up tells her he's in trouble w the xanathar guild and is asking for glyph of warning spells ?

Persuasion check, gives self bardic inspiration

11, yava agrees to help

She's willing to do it for free

Can cover 8 entrances to the house

"I'd b willing to do this but adam u must b more careful"

Adam tells her he's dealing w a large sum of money - half a million dragons

There was half a million dragons embezzled ?

Yava thought it was just a rumor

Adam is idiot

Adam asks yava if she wants in

Idiot

[thej13579]

A Cure Blossoms from Hope: DR/HPC TG/TF

As Shuichi and his friends were about to end Danganronpa, a fairy shows up with a surprise that Shuichi never expected.

--------DISCLAIMER!!--------

This story contains MASSIVE spoilers for Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony. Please be advised before reading it, as if you haven't played the game yet you will be spoiled on the entire plot about it just from this story!

... or if you don’t want to play the game, you can just watch it on Youtube. Can’t really stop you.

If you don’t care about spoilers or you already played the game to the end, carry on.

“Together, we’re gonna end Danganronpa!"

Shuichi glared at Tsumugi with a level of confidence that he never expected himself to have. He may not be the Ultimate Detective. Maybe this whole facade was a facade itself. But there is one thing that Shuichi and his friends knew for sure. Danganronpa has to end.

“You can’t do this!” Tsumugi yelled. “Danganronpa brings joy to so many people around the world, to men, women, children! It can't just end right now!"

His eyes turned towards his friends: Maki, Himiko and Keebo. Together, nothing can stop them from ending this demented series of killing games. Even if Keebo has been taken over by the audience right now, Shuichi knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to fight alongside them.

“She’s right!” Monokuma defended Tsumugi. “If Danganronpa ends, I’ll be out of a job! Everyone else would be too envious of my cuteness to hire me!”

As Shuichi glared at the two foes with pure determination in his eyes, a voice ringed in his ears.

“Tsubomi! Where are you!”

“Huh,” Shuichi looked around the area. That voice didn’t sound like anyone in the room with him. It was too high and chirpy. “Did anyone hear that?”

“Hear what?” Himiko replied.

“I’m not hearing anything either.”

Shuichi looked towards Tsumugi and Monokuma. Through the look of confusion on their faces, not even they could hear the voice that just echoed through the room.

“Tsubomi!”

The voice echoed again, only this time it was louder and everyone could hear it.

“Who’s Tsubomi?” Maki asked. “Anyone know?”

“I got nothing,” Himiko answered.

“No!”

Shuichi turned to see Tsumugi and he wasn’t expecting him to see her sweat.

“No! No no no no! Not you!”

A bright light appeared in the center of the trial room, briefly blinding everyone in sight. As the light faded, Shuichi saw a creature that he never expected to see in his life.

A white fairy with heart-shaped ears that have a cyan heart marking to match her bangs, tail, and markings on her dark brown eyes. She wears a fuchsia bow with a pink gem star. Her neck has a frilly fuchsia piece held by a silver heart.

“Tsubomi! I’m so glad we finally found you and your friends!” The fairy chirped. “We’ve looked everywhere in the dream world for you!”

As the fairy floated in the room, Shuichi’s friends looked upon the creature. Maki simply stared at the magical being with a look of confusion while Himiko looked at the fairy with awe.

“What the hell am I looking at?” Maki asked.

“It’s a fairy, obviously,” Himiko claimed. “I bet she has a lot of MP in her.”

“Chypre!” Monokuma interjected. “Get out of here! This game was going well without you.”

“Chypre…” 

Shuichi knew that name sounded familiar and the name Tsubomi too. Why it sounded familiar, he had no idea.

It was then an image popped into his head. He can remember three girls, one with navy blue hair, one with short brown hair and the last girl had waist-length dark purple hair. They extended their hands out to him, almost like they were calling to Shuichi himself, like they wanted Shuichi to join them, become one of them.

“Who are they?” Shuichi whispered to himself.

“I doubt that,” Chypre replied to the bear. 

“W-what should we do, Monokuma?” Tsumugi stammered. “She’s going to ruin everything!”

“You stop her, then.”

Before the Ultimate Cosplayer knew it, Monokuma pushed Tsumugi out of her stand and into the middle of the trial room. 

“I-I-I can’t!” Tsumugi stuttered as she stood in place. 

“Here!”

Shuichi suddenly found himself with a pale, elongated spray-like object in his hands. The vines on the side were painted in a pale pink. A thickly ornate gold plate is placed on the middle, lined in a dark pink variant, and has a tiny heart-shaped symbol on it. At the middle is a large hole for something meant to be inserted into. On top is a gold, leafy shape with a small hole on it. A similar hole is also on the white rose bud on top of it. Alongside the object was a small pink gem-like token with a small heart shaped hole inches from the top..

“W-what is this?”

“This is your Heart Perfume,” Chypre answered. “I know this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to you and I know you look nothing like Tsubomi, Tsubomi, but if you just inserted the Pretty Cure Seed into this, everything will make sense.

As he stared at the Heart Perfume, another image appeared in Shuichi’s mind. There were three girls in flower-themed outfits in that image. One with sky-blue hair, one with bright yellow hair and one with lavender hair. They were holding up their own Heart Perfumes. As their artifacts shined, a phrase echoed in Shuichi’s mind, begging to be said out loud. He knew he had to say it.

“Pretty Cure! Open My Heart!”

Shuichi was quick to insert the Pretty Cure seed into the Heart Perfume. As he sprayed the perfume on himself, his clothes began to change.

Gone was his black uniform and in its place was a short white and fuchsia dress with bell-flower shaped sleeves.. His pants were now a white and pink skirt. His dark blue loafers morphed into light pink and fuchsia boots with flowers embroidered onto each side.

Of course, as the transformation proceeded, Shuichi’s clothes weren’t the only thing that changed. His body began to show cracks, pink lights emitting from each one. Like glass, the body shattered, revealing a young girl no older than fourteen. Her hair grew until it was well past her waist. The color of her hair quickly turned neon pink and it was tied in a high, curly ponytail held by a hot pink bow with a small flower. Her red-violet eyes became bright pink as well.

As the transformation ended and Shuichi floated down to the center of the room, he… no, she finally remembered everything.

She is not Shuichi Saihara. She’s not The Ultimate Detective. She’s not even a boy. That last part was yet another lie in a series full of them. Not particularly surprising at this point.

“The flowers spreading throughout the land, Cure Blossom!”

She is Tsubomi Hanasaki. Cure Blossom. The one who would end Danganronpa and take her friends back to the real world.

“Um…” Maki was at a genuine loss for words. “I really don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

“His MP’s off the charts!” Himiko claimed. “Only magic of the most powerful kind can change someone to that extent!”

Tsubomi can’t say Himiko was wrong. It was something truly powerful that turned her into Shuichi and started this whole killing game in the first place.

Her eyes turned towards the two behind everything. It’s time to end this.

“Monokuma, you have caused harm to my friends and everyone in this demented game! I will never forgive you for exploiting our pain for your own personal gain!” 

“M-Monokuma?” Tsumugi stuttered. “What should we do?”

“Do I really have to do everything myself?” Monokuma yelled. “Fine! If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Yeah! Stop them Monokuma! Danganronpa shall continue-urk!”

Any boast from Tsumugi was cut short when Monokuma plunged his claw right into her chest. Rather than the pink blood that the other students spewed out upon their deaths, black goo oozed from the Ultimate Cosplayer’s body.

“W-why?”

Tsumugi’s dark essence slowly made its way into Monokuma’s body. Her body was slowly decomposing as the bear grew twice his size, eventually crumbling into dust completely, much to the horror of the Ultimate Mage.

“W-what? Isn’t she your assistant of sorts?”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Maki said. “I would hardly call her death by Monokum’s hands an unforgivable sin.”

“Upupupupu,” Monokuma giggled. Once he was shorter than the majority of his “students”. Now, he easily towered over his opponent. As far as he knew, he was more than a match for the leader of Heartcatch Precure.

“Now then,” Monokuma turned to face Cure Blossom. “I’ll have you know that I’m an expert in Bear-Fu. I graduated top of my class and I can kill a thousand of you prissy girls with both of my hands tied behind my back.”

Monokuma’s boast was only met with a cold glare from the Cure.

“Besides, you know you can’t fight me,” Monokuma smirked. “You could break a nail or mess up your pretty pink hair. Obviously better fit for a salon or something girly like that.”

Still dead silence.

“Nothing to say about my greatness? Alright then. Die!”

Monokuma quickly ran towards Cure Blossom, claws extended. The cure was equally quick to dodge the first swipe of his claws and gave Monokuma a swift punch to the face, knocking the significantly larger bear back a few feet.

“Ow! That hurt!” Monokuma growled. “Very well. Seems like I need to kick things up a notch. Let’s see how good you are at dodging this!”

Monokuma quickly ran back up to Cure Blossom and began throwing punch after punch at his opponent. He threw them at such speeds that, to the untrained eye, he was throwing ten people-sized punches at once.

“Oraoraoraoraoraoraoraoraoraora!”

But regardless of the size, speed and agility of his attacks, Cure Blossom was able to dodge each and every blow that Monokuma dished out. She patiently waited for an opening, a perfect opportunity for her to strike.

It wasn’t long before Cure Blossom figured out where to strike. In his haste to attack his opponent, the despair-obsessed bear paid no attention to the area below his waist. It was obvious that fighting was never Monokuma’s strong suit, especially when it comes to fighting those he can’t overpower easily. His legs were completely vulnerable.

A simple leg sweep was enough to knock Monokuma off of his feet. The air time he had was short, but long enough to allow Cure Blossom to kick her foe high up into the sky.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Monokuma yelled. “How are you strong enough to kick me up like that? You’re obviously a shrimp in comparison to me!”

He was in the right position. It was time for her to finish this.

Cure Blossom held out her hand and a pink heart emerged onto it. She threw it up into the air and it turned into her Blossom Tact, an artifact capable of purifying Desertrians like the very threat standing before her right now. She spinned the center of the tact, and rainbow lights went into the gemstone tip of the Blossom tact. The tips surge with purity energy, and Cure Blossom spins before declaring the attack name. 

“Pink Forte Wave!”

She then shoots out an energy flower at Monokuma. An implosion occurs, and Cure Blossom’s target is suspended in the air, a cherry blossom having overlapped behind it. 

Monokuma struggled to leap back towards his opponent, but the vines on the cherry blossom restrained him to the flower. The bear could do nothing but cry, yell and beg as Cure Blossom finalized the finishing move.

“Let go of me! You should know that I’m allergic to pollen! I can barely keep myself from sneezing!”

Cure Blossom then claps the center of the Blossom Tact to keep the center spinning. As the Blossom Tact spinned faster and faster, reality itself seemed to be breaking apart at the seam. Cracks appeared all over the academy, emitting pure bright light into the area

“Noooooooooooo!”

It was then everything bursted into a ray of light. Cure Blossom covered her eyes with her arm. Monokuma no longer existed. Everything was falling apart, everything was back to normal. That she knew.

When the light faded, Cure Blossom uncovered her eyes. Everyone was back in the park. Everyone who died in the killing game was resurrected back into their original bodies. Her friends along with the random people that were dragged into Monokuma’s scheme because of their unfortunate luck that day were now saved.

Cure Blossom turned to her friends: Itsuki Myoudouin and Yuri Tsukikage. Once Himiko Yumeno and Maki Harukawa respectively, both girls have returned to their true forms. There would be cause for Tsubomi to celebrate as she turned back to normal. But there was one member missing from their group.

“Where’s Erika?” Itsuki asked.

Tsubomi looked around the area for Erika. She must’ve been Keebo during that demented killing game Monokuma set up.

She turned towards the spot where Keebo was. 

He’s not her. 

Keebo’s true self was just some random guy that got caught up in all of this. Tsubomi felt sorry for him and all of the other people that got dragged into Monokuma’s evil scheme.

Where is Erika? Was she Kirumi? Kaito? Kaede?

“Tsubomi!”

Before she knew it, Tsubomi was pulled into a tight hug by Erika.

“Oh, I’m so glad you saved us! I knew you could do it!”

Tsubomi could feel the memories that Monokuma gave her slowly fading away. Soon the horrific memories and trauma that came from his actions will soon be more than a bad dream. But there was one question that she had to ask.

“Erika? When we were trapped. What was the name Monokuma gave you?”

“What, don’t you remember me, Mister Detective?”

There was only one person who would ever call Shuichi that.

“Kokichi?”

“Yep!”

[engekihaikyuu]

The Tokyo Battle - Review

Check out the Read More if you’d like to hear about this show!  Askbox is open as well if you’d like me to elaborate on anything out of this.

I think the first thing I want to do is give credit where credit is due to HIDALI for the absolutely lit choreography and to Wada-san for the amazing soundtrack.  If you’ve watched any of the press videos, you already know some of how the music is completely different now, extremely urban, pop, lots of R&B; less theater music, more k-pop.  And WOW the choreography.  Nekoma and Fukurodani got upgrades and additions to the choreography we’re used to seeing from them, and Nohebi was just something else entirely.  They really do give the impression that they’re slithering around the stage.  

The new pre-recorded footage that they used for projections was all super well done, but there weren’t quite as many of the projections that we’re used to (especially floor projections).  They played around more with the stage lights, with many of the effects making it more like a concert at times.  They wanted “city vibe” and they fucking nailed it.  

It occurred to me after the opening sequence was complete that I’d yet to really hear any of the traditional Engeki musical themes, and that did feel a bit odd since I’m so used to hearing it by now, but the music used for this stage was so fun, I couldn’t stop moving in my seat.  

The main running theme for this story was promises.  Kenma’s promise with Hinata for the Battle of the Trash Heap, Kuroo’s promise to Kenma from childhood that they’d become #1 in all Japan, even Akaashi’s promise to himself to take Bokuto to nationals.  Kenma talks about how people make promises all the time (e.g. See you tomorrow!) but that they’re usually just words that don’t mean much.  He never puts any weight to them, but when he thinks about his promise with Kuroo and his promise with Hinata, it’s different.  The opening flashback shows Kenma and Kuroo as kids, with Kenma sitting by a tree and refusing to play with Kuroo, who eventually moves to start carving something into the tree.  Because it’s made to look like silhouettes, we don’t get to see what Kuroo’s promise is initially until they redo the scene at the end of the play and the projections show us the promise Kuroo carved into the tree.  

But there’s also the promise that Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai made together as first years when they first became part of the Nekoma volleyball team, to conquer Nationals.  There’s the promise the team makes to Yaku after his injury that they’ll win even without him.  Akane talks about how her brother said he’d take the third-years to nationals no matter what.  All the promises that everyone makes and how important they are and what it means to keep them.  Underneath all that, the promise the current cast made to the graduated Karasuno cast that they’d work hard to make the best Engeki Haikyuu they could to continue their legacy of excellence.  

As always, my initial night’s review is a bit scatter-brained and I lose direction on how to write about it, so I want to touch on some highlight moments for me.

Bokuto’s Battle Armor 勝負服

The fact that this wasn’t JUST a gag for the opening sequence when everyone had kind of interesting outfits on but that Bokuto literally brought this to the match because he thought wearing it would help him win and the fact that everyone on Fukurodani was trying to rip it off him the entire time!!!  And it was finally Akaashi who pointed out that an outfit that important should be reserved for when they face their strongest opponents, at Nationals, to decide who stands at the top of all Japan.  Kuroo chimes in that they can hear everything Akaashi is saying, implying that Nekoma isn’t quite worth THIS rainbow pinata level of effort.  And Bokuto agrees that yes, the outfit should be saved for later and runs to take it off.  Everyone else on Fukurodani congratulates Akaashi on a job well done, but he stoically points out the bigger problem: That if and when they do make it to the final match at Spring High, that it’ll be absolutely impossible to make Bokuto not wear it.  

And then every time Bokuto starts getting flustered in the match, he kept going, “I think I’m gonna go grab the outfit after all,” and everyone is constantly just like NOOOOOOOOO At one point Akaashi was just like, “You don’t need your ‘battle armor.’  We’re your battle armor!”  

Ishigami Ryuuya as Fukunaga

When the Nekoma cast was first announced for this show, I wondered what a recast for Fukunaga would be like because in previous shows, Hayate was never given any lines, just a LOT of sick choreography that became his signature.  Thanks to that, the image of Fukunaga on the Engeki stage is one that’s associated with high level acrobatics and tricking, and I didn’t know anything about Ryuuya, so I wasn’t sure if that was what he would bring or something else. He DEFINITELY brings the acrobatics, so literally nothing was lost there, and on top of that, Fukunaga does talk more in this show, and it... tended to be in proverbs and literature references. lol

The build-up to Yaku’s injury and Shibayama subbing in

Because Yaku’s injury was supposed to be really shocking to us as readers, the manga didn’t have as much build-up for Shibayama until just before it happens,  but Engeki stresses it pretty hard.  From the beginning we can see how much Shibayama looks up to Yaku, runs after him, asks him questions, idolizes him as the ideal libero for the team.  It makes it that much more heart-pounding for Shibayama when he eventually needs to be substituted in, and his nervousness was suuuuper palpable.  It made me that much happier for his every receive that was well done and extra upset for every receive that he fumbled.  They really really built up to that moment that he and Lev have at the end of the Nohebi match, where the two of them manage to fall in sync and pull off a great connected play that lets them feel what real teamwork is like.  It was so cute for both of them, my heart was melting.  

Yaku’s injury

At the moment that the lights go up after Nekoma scores the point and they realize that the result of the last play was a sprained ankle for Yaku, I really loved that Kuroo, who was standing at the front of the stage, basically ran toward the back, moving people out of his way to check on Yaku.  He and Kai immediately put Yaku’s arms around their shoulders, and it was just a wonderful third-years moment in those little details.  

Nohebi playing dirty

I already knew that stage Nohebi wasn’t going to annoy me nearly as much as manga Nohebi (BECAUSE THEY’RE JUST SO FUCKING COOL I MEAN JESUS CHRIST THE WAY THEY DANCE AND MOVE), but they’re still very creepy about it.  The first time that they feign an apology to the referee to get into his good graces, Daishou admits that he fouled, then the entire team lines up and bows.  As people around the stage start to comment on how this isn’t what their real characters are like, they all just slowly lift their heads only with sinister grins on their faces and slowly roll up to standing after that and it was mad creepy and also excellent.  

CONNECT

Toward the end of the Nohebi match, there’s a really beautiful sequence of choreography where the Nekoma members chant, “Connect, connect, connect...”  They’re all standing still around the stage except for one, who dances and then moves to touch a teammate, and then they dance together before the first one stands still and the second one moves to dance with a third, who moves to dance with the fourth, until everyone has been connected and the dance has been passed on and on.  It was really the most stunning way to really illustrate their team concept in a dance; it made so much sense and I just couldn’t help tearing up at it.  

It really was such an amazing show, I got so friggin’ pumped watching it, and during the closing sequence, they ran out into the audience and Shouri came up into our section of the balcony and my heart was beating embarrassingly fast oh my gosh he’s not allowed to be that close.  

I’ll be seeing it twice more, on Sunday afternoon, and on the final night on Monday, and I’ll be happy to report back on variations/changes made from show to show, and feel free to ask me questions!

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: PMMM Rebellion - Part 5

Alright, after that epic fight it’s time to move on. We left off at Homura being rescued by un-brainwashed Sayaka (thanks Kyoko!), but Mami was getting re-educated by that cutesy little monster Charlotte. Time for both sides to regroup and prepare for the finale fight!

So yeah, Homura snaps to as Sayaka draws her sword to cut the ribbons away or stab the lock on them, yikes. That works too I guess but for a second it looked like you were gonna shank Homura.

Both girls nail the landing, Sayaka looking away as Homura reasonably asks what the heck is going on. Sayaka of all people chides Homura for fighting Mami when, and wow this is a role reversal. In the show it was cool and collected MST Homura who kept telling Sayaka to chill, now Sayaka’s the one bailing Homura out and calling her either “really full of yourself or really dumb.” Hah!

Alright, Sayaka’s up to speed, she knows Homura was trying to kill the Witch. She remembers everything! And.. wait, what?

[Sayaka]: “Because that’s why I’m here. At any rate, didn’t you think any of this was odd to start with?”

What, are you saying that you figured this stuff out before Homura did? But… yeah you’re right that doesn’t make sense. Why would a Witch make a city-sized Labyrinth, and then just keep them there without harming them or drawing in more victims. I mean, it supports the Cannibal!Witch theory where Charlotte’s using them as meal tickets, but it still feels off. Why was it that Charlotte was the one to pull this off, the “Sweets Witch”?

[Sayaka]: “This Labyrinth isn’t a trap to lure in victims. What the witch controlling this Labyrinth wants is to maintain the status quo in here. In other words, who benefits from the way things are right now?”

Well, Charlotte’s getting fed, so her.

[Sayaka]: “If you work backwards from that, it-”

Wait Homura what are you GAH sudden spin from Sayaka she She just stabbed Homura’s shield Sayaka stopped Homura from stopping time Why No I’d not thought about it There’s another “who benefits from the way things are right now”

[Sayaka]: “Gonna run back into your own little time again? That’s a bad habit of yours.”

nononono How why

It’s not Charlotte. It’s Octavia.

No, not that Octavia. The Witch Octavia.

[Homura]: “So you’re saying the person who wished for this situation is one of us?”

This is bad this is really bad Homura’s facing the jailer she can’t timestop anymore why how i don’t understand how did

[Sayaka]: “Is it really so surprising? Wasn’t Mami just saying earlier that this is the happiest she’s ever been in her life?

Implying that the Witch is Mami, but no. Out of the five of you, you were the one who turned in-

Oh. OH. OH

Madoka, what the FUCK are you thinking?!

Welp. Time to bring back that theory from last episode that I tabled.

The more I think about it, the more obvious it is. Madoka became Madokami (and good grief you guys, did it really take me this long to realize that nickname? I mean, Madoka and Kami? My own friggin username is mashing Ra and Anubis together, that should have been obvious! Ugh, I am clueless), and she made a new world. One free of Witches.

But it wasn’t perfect, they still fought flaws in the form of the Wraiths. And on a more personal note, there was one person who was the least happy: the one who remembered her. Homura lived her life in remembrance of Madoka, carried a bow, did everything in honor of her.

And at some point, it seems Madokami decided that that wasn’t good. So she made a New New World, as perfect as she could manage. Instead of being alone, Mami has a companion in “Bebe”. Instead of pining after Kyosuke, Sayaka gets a second chance at life with her BEST FRIEND Kyoko, who likewise has a better life with Sayaka. And for Homura? Madokami creates a new Madoka, gives Homura a fresh start.

And all it took was to make a Labyrinth for them, and suppress their memories.

Guys? Is this Rebellion actually against Madokami?

Like, Madokami, I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But this isn’t the way.

Just… guys. It’s all coming together. -Madokami creates a city-sized Labyrinth, to give her friends a better world. -Madokami silences the Incubator, keeping the group of five at a set size. -She gives them “Nightmares” to fight, relatively easy foes that they take down together, gives them purpose. -Sayaka, who we know semi-Ascended into Madokami’s afterlife, is her on-site watcher, to make sure everyone stays happy. -This supports “Bebe” too, as a Saved Magical Girl in the show she works for Madokami, keeps up the illusion.

“In other words, who benefits from the way things are right now?”

Everyone in the Madokrew benefits. But in particular, Madokami is happy that her friends are happy.

ResplendentScorpion said:I think the actual problem is that nobody but Madoka sunk anything in "empathy". The rest of them are horrible at comprehending each other as well, it's not just Homura not being able to explain herself. In contrast, Madoka has no problem understanding, feeling for, and emotionally supporting everyone.

Tinkerbell said:I think all the other members of the Magical Girl Team have perfectly normal empathy levels, actually. Madoka's empathy levels, on the other hand, is anything but normal.

Yes! This! Exactly!

Jeebus, Madokami’s actually the instigator of the movie! She’s the one behind everything! Best of intentions, but still.

Just… wow, that’s a thing.

Anyways, time to get proven wrong! Back to the movie.

Sayaka’s asking what Homura will do with the creator of the Labyrinth, once she finds her.

[Homura]: “Well, that… should be obvious.”

But can she? Because we’ve established that the Labyrinth-maker is one of the Madokrew, evidence pointing towards Madoka. Can she really “vanquish” them?

Now Sayaka’s asking if all this is really so bad. They don’t have to fight Witches anymore, they can all live and work together. Is whoever Wished for that so sinful that they need to be punished?

Homura is shocked, shocked I say, that Sayaka is siding with a Witch. (Well, I wouldn’t call her a “Witch” per say…) Sayaka just says that they are the “final form” of magical girls, after all. You can’t help but sympathize.

[Homura]: “I just remembered the most crucial point in all this.”

Mami remembered fighting Wraiths, not Witches. And Kyoko didn’t understand the concept of Labyrinths, not because she forgot about Witches, but because neither she nor Mami “ever knew about them.”

Ok, establishes this post-Madokami for sure. When Madokami remade the universe, it was without Witches. Every MG’s soul is saved before it becomes a Witch. At the sacrifice of the Wisher herself.

[Sayaka]: “I see. So you do remember her.”

Yup. Yup yup yup. There it is. Sayaka remembers Madoka, because she works for Madokami as a Saved Magical Girl.

Homura states that there are three people here who should not exist: -The Witch who created the Labyrinth -Charlotte, who remains in the form of a Witch -And Sayaka, who remembers the existence of Witches

Now… is Homura talking to one of those people, or two?

[Sayaka]: “You make me sad. I’m the same Sayaka Miki you’ve always known… Transfer Student.”

… did you just do a MST backwards head-tilt at Homura? You’re enjoying this, aren’t you-

HOLY CARP HER SHADOW IS OF HER WITCH FORM GAHGAHGAH

Ok, guess we’re doing this now!

Sayaka stabs at Homura’s shield again, but this time Homura pulls Sayaka’s sword away. Not sure how useful that’ll be as she can just summon another, but whatever. Quick stomach-kick to get some distance, shield’s working again so Homura does a timestop.

Ok, let’s recap: You’re in a music-themed alley area, with someone who just attacked you after you worked out that she’s involved with the Labyrinth. You’ve managed to timestop, but seeing as you pulled out a pistol I’m worried that you used up all your serious firepower in that earlier fight. How are you going to get out of this?

Yeah, looks like she used her power just in time, she’s facing an oversized white cape with an image of Octavia in it. Pulling it away, time resumes… to an empty alleyway. Did she withdraw?

[Sayaka]: “You haven’t answered my question yet. Would you really be okay destroying this Mitakihara City? You should think hard on that before you decide. So that you won’t have any regrets.”

So we’ve established that the city is fake, “an idealized world someone dreamed up.” And seeing as she knows that now, we’re in full Labyrinth mode again, creepy children and artistic swans all over the place. Homura’s now on a boat-

Sorry, had to be done. Homura’s on a boat now for some reason, she-

...ok, goodbye Fourth Wall. She’s sailing under an arch that says “Do you enjoy the movie?”

Why yes Urobuchi, I am enjoying this very much. The animation is great, that Homura/Mami fight was glorious, and I’m loving the plot twists that are driving me insane. Thanks for making this!

Now she’s sailing through a tunnel, as paper cuttouts parrot lines by the other MGs.

[Kyoko]: “I came over to help Mami out.” [Mami]: “This is the kind of daily life I used to dream about in the old days.” [Sayaka]: “Tell me, is this really so bad?”

Homura’s thinking about how someone dragged everyone into this “unattainable dream world”. Forsaking the battle against the wraiths? Ah, yeah that’s a good point. If they’re in this Labyrinth living it up, then they aren’t outside fighting the flaws of the world. Maybe Madokami put a few of the Saved MGs on the task while they’re on “vacation”? Homura doesn’t approve, saying MGs must continue to always fight. Thought as she reaches up to a stylized drawing of Madokami.

Hey, Homura? I know it might seem outlandish, given how long you strived to save Madoka, but… maybe you could take a break? You got your miracle, even if it wasn’t by your hand. You don’t have to keep paying for it.

Yikes, “ridiculous farce”. You really don’t appreciate how Madokami tried to make you happy, huh? To be fair, if you don’t think about this as a gift from Madokami, it could be seen this way. Hopefully Homura learns the truth soon.

Creepy Kids throwing tomatoes/pomegranates? Ok then.

Back in the city, hey it’s Madoka! Er, semi-Madoka? Labyrinth Madoka? Eh I’mma just call you Madoka. She’s happy to see Homura, who quickly tries brushing away the last of her headshot damage. Then Madoka jumps down to her, and by the Laws of Anime they end up tumbling into the boat. Daw.

GAH another flash of the Incubator’s eyes, what the heck.

But hey, Madoka! How are… uh oh.

[Madoka]: “Mami is really worried about you. What happened?”

Cripes right Madoka’s part of the Labyrinth, she’s supposed to keep Homura happy. Now she’s saying that Homura shouldn’t go off by herself. Yep, Homura’s back under surveillance. You have to admit, it’s a pretty good one: have the person Homura cares about the most, or at least a copy of her, focus on keeping her happy. And peaceful.

Urgh, enough with the Madoka Guilt Trips! Have mercy!

Homura hey that’s your Meek Homura voice again, not sure if good or bad. Meek Homura is claiming a dream, that Madoka had gone someplace she would never see her again.

More emotional pain! Homura’s saying that as the only one who remembered, she began to doubt her own memories given no-one else remembered. Did she just make it up?

Yep, I’m picturing Madokami checking in on the Earth, thinking “Lah de dah, glad to see that the New World is working well, everyone’s peaceful and- wait, is Homura crying?! THIS. WILL. NOT. DO.”

Madoka gives Homura a hug, agreeing that that’s a terrible dream but assuring her she’d never go away where she would never see them again. Why?

[Madoka]: “You know how wimpy I am. And because I could never bear to do something that would make someone as strong as you cry like this.”

Yep, this… as sweet as this scene is, it’s clear what’s going on: Homura is being brainwashed again. First the voice, now Madoka is starting to braid her hair.

I… honestly don’t know if I should tell Homura to fight this.

Sudden flashback to the Hallway Scene? Homura’s crying, and why is there a dark pulse going through the flowers?

Homura is saying that she understands, that she made a stupid mistake?

[Homura]: “I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. That no matter what I would’ve had to do, I should have stopped you back then.”

Homura… no. You can’t blame yourself for Madoka’s actions, her choices. This Madoka… she’s not the one you know. She’s part of the Labyrinth.

Um guys the field of flowers is dying I don’t think that’s a good sign

Or just fading? Now they’re dandelions. Did we just see a season change?

Homura’s asserting that Madoka is far kinder and stronger than she knows.

Now her hair is unbraiding. She’s fighting it! She’s saying that Madoka doesn’t remember anything, that she thought she was an illusion or a copy made by someone. But… this is the real Madoka. Hold up is she fighting the brainwashing or not?

Homura thanks Madoka for making her happy. Then says that she’s going, there’s something left she needs to do.

Ok, what is with this movie? I keep coming up with theories, each more outlandish than the last, until now I’m at the point I am actually accusing MADOKAMI of being the Mastermind?! I don’t even…

I can’t put any trust in my speculations, now after how insanely wrong I kept being in the show itself. But I’m looking at all these pieces, and it’s all just fitting together. Am I missing something? Was there a scene I skipped, a line I was too distracted to read? Because as far as I can tell Sayaka showing up with Witch powers means that the person she works for put her there. And that is Madokami.

And I can’t even decide if it’s all that villainous or not! I mean yes Madokami put the three MGs in a Labyrinth and wiped their memories. But like Sayaka said, aren’t they happy? Isn’t this a world where they can live their lives, be safe and enjoy it?

Is anyone really being hurt by all of this? Homura’s biggest complaint was that they weren’t fighting the Wraiths, but surely Madokami put some of her girls on it? And if so, then what’s the harm? I mean besides the wiping of memories thing. But was Homura happier not remembering Madokami, not being driven by the sacrifice of her friend? Wasn’t she at peace?

You guys there’s still an hour left in this friggin movie good grief what more is there?!

[langwrites]

Tag Game: 10 Questions:

Rules: Answer the questions, then create 10 more, and tag people.

Tagged by: @owlsofstarlight

1. Would you date any of your ocs?

Hmmm.

You know, given that I’m the cause of all their misery, ultimately, that would be a terrible idea.

If I had to choose (and not die), hrm. Well, Naviyd. Probably.

2. What kind of poster(s) would your oc have on their wall?

Naviyd has his father’s rather inaccurate, theistic world maps on his wall. They’re stitched somewhat haphazardly among more accurate records, diagrams, and a wonky drawing of what might someday be a pulley system.

And one nice sketch of a family of four, made by Khalil when he was six years old. It’s more aspirational than accurate, but Naviyd kept it there throughout his son’s entire absent adolescence.

3. If your oc found a time machine, would they use it? for what?

He’d probably tell himself to fight Zahara for custody of both twins.

4. Do any of your ocs have a catchphrase? If so, what?

Naviyd doesn’t see much point. Dude used to basically kill Kaltekan generals as a sacred mission, and he sure wasn’t going to make a career of that by sticking around and monologuing.

5. Tell me about one of your ocs hobbies.

Naviyd studies maps and architecture—which is why Gabilan is a lot more cavernous, winding, and mazelike than its squad design would imply—and spends his free time hunting from horseback with a bow. He does it mainly to keep his skills sharp.

If he wants to have fun, he finds someone and strikes up a friendship if he hasn’t already.

6. What inspired one of your favorite ocs?

I couldn’t choose. So, you get four.

Naviyd was inspired by...hm. Basically, I read a section of a Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual (probably 3.5) and spotted the entry on copper dragons. My next thought was, “I’ve gotta have one of those.” Several more thoughts, several years, and one quick jaunt through CYB later, and Rikuto back-retconned his way into Naviyd’s personality, resulting in what he is today.

Oceanus was half-inspired by a wacky combination of Edward Elric and this dude named chaos (all lowercase) from Xenosaga. His affinity for storms is derived from a combination of my attempts to make a sorcerer character (D&D again), and the powers of Darker than BLACK’s Agent November 11 and BK-201/Black Reaper/Hei. He, too, has been through a lot of revisions to soften and sharpen different parts of his personality, until we get the procupine we have today.

Alena, for her part, is pretty directly derived from the powerset displayed by Tsunade back when I was first watching Naruto in like…middle school? She got a fancy coat from some bolt of inspiration I can’t recall now, and her personality ended up just being like… What I admired about people who could keep their kindness and strength in tough times. I think I read a few pretty dark stories the year I really worked nailing her personality down.

And finally, Lumina. Hoo boy. Originally, she was just a derivation—the spare, the younger twin, the goof to Alena’s mother’s stern nature. And over the years, Lumina went from the mere mirror to a stone-cold badass the more I read about some real shitty common tropes—the idea that a woman’s strength was always derived from a man, or that a queen couldn’t rule on her own, and so on. I thought, “Fuck that and the horse it rode in on,” resulting in this terrifying paladin who was just always good, regardless of what others thought.   

7. What kind of clothes does your oc like to wear?

Naviyd will wear anything that is a) warm and b) looks good on him. In that order. If he has a choice between almost dying of frostbite or impressing a foreign dignitary, he’s gonna pile on those furs and demand Lumina heat the castle somehow, dammit.

He tends to get a lot of his work done while wearing just a plain shirt and pants, slippers, and the biggest blanket he can find.

8. Does your oc believe in love at first sight?

Naviyd used to. It did not pan out at all.

Oceanus doesn’t, at least as far as it pertains to him.

Alena does.

Lumina does not, and never has.

9. If you took your ocs for one story and put them in an au, what au would you choose?

I kinda already did that, by allowing all of these Terramir kids to wander over to CYB. Granted, some of them didn’t have the longest lifespan, but I’m generally content with the way that worked out.

10. What is something your oc is afraid of?

Naviyd is afraid of bears. Does that count?

Siri’s questions:

1.What was the trickiest bits of worldbuilding you have ever done?

Tryin’ to figure out what the fuck was going on with Alanrian politics. They’re a mess of squabbling states, and I still can’t remember why.

And most of the rest of the continents are just kinda...there. Like, the Mishik come from a different continent entirely, as do the Xinfanese, but those aren’t visited during the course of the plot because the thing focuses on stopping an impending apocalypse that the Kaltekan Civil War allowed to happen.

It’s their responsibility.

2.Do you have any maps(you don’t need to post the map)? What was your favorite part of developing your geography?

Cooking the macaroni afterward.

3.Does your story have magic? What are its limitations, if yes?

They do have magic, but the upper limit varies from person to person…and being to being. It’s usually a question of what’ll kill you first. That’ll be your limit. Creatures born in the Dreamscape have an instinctive grasp of magic, though they may not be the strongest, and can generally only cross over to the real world when either stumbling through a random hole or finding a human counterpart to latch onto.

Dragons are… another story. They’re basically mid-tier gods, and they can’t walk the mortal world without a vessel.  

4.Does your main antagonist believe in god?

Well, dragons all do. They have a memory of their ancestors literally meeting the gods, wayyy back in their mythology.

5.Do you have secondary villains?

At least three, yeah.

6.How many words are your drafts?

I have no fuckin’ idea.

7.What is your favorite method of outlining?

Not to do so?

8.Which one of your ocs is queer?(if multiple, mention them all!)

Uh. The ones that I remember off-hand:

Oceanus (demihet bi)

Alena (demipan)

Khalil (aro pan)

Tirane (bi)

Riyaz (aroace)

Mitra (agender aroace)

Lumina (demibiro het)

Naviyd (aro demibi)

9. If you took your ocs for one story and put them in an au, what au would you choose? (Stealing from above cause this was a fun question)

CYB, natch.

10.Which of all the names in all your books, including characters, places, animals etc., is your favorite?

The names?

Hm.

I think my favorite stroke of brilliance was Lumina’s name in the first place. Sure, it means “light” in at least one language, but the fun part is that it’s also an unit of measurement for levels of light. Once I realized I could make a theme, I started spreading it around. Her sister became Luxana, while her older niece is Alena, both of which mean “light” as well. Her family last name, adopted upon being raised to nobility, is also an old reference to how people used to measure light: Lambert. Her sister’s last name now means “fire,” which is, again, a source of light.

And so on and so forth. There’s a theme.

I ain’t gonna tag anyone since it’s late and my brain’s fried. Night, all.

[cielospeaks]

more in depth bc im tipsy and tired ahaha

-for okki i saw her and fell. i was like “who that she cute” and then i found out shes a hikki themed around bats and origami living in the top floor of himeji castle and i heckin swooned. im so glad i might get stuff of her tomorrow ahaha

-cascu it was a process. i didnt find much by the way of fsncu before then, like id seen the first ep of carnival phantasm but i didnt really know any of the characters so wasnt too interested. but when playing fgo i got attached to this boyo. and the chapter you fight him i was terrified bc knowing my taste i was sure he was gonna betray the main party and i knew i wouldnt hate him for it but i didnt want to have to fight against him w best kouhai and tsun director and funny hologram doc. good thing he didnt. then i had a dream where i went on a beach date w cascu and he was really kind to me and i was like hoooooboy. on that note fsncu was similar. i then watched cp again and with the knowledge that i love this man seeing him die every ep was.... well it was somethin blushes. and then the fanart hooo boy the pixiv fanart. i actually own one of those now and am i happy. fsncu is a good boy

-mozart is the reason i play the game in the first place. i wasnt super into him but i was for sure happy he existed. prolly bc at the time i was like tsun about classical music and music in general for actual reasons. then i fell all over again. i thought he looked.... look idk man it wasnt anything that surprising. just a yugioh lookin blonde mozart i did think it was cool they reference the amadeus poster tho. i wish there were more arts of him gettin dommed by tentacles and stuff or whatever. like the ones of sanson are super cute but why leave out my good boy. i wanna see him blush and moan as he digs those long nails into his palms. ok delightworks listen up heres my idea for chapter blablabla of fgo2- wien singularity. some evil group captures moz and has him used as a catalyst to summon assassin class salieri (or rather makes him suffer a lot) but shes this twintailed adorable bae and is super offended and mcfreakin leaves. though she find theyre chasing her and goes to chaldea for help, finds out the group has now summoned salieri’s students like beethoven/liszt/schubert and now salieri and the chaldea group must fight them. maybe papa bach or handel or haydn or vivaldi or pls rentaro taki would be awesome gets summoned by chaldea (seikilos or orpheus if ur just thirsty for greek stuff) too and thers like 5 composers. david and tristan and summer nobu make guest appearances. mozart: how many of you have played an instrument. nobu: do instruments of torture count. tristan: is a bow an instrument.0.

-kyle i thought was cute bc he reminded me of butler grell but like butler grell i thought he was a minor character that was never gonna have any plot relevance. then he goes all back stabby stabby and tbh the main crew are good so i was rightfully a bit peeved at him. then i remembered that backstabbing characters are totally my thing (glares knowingly at gareth, hans, loki, grell, ect.) and heckin fell. but for a long time i didnt rlly think about dating him, now i do

-for hans theres nothin too much more. hes got a cute nose and i got pissed at the fanbase for him its cronus all over again. even the cute nose. little did i know in 2015 that just a yr later id get defensive over another pointy nosed redhead with low self esteem lmao.

-speakin of which. so i remember mcfreakin losin it at that line in the trailer. beethoven senpai holy shit this animes gonna be great. im so glad that i watched classicaloid after the beethoven and schubert unit was done in school bc if not id be idk even. anyways so idk what it is. my alcoholed ass brain i think is just at this moment at 1:54 am getting sober but ill try to put words in a thing. i think part of it is low self esteem bc that seems to be a running trait (looks at fgo mozart and hans) but also dang boy makes the cutest faces. and voice. idk. i think its the screaming. if hans screamed more often theres a 100 percent chance id wanna bang his voice but he doesnt. get on it sequel. it just has like... idk a warm sound to it when he talks and a lot of maenos other roles kinda sound cold in comparison, like manba for instance, i love that boy too but schuus voice is just so warm and lively. i like that he wrinkles up his face and makes not conventionally pretty? faces? like i love that weird chewing face he makes in the gyoza scene. its like cute in a weird way. it reminds me of losh maybe heck i dunno. i think thats what i love about loid everyones cute as balls but they make funny faces a lot too. like w cu i like the fanart of schuu. i just wanna hold him and comfort him and support him, hes a good boy and deserves that.

- idk why im rambling so long but anyways my gremlin waifu. i guess my first thought like i said was “sweet i could cosplay that” how did it get from “i could cosplay that” to “i could tap that” i have no idea. usually i dont cosplay characters i wanna bang. i think part of it was everyone else in the chat wanted to bang the others and at the time i was the only one who thought motes was cute, but i also was insecure bc i didnt wanna go against any sorta ships my friends had. but i was doing that silly loid dating sim au and going on a disney date w motes did sound cool. i forgot how thisty i was for that scene in ep 5 when cho chan was screaming. why am i like this. ways to get me to like a character- show them screaming and panicked maybe? i dont heckin know my dude. lancer screams a lot and looks panicked a lot in cp i think thats why i wanna get in his tights. anyways then ep 20 happened and a while later i was like “hey guys so ive got this kink” and they were all like hell yea bc before that id been super vanilla n stuff. im so glad. i never tell ppl about kinks before that. and here i am now w a ton of doujins. someday ill find lancer stuff to my kinks lmao. anyways back on subject mozart is hot. i like his long eyelashes and i wasnt super sure on it at first but i love that hes kinda a troublesome little shit. most of my faves or characters id heck are poor sweet insecure babes that i wanna be the shoulder for them to lean on and help them w confidence and whatnot. i still like that type but ive noticed after motes a lotta them have been the super confident shitlords. i guess u could say loki or kyle was that before and that would be true. i think loki started me on the “seems like a top but is actually a bottom and is into kinky shit” but all the fandoms of him always doing the kinky shit to the reader was kinda  a turnoff bc i wanna do the stuff to him. or at the time watch someone do the stuff to him. anywas moz started me on wanting to be te one doin the kinky stuff rather than just wakin in on someone all kinked out and then doin just the aftercare. i think its bc mozart is such a little shitgremlin. and like i mean that in the best way. hes a troublecausin little brat bc his way of interacting w his friends is pranks n stuff. but hes also really sweet and caring, surprisingly perceptive when he wants to be, hes so friggin kind to strangers and animals and just an absolute angel i love him. he can be my angle or my devil. i like that hed try to get into trouble just to get yelled at i love that fgo moz has that too. mozarts will infinitely like to be scolded and i love their kinky asses. not to say i dont still love the idea of walking in on him in some shit bc i do have a hero complex and get super turned on by the idea of sweeping my fave out of danger and holding them safe in my arms. i wanna just kiss him on his cute face and massage his butt and watch him squirm with happy pleasure n stuff like that, i wanna see that grin and laugh so hard my face hurts at some stupid poop joke. its happened before. i wanna just friggin... i love this guy so much.

[thesinglesjukebox]

ASHLEY O - ON A ROLL

[5.00]

It's Amnesty 2019! In which our writers choose singles from the year that we didn't get to. And what better way to get the ball rolling than with a song that's got something to say about pop music...

Joshua Lu: In the final episode of season five of Black Mirror, Miley Cyrus plays pop star Ashley O, whose desire to escape her contract leads her aunt to put her under a coma, which leads to two of her fans saving her, which leads to her performing "Head Like a Hole" at a night club, happy now that she's freed from the literal and metaphorical restraints that came with being a pop star. Undergirding the episode is "On a Roll," a remake of that same Nine Inch Nails song but made so overtly benign and bubbly that it becomes as unnerving as the original. Most of these unnerving aspects are probably intentional: the ambiguity behind lines like "'Cause I'm going down in history" or "I'm gonna get what I deserve," the distorted moans and cries buried in the instrumental, or the way the bass drops off at the start of the chorus, leaving Ashley O screaming motivational platitudes over an unfeeling beat. But there are so many parts that are equally unsettling yet don't come across as intentional -- were they really expecting us to hear "hey yeah whoa-oh" and not "hey I'm a hole," or is this mixup supposed to act as commentary on, say, perverse undertones in popular music? (The fact that the original song has "hole" in the same spot makes this mondegreen all the more suspect.) Are the dozen or so seconds of dead air at the end of the song just a consequence of a lazy audio engineer, or was this silence deliberately included to let the song's termination settle uncomfortably into nothingness? It's these parts of "On a Roll" that make it so fascinating -- not the rockist message of its origin, and especially not the corny, ham-fisted cracking screen in the music video -- so much so that even after streaming it for months, I can't tell how much of this song I'm supposed to enjoy, and how much I'm supposed to fear. [8]

Vikram Joseph: Like "Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too", the Black Mirror episode which birthed it, "On A Roll" serves as both escapist fun and a pointed facsimile of meticulously-constructed big-studio pop. Brooker and Reznor's four-part construction is unexpectedly good -- a cheerleader-chant of a chorus (surely intentionally written to, in turn, be wilfully misheard as "hey, I'm a hoe!" by gay twitter) sandwiched between big, melodic, reverberating synths in the pre- and post-chorus sections. Squeezing "achieving my goals!" into a pop chorus is worth an extra point, and also works as a sly joke about influencer culture's obsession with productivity. [7]

Alfred Soto: Imagine shouting "achieving my goals!" with less enthusiasm than an assistant vice president of human resources at a two-day retreat. At least "California Gurls" put the self-help gumption behind solid beats. [1]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: "On a Roll" was designed to be a hollow shell of a prototypical pop song grounding a Black Mirror episode satirising toxic music stan culture. And yet, contrary to the episode's whole point, the Gays™ have still found a way to make it the object of stan culture anyways! Frankly, I can see why: it's low-key a bop, the kind that burrows under your skin and slowly takes over your body until you're singing it all the time. I can't help but like it even though I know I'm not supposed to. Do we really have free will? [6]

Kayla Beardslee: Yas queen, I'm literally gagging. We love a thinly produced bop! New main pop girl Ashley O has done it again, constantly raising the bar for all of us who want to make basic pop that serves looks? eh vocals? I guess its story without ever impressing outside of its narrative context. We stan. Keep her in that coma so she can churn out more average, serviceable music for AO2! [5]

Natasha Genet Avery: Ashley O's Gaga impression had me in the first half, I'm not gonna lie. But Gaga would never waste a verse and bridge this good on that laughably staid three-note chorus. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: A fizzing, swaddled bass synth lopes around the black hole of drums that sucks down every other musical instrument, burying a thinning synth key patch pushing up and sinking while Miley scrapes it off the bottom of the ice cream pail. [3]

Tobi Tella: In the same vein as A Star Is Born, turns out executives trying to make empty, vapid pop music actually ends up slapping. It's a perfect pop parody, with a million meaningless hooks; the drawn out "oh honeyyy," the pre-chorus that has nothing to do with anything, and, of course, the chorus, which hits the cheesy pop vibe perfectly. Not to mention the fact that it's an interpolation of a hard metal song, everything about this is nonsensical yet amazing, and it's honestly probably better than anything Miley Cyrus has put out this year. [7]

Jackie Powell: Ashley O might have just performed my "I can beat burnout" theme song. While this track was released in mid-June, it's exactly what is needed to deal with the darker days of December. It's almost as if I'm visualizing that Rachel Bloom on a stage somewhere singing about burnout, but I'm not actually hearing a musical theater melody. It's one hundred percent pop. It's also sexier while still cheering me on. How's that for an anti-burnout fight song? It's also ironic that "Head Like a Hole" is lyrically so dystopian while "On a Roll" sonically and visually -- with its simple synths responsible for the track's chord progression and a purple wig and white bodysuit -- projects more of a utopian vibe. But as a song featured in Black Mirror, the choice to pay tribute to "Head Like A Hole" was more deliberate than not. [8]

Katherine St Asaph: As long as Nine Inch Nails have existed and yarled, people have observed, often intending to blow your minds, that they might Actually Be Pop. There were the band's early appearances on questionable proto-TRLs. There was that Sound on Sound interview about how Dave Ogilvie mixed "Call Me Maybe" like a NIN song, resulting in this (featuring, in the comments, one "DigitalPimp" marveling at how it sounded like something out of a Black Mirror episode, four years before "Rachel, Jack, and Ashley Too"). There was the weird spate of offhand references in media about and/or marketed to young, non-generally-industrial-listening girls, from Clarissa from Clarissa Explains It All to Cassie from Animorphs to the babies in A Visit From the Goon Squad who are sold future!NIN's hit "Ga Ga." There are the many real-life "Ga Ga"s, like this, this, or this by Devo, or this seasonally appropriate medley. And there is, of course, this deeply strange year 2019, in which Trent Reznor earned his first No. 1 hit with one "Old Town Road," and in which there was this. I'm not a Trent purist -- I'm too much of a Tori Amos fan for that -- but "On a Roll" misunderstands the medium. The track, at least, is done by actual pop producers, The Invisible Men, and thus sounds plausible, though it can't decide whether it wants to be "California Gurls" or Weeknd-produced-by-Max-Martin smooveness or whatever the hell that half-time prechorus or Can't Take Me Home faux-soul backing vocal are. But the lyrics are by Charlie Brooker, and though he nails the inane in-universe promotional bullshit, he doesn't understand songwriting. "Bow down before the one you serve" is a more plausible pop lyric than "I'm stoked on ambition and verve." One shamelessly plunders greed and S&M and melodrama and does so the way actual people talk. One is a thesis statement rather than a lyric, doesn't scan, and is finished by rhymezone.com-ing vocabulary that for the life of me, I cannot remember if any pop lyrics have used. It's not even a timely thesis; in cynical 2019, post-Madonna, post-Gaga, post-Eilish, hell, post-"7 Rings," a pop star is less likely to put out "Everything Is Awesome" jingle music than just cover "Head like a Hole." And indeed, "On a Roll" exists so Black Mirror can get a cathartic moment out of Ashley O singing the actual "Head Like a Hole," which sounds great, because by comparison what wouldn't? Trent says he's OK with it, but then we know his stance on what he'd do for money. [2]

Iain Mew: I was at the lower context end of the scale for my initial listens to "On a Roll." I haven't watched the Black Mirror episode; I was vaguely aware of a Nine Inch Nails link but not its form; I don't know "Head Like a Hole." In that context "On a Roll" sounded like an intermittently functioning pop song with some unusually scanning lyrics that ranged from awkward to witty to both. Listening to the Nine Inch Nails song afterwards brought it together in a different way, but "On a Roll" stood up without that at least as well as most of the high concept early-'00s mashups that it's the conceptual successor to. [6]

Katie Gill: Does this work more if you're canon-familiar? Because I get the joke: ha ha, we're going to turn Nine Inch Nails into a pop song as some sort of commentary for Charlie Brooker's Ham-Fisted Social Commentary Hour! But I've only watched one or two Black Mirror episodes, so I can't help but feel that I'm missing something here. Because if the joke is that this complete antithesis of a pop song is now turned into a pop song, I don't think it works. The lyrics are sheer beautiful banality, a 2010s take on the same joke Music and Lyrics made over ten years ago. But the pop instrumentation & reworking doesn't hide the fact that "Head Like a Hole" is not fundamentally built like a pop song. It's like going into a guest bedroom that was obviously once a storage attic with low ceilings and poor insulation: put on a new coat of paint and the bones still show through. Maybe I have to watch the episode in order to fully appreciate the joke. But then again, great examples of musical parody & homage stand wonderfully on their own without context. Why doesn't this? [5]

Alex Clifton: As a parody of manufactured pop, this is pretty good; unsurprisingly, I'm reminded of Hannah Montana's "Nobody's Perfect" with its aggressive positivity ("riding so high! achieving my goals!"). But I'm seen people refer to this as an "accidental banger" and that's overrating the song. It's serviceable, it's catchy enough to be in the background at a party, but if you're going to go for manufactured pop, go hard or go home. This just doesn't commit itself enough to the genre to meet my expectations. [4]

Will Adams: I've spent the better part of the decade railing against PC Music's uncanny valley pop and its purported inability to make satisfying commentary on pop music. Allow "On a Roll" to serve as my mea culpa. Clickable premise of Miley Cyrus covering Nine Inch Nails for a Black Mirror episode aside, "On a Roll" feels pointless. Especially when a pop version of "Head Like a Hole" already exists, deliberately cynical pop by mainstream artists already exists, and your chorus hinges on a line as fatally clunky as "I'm stoked on ambition and verve." [3]

David Moore: A few months ago I was doing my weekly Spotify trawl and came across what sounded like a long-delayed aftershock of self-titled-era Taylor Swift. I was amused to see that this artist was Taylor Acorn, suggesting an elaborate algorithm designed to generate successive Taylor Swift clones named according to a variation on the NATO alphabet: Taylor Acorn, Taylor Bravo, Taylor Charlie. And this in turn gave me an idea for a television pilot with this exact premise, which I wrote ten to twenty minutes worth of before it fell flat. The problem, as it usually is with these sorts of things, is that the music needs to be good, and it can't just conjure its goodness from the perspicacity of its commentary. And of course most bizzer behind-the-curtain shows fail even at this basic commentary level -- the easiest part! -- and are doomed to be not only bad both in show and in soundtrack, but a little insulting, too. So it's a pleasure, if a mild one, to hear those exhausting try-hards over at Black Mirror let a decent pop song just kind of sit there. I didn't see the episode, but from what I can tell Miley Cyrus is supposed to be a bit of a cipher, which of course she isn't at all -- and funnily enough it makes this song do almost the opposite of what it's supposed to; it acts instead as a kind of metacommentary on how hard it is to make Miley Cyrus sound cool and competent. What, Taylor Acorn wasn't available? [6]

Michael Hong: It's nice to see Hannah Montana aim for something that fits directly into the image of the pop machine. "On the Roll" lodges itself firmly in your head while attempting to stimulate your pleasure receptors, rather than forcing all its energy to generate the cycle's "new authentic me," which ends up barely being a reinvention but more of an embarrassing reminder that Miley Cyrus is once again, back at it. Next time maybe she can aim for something good. [2]

Kylo Nocom: As satire? Boring, but not unexpectedly so! A good rule of thumb is that blanket parodies of pop music are never smart and rarely funny. Just last year A Star Is Born and Vox Lux soundtracked rockist paranoia with gratingly obvious piss-takes: "Why Did You Do That?" had a title that doubled as a lament for Ally's career; "Hologram (Smoke and Mirrors)" drove accusations of artifice that seemed directed equally at an imagined lover and Celeste herself. "On a Roll" suffers the same issues through less obvious signaling, being the commodification of an anti-establishment song, yet even here the writers can't resist an ironic nod. An uncomfortably extended silence following the last "I'm gonna get what I deserve" leaves room for interpretation: is this about Ashley exiting the pop machine as a break into authentic living, or about her suffering as retribution for being part of the pop machine? Who knows! The song is otherwise fantastic, and it being fantastic fucking sucks. Interpolating Nine Inch Nails wholesale puts Miley in her most enjoyable mode: anthemic rock-adjacent joy, some of the best she's done since her Hollywood Records era. Even if Black Mirror's idea of future pop is suspiciously like 2017, with tropical percussion breaks from "New Rules" and the pulses from "Sorry Not Sorry," the arrangement of "On a Roll" suggests actual, realized verve. The charm of the song concerns; in the context of the show itself it's the result of exploitation, and outside its context it's packaged with tacky viral marketing bullshit. But I can't resist. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I was prepared to give this some begrudgingly high score based on the weird, feverish week in the early summer where I listened to this on loop. But on the return visit, the appeal of "On a Roll" fades away with its novelty. All that remains is the general structure of "Head Like A Hole," which ties that undeniable melody to a much more compelling creep of a beat, and a slightly-above-average vocal performance from Miley. With every year of this nostalgia-focused decade I have grown wearier and wearier of this sort of reincarnation pop, yesterday's pleasures repackaged winkingly for an audience that sees the artlessness, the lack of aura, as the point. There's no way to listen to this sincerely, and I'm no longer amused by irony's mirror. [3]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[haiskulstories-blog]

Hai Skül Story #1; 2 Girls : 1 Boy

PART II: Anastacia Raynolds

My name is Anastacia Raynolds. My friends call me Ana. I’m one of the brightest girls in school, but I hate school. Fuck Wilson High School and all the shitty kids that go there. Except my friends, who are OK. We like to hang out and systematically plan the deaths of all the popular kids while we paint our nails and watch Heathers or Twin Peaks. Sometimes we watch My Sweet Sixteen if we run out of popular kids to fantastically destroy.

I do well in school because I’m bright and I’m nice to the kids who are smart but too socially incompatible to aggregate any sense of a circle of friends. Turns out, they are some of the coolest kids in school because they die to have a class next to me and in exchange, they will do anything for me. Usually it’s like: “Will you please get me a cup of water? I’m still working on this problem,” but they are happy to fulfill a variety of purposes. Needless to say: wrapped around my little stinky pinkie.

Part of the reason I like them is because I have a lot of shit to take care of in my life and I don’t always have time to go to Hot Topic in the mall if, say, my striped leggings get a run. Diane Blair works there. She acts so goth with all of their weird, glittery, off-color makeup, but she honestly just makes herself look like a clown. The popular boys seem to like her though, so whatever.

Now, you get the basic idea of what I do in and out of school, except I have a few hobbies I didn’t mention that I like to keep to myself. I’m actually really tight with my family. I have a little sister who I aspire to mentor as much as possible. She is going to Wilson High next year and I’m almost done with her starter kit. It includes profiles on the ten most popular seniors-to-be, including their favorite brands (in case she decides to fall in with them). She’s awfully pretty and I could see her falling in with one of the jocks. I’ve also included for her where the ten people they live and what kind of cars they drive (for obvious reasons, if she follows in my footsteps).

I’m a little bit torn about what social group she is going to choose, but I’ve made a full proof plan to flat out not care. She may be more popular with boys than me since she flat out likes them more than hitting the books, a divergence of our personalities. She’s had some guys over that, yeah, I can call guys, to the point that sometimes I’m slightly concerned for her since she’s still only 14, but the guys drive awesome cars and buy her clothes and she seems happy enough. She gets them to help her with homework, so I really can’t complain.

When we were younger, we used to be a pair of tomboys and would fight like boys with the neighborhood boys, play in the mud, steal the other kids’ bikes and such. I guess we both have the rebel bred into us, we just have matured into different ways in terms of how we logically put it to use. When I started to see the way she was getting guys to do her bidding, I figured she might have picked up better on our mom’s pretty housewife thing.

All for good reason: our mom is a fox. I guess I got girly when I hit high school and switched up my style, started puting on a little makeup. But I still never dropped my boyish pursuits. Quite the contrary. Neither my sister nor my mom were much thrilled when I started excelling in math and became the president of the motorsports club. They end up opting to spend Saturdays at the mall and for reasons I cannot comprehend, Jaqueline, my little sis, never got over going to church. Personally? I say burn it.

They say having a large network of friends is a guaranteed path to increasing the likelihood of longevity. I care a shit ton about my little sister, so when I saw she wasn’t growing out of her Catholic pursuits, I felt I needed to take action, so we could sit together well after our primes, saggy wrinkles eating up the Carribean sun, sipping piña coladas. I had the realization  just about halfway through sophomore year and up until then, I’d been hitting the books hard, outperforming even the nerds and not thinking too much about a social life to any degree. But I have a decent amount of foresight and I imagined my girly little sister getting to High School, failing at academia and not having any friends, so I figured I should buff up on the real extracurriculars for her sake; I started going to parties.

It was just around that time that I began to gather a following. My grade is a little weird in that most of the alternative girls are of the gothic persuasion and they simultaneously have a lot going for them looks wise. Using my head to grow my popularity but sticking to my cute and nerdy alt guns, I became a pin-up magnet and I soon had every pierced and ungodly chick’s posts rolling out a black carpet for a funeral-themed wedding whenever I scrolled through my Facebook feed. I guess they were excited by my bad-chick sleuthing skills to find the ragers and for good reason: I got them skin with boys they probably would never have seen until finishing their tattoo artist apprenticeships after graduation.

In turn, I was granted a spot in the throne as the prettiest in a flock of birds who would peck to pieces any sausage party. To put it plainly, we get what we wanted by sheer volume of pussy. I don’t even have to make plans on a Friday and by nine, I know where the party’s at and I know my gang will blow it up and turn even the lamest bangers into a roving burlesque.

And that’s exactly what we did over winter break when Stacy Fields, one of my prettier girls, let on that her boy Monty was having a get together with the basketball team. Stacy had visited Diane at Hot Topic earlier that day and snagged a couple bottles of O.P.I Midnight Glitter, so as soon as the bell rang, we all piled over to her house, ate strawberry Poki and watched The Devil’s Rejects while we spread layer after layer of shimmering jet black nitrocellulose over upwards of 100 nails.

We like to be fashionably late, so we rolled up to the party around quarter past eleven, ten girls decked out in torture garb with purses full of candy in a big black Chevrolet Suburban. When I got inside, it was apparent the party had already started because there were quite a lot of empty bottles sitting around, but the music was a little soft, dishearteningly acquiescing to hoots in a smoky family room focused on a plasma TV playing a videogame.

Monty walked up to me out of the smoke and asked me if I’d like a drink, so we headed to the kitchen where a couple other girls from the South Valley were comparing their boyfriends’ dick pics while sitting on the tile countertop, tugging out of a 32 of Miller High Life. Monty mixed me something strong that tasted flowery and vaguely like blue toilet liquid, but it got the job done. Uninterested in the dick pics, I walked back into the smoky living room, took a hit off a blunt that was being passed around and was lit. Then, I spotted him.

Across the room, sitting on an overstuffed brown faux-leather couch, was Erik Crooners, A-team player for the Wilson Wildcats basketball team. He looked uncomfortably out of place, not playing video games and not doing much at all except just kind of waiting for me to pounce on him and eat him up like he were a cup of soft serve.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. If I told you my taste in men, I’d first have to tell you my taste in women, to have a juxtaposition with with which to easily compare. I like Latina girls: tall, thin, but muscular. If she has a tattoo: especially my type. The more, the better. As for men: ditto! And Erik fits the bill to the ‘T,’ his sinewy body was even just ever so slightly caramel color, surely from all that time he spend with his oafish bestie DeShawn. Even made his white ass look a little bit vato: Swoon!

So then I stood there for like a split second, eyeing his most prominent tattoo, a ridiculously vain spidery scrawling of his own name that seemed to bulge out of his tank top on his left pectoral. I didn’t want to be a deer in headlights though. The faux-leather furniture set made the room feel especially ‘den’-like, so I took off my shoes and pranced over, flinging myself onto the big brown cushion next to Erik.

The whole chase was as much like eating soft serve as it had looked from a distance; all I had to do was pull on the little black bow in my hair and kind of tilt my head to show him my neck and he was melting. He tried to make conversation a little like a car trying to start when it’s battery’s dead. After he tried for the third time to say something incomprehensible, then he just kind of pulled his head back a little bit and squinted his eyes all Chinese.

We were up in the master bedroom for probably 20 minutes. He was acting a little like putty, but I’d had only one drink so I decided to take control. I’d had a crush on Erik Crooners ever since the third grade, ever since he gave me a stupid valentine that had a bunch of misspelled words on it about farm animals. I remember when he gave it to me, I took the sweater I had just taken off and threw it in his face.

Ever since then, my feelings of guilt had sort of blossomed into an obsession with his pathetic attempt, his embarrassment, his red little cheeks after I threw the sweater, stuck in my mind as cute but also loving. But when he came, his face got all sort of red and puffy and his eyes bulged. It was a little repulsive and made me question the whole engagement. I didn’t waste time and quickly got up to use the bathroom. On my way down the hall to the bathroom, I got a string of texts from Stacy: 

“Where R U??? // 

We jackt the keg! // 

Alreds in car + keg + we gonna leave yo asssss!!!!”

Even though I felt like I was about to piss myself, I sprinted downstairs and out into the car. As soon as I got in, everybody started asking me where I’d been and then Felicia shouted out that she’d seen me go upstairs with Erik. While my opinion had just been stilted by Erik and the idiosyncrasies fornication will no doubt pull out of a lover every once in awhile, all of the girls started screaming. The keg had already been tapped and we took turns pulling out of it directly, half the girls in the car, including myself, blacking out by the time we reached Stacy’s house.

Looking back, maybe Erik wasn’t all that bad in bed. I remember at one point he started saying something and it pains me to think that I might of heard him confessing, “I love you.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t pull out and maybe that’s why I had to pee so bad after running out of the room, even though I thought he had. All in all, one thing came out of that night: me, pregnant with Erik Crooner’s baby.