#he's hardly in this ep so this was a miracle

[too-funky]

Tenth Doctor | Turn Left

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ Missing Moment set in the immediate aftermath of the storm. Spoilers for Eps 1-3. Angst.

For @fictober-event’s Fictober 2023 prompt: “Is it over? Is it really over?"

Masterpost of my Fictober OFMD fics

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Characters/Relationships: Izzy Hands, The Revenge Crew Tags: Canon Typical Violence

Doldrums

Finally, it ends, with a sickening crunch.

For a long moment afterward, the only sounds are the howl of the sea, and their own heavy breathing. The last of them standing, and one of them only just.

It’s Jim who breaks the silence.

“Is it over? Is it really over?”

They look askance across at him, strong but uncertain; keeping it together until they feel they’re safe enough to panic. Good. They’re not.

“No.”

Izzy clears his throat. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in years. Blackbeard’s - Edward’s, Edward’s face is scored permanently into his vision, behind his eyelids. But he has work to do.

He looks up and around at the ship. It’s all but demolished. The sails are shredded. The deck is awash with rope and wood all splintered and rotted and burnt. It’s in an even more sorry state than their pathetic little band of a crew - if that’s even possible.

“Anyone injured?”

They all look at him. Ha, ha.

“‘Sides the obvious.”

Nothing major, they decide. They’re bloody and bruised and mentally devastated but they’ll live.

“Right then. Get him below deck.”

“Are you sure? Not- you know-”

Overboard? That, that he can hardly stomach, and if the crew see the horror and sorrow in his eyes they don’t mention it. Small mercies. But it’s not out of mercy or heartbreak he has them hold onto him. It’s not for his own sake, or Stede Fucking Bonnet’s. No. They’re stranded out here in the middle of the ocean with no sails and no steering. He knows what it might come to, and he tucks that thought quietly against his chest. It pierces him between the ribs like a knife he can’t pull out again. Please, not that. If there’s any shred of goodness left in this God-forsaken world, don’t let it come to that.

As it is, it’s hard enough not being able to carry his captain to rest. He’s left to hobble behind the crew balanced between an old mop and a quivering, crying Fang. He prepares himself to dredge up enough bastardry to make sure they do a decent enough job laying Edward out in one of the more hidden store rooms, but they don’t need the encouragement. They remember their friend too. They appreciate that it shouldn’t matter that he’s comfortable, but that for some reason it does.

“Can’t believe he’s dead,” Frenchie murmurs. The box in his head isn’t shutting as easily as it used to. He’s too fucking bone-tired for that. Plus he feels kind of relieved, and he hates it.

Izzy hates it too. He draws himself up as tall as he can and pulls away from Fang. So help him he will force himself to stand and commandeer the mop and he will snarl that ghost of a leg into submission with everything he has.

“No,” he corrects them, “he’s not.”

“Fuck do you mean, he’s not?” Jim challenges. “He better be.”

He holds up a hand.

“Blackbeard is not dead. We did not kill him. He was washed overboard in the storm and we don’t know what happened. He fucked off to Bermuda. He is not dead.”

Frenchie nods. He follows. Archie and Fang are confused. Jim glares, resisting.

“If we killed our captain, that means we mutineed,” Frenchie explains. “If we mutineed, we can’t be trusted. Any pirate worth their salt will leave us to die or kill us themselves. It makes sense.”

It seems to sink in for them, then. Not that it makes anything better.

“So… what do we do?”

“Find something to eat,” Izzy orders. “Find me a fucking leg. And pray for a miracle.”

[minervas-hand]

Ineffable May Day 5: Retired

Day 5 for @blairamok's Ineffable May 2024

AO3 link here

[S1 Ep.1. Crowley parks the Bentley back in his usual night-time spot after storming out on Aziraphale.]

Crowley slouched into the Bentley, wondering if he had any more unopened bottles of wine tucked between the plants in the backseat. 

As he hung up his glasses something buzzed by his ear. Going to have to give the plants a right bollocking for fostering insects - ! The whine turned to a roar and he was wildly flapping his hands and sputtering. 

"Oh. " Then the horror caught up to him. "OH! Really? Come ON! In my car! REALLY??"

The flies consolidated slowly into a mass in the passenger seat. A mass that resolved into the shape of Lord Beelzebub. "Hello, traitor." 

Weirdly, they almost seemed... friendly. Not so friendly as to avoid swarming him in fucking flies and whipping him down to Hell, no. 

"I thought we had a - pfwah" - he spit out a fly - "generalized understanding." He was retired, for Someone's sake.

"We don't." Still a traitor, right. 

Though he hardly seemed in immanent danger. Beez had even miracled an exact replica of their throne for Crowley. His surprise derailed his terror for a moment and he took a good look at the Grand Duke. "Is that a new face?" 

"Oh this old thing? I've had it for ages." They seemed... pleased at his comment, though. 

"Such a pity that Hell never really appreciated your talents, Crowley."

He froze. That almost sounded like Lord Beez was trying to - compliment him. Butter him up, anyway. Spitting hellfire at him through their teeth, yeah, that would have been more. Fitting. Comfortable. "It is? It is, yeah." 

Then it got weirder. They actually seemed to be offering him a return. A promotion, no less. Like Hel- Heav- Somewhere he'd take it, anyway. He was retired. Done with all this bollocks. Though it didn't seem done with him. Or the angel.

They should have left town. Didn't have to be Alpha Centauri. Just, away from Grand Central Celestial Bollocks Town. A nice little cottage, maybe...

Beez was talking about Gabriel, and Crowley spent all his energy trying to appear nonplussed and vaguely bored. Extreme sanctions? Book of Life? He was just holding onto this tiger now. 

He soon found himself back in the Bentley, babbling assurances he didn't mean one whit. Secure in the knowledge that Hell could and would suck him down whenever they pleased. And that Aziraphale was in very deep trouble. 

(It would be some time before he realized that the extra throne had not been for him.) 

[hhorror-vacuii]

I'm glad i'm not the only one who think s3 ep 4 of The Chosen is not as good as it should have been...i mean, it was too slow and some scenes were a bit nonsense

Oh my goodness, don't even get me started (actually, thank you for having done just that).

At first I wasn't very fond of the sequence with Apostles preaching etc. on their own, mostly because I thought (and it was advertised that way) we would be shown the highs and lows of each pair, what challenges they had to face etc. For example I really think this season is going a little bit in the direction of humbling Philip a bit, I thought he and Andrew would face being thrown out of the city and it would be a lesson in humility for Philip who always seems overly confident. I also didn't like that it was shot in black and white, because the colours in The Chosen is something I like a lot (plus it stands like a sore thumb right now, it's never been done before and doesn't fit with the rest of the series... all the other memories sequences were shot in colour).

Then it grew on me. I was like: okay, we don't know (from Scripture) what they were saying and doing exactly, it's better this way than having to invent whole ass stories for them, I bet we'll learn some details in retrospection when they will be discussing the journeys with Jesus. I was a little disappointed, becuase I wanted to see for example how Big James has to learn to adjust to Little James, how Zee has to start being okay with Matthew's past etc.

Then the storyline with Simon Peter and Eden makes no sense. I mean, it makes sense, and I hope we get to see much more of Eden's journey, but I think it could be done in a better way. It's not just that she's tired of hosting meals for dozen people on the daily. It's that Simon gets to go to all these places, meet all these people and do all these miraculous signs etc., and she's stuck at home, and her biggest accomplishment is moving a table to a different spot. It created a perfect space for doemstic drama that I'ms ure is well present in the lives of various spiritual people and their spouses. But it seems like it won't go in this direction.

Then the two additional storylines: Jairus and Veronica. I like them both, but I think it's too much to have both of them in the same episodes. It already feels either too crowded, or some (important) characters sometimes don't get to speak a single line (for example: in s3e1 Philip doesn't speak a single line of dialogue, or Thaddeus, Nathanael and Little James hardly ever speak). Also, personally I don't think we needed to have Jairus as a secondary character for his story to be impactful, it would have worked just as well if he only appeared for one episode (it's a minor grievance, but it would save us some screen time). Veronica's story is decidedly better compared to his', it just feels more authentic, I actually liked her a lot.

Speaking of women (and Zebedee), I am not very convinced by Tamar's storyline this season. I love that The Chosen doesn't forget about the role women played from the very start in Jesus' ministry, and it makes sense that if she was present for one of the first miracles, she'd want to stick around. But I'm not yet convinced by the "cultural differences" shtick, especially since she comes off as a snob - why is she criticizing Matthew's house interior design? Did we forget she was introduced as a women selling flowers in the market, not some rich fashionista? It makes no damn sense in my opinion. As for Zebedee's new oil business, I understand they're making it like this so that the women could participate in earning money, but... did we also forget that apart from John and Big James, Zebedee employed 25 men as fishermen? It was said in season 1. He doesn't have to close his business just because his sons are out of it.

(Also, I didn't really like John's throwaway line about how Big James is upset because Jesus had once called John "Beloved". John's being the Beloved Disciple is something I really, really, really love in the Bible and I wish they could treat it with more mystery and dignity, if at all possible. I find it highly unlikely that John would later get hung up on the "Beloved" title simply because as a young man he was rather prideful. There is WAY more to it than just his character, but I fear it won't ever get discussed.)

And the last thing. Why, WHY is Simon becoming friends with Gaius? Just one episode ago Simon made it repeatedly clear how much he still detests Matthew and yet he's now making friends with a Roman Primi????? Sorry, but it makes no sense. Why couldn't we get a little more of Gaius and Matthew becoming friends? Becuase they really weren't. If we go back to season 1, at first Gaius treats Matthew in a very mean way, they aren't friends to begin with. There is still so much room to explore it. There is room for Matthew to invite Gaius to have a slightly different look at Jews. Why isn't this explored? Simon makes no sense in this role. And it also doesn't make sense that repairing the cystern is Gaius' idea. While Simon in consequently depicted as rather lazy and it wouldn't be in his character to suggest repairing it on his own, it also matters little to Gaius whether it's repaired or not. What would have made sense is if Simon got into it because he doesn't want to have any confrontation with Eden and/or continues to dismiss her feelings simply because she's a woman.

[synthezcid]

Anyways thinking about how Vision constantly tends to operate within a team structure and he hardly has a ‘personal’ life of his own and how he always favors being the Observant rather than the Mover

[familyagrestefanblog]

Ml Meta analysis: Adriens current absents, season 4 structure and theory on whats to come

Here I am back again with my endless rambling.

I'm just as worried for our cat son as everyone else (maybe even more) which is why I tried figuring out for my own sanity why he is so absent currently.

Upfront I wanna warn yall that I wrote this post in one rush this night and therefore had no time to do alot of editing. So things can probably get a bit more messy than usual but I tried to write it clearly, while writing 2 other ml essays as well. This is the one drawback of having so many episodes in such a short time, I have no time to write my posts x3 I had another theory planned for before Optigami airs but I don't think I can manage before tomorrow.

But let's not waste any more time. Grab a snack and here we go:

It's 2am right now but I think I just realized why Adrien/Chat Noir is being sidelined so much recently.

Sure, yes, it'll come into play in the very obviously set up Ladynoir drama later on but what I wanna talk about now is more the structure of how s4 is most likely written in terms of both Marinettes and Adriens side of the story. And then deep dive a little on why I think so.

You see season 4 is now reaping what has been built up from s1-s3, but this also includes that you have to take the time now to properly recreate the new possibilities out of the loose pieces of the broken status quo.

Seriously, season 4 has to handle and reinvent ALOT. The show got now officially announced to have 7 seasons, which is exactly the amount of seasons Astruc said they have story for. I couldnt find the official tweet from Thomas himself but I one from another source:

And now look take a look at the possible shows structure:

- s1-s3 was the first status quo and built up everything so now they can pay off after pay off while...

-... S4 is now the transitional season where the old status quo gets left behind as we work towards the new one.

-I have nothing to proof this of course, but in the same sense it would now make sense that s5-s7 where/are planned to play out under the final status quo. If I'm not wrong at first the show was under contract for 5 seasons, which would mean that after the transitional season 4 there was only 1 season of the final status quo for sure. Still, done right it could have been worth the wait. But this isn't where Miraculous will end. The show actually got the 7 seasons the creator wanted and THIS is how I think the long term plan makes the most sense. Nothing all too complicated but still hella effective in its execution.

But now back to our two main characters, because Marinettes and Adriens development are the two aspects that will raise the show to the intense heights of the s5-s7 status quo.

From s1-s3 Marinette was the active player but she was hardly involved with the actual PLOT of the show, since most of the plot and backstory of the show lies directly with the Agreste family. She only started to get her own plot when she literally created a new one by getting involved with the miraculous lore, because the closest Marinette got to the Agreste plot was "The collector".

Adrien in the other hand was always literally right in the middle of the plot but he wasn't enough of an active player to bring us further either.

Season 4 is now going to add the missing parts for both of them and as the very beginning of the season showed us: there are going to do it SEPERATLY.

This is why "Truth" and "Lies" have been structured the way they are (One Marinette-centric the other Adrien-centric). Yes, Marinette and Adrien are meant to end their story victoriously together, but they are simply not the people they have to be to become such a powerful team. Certain aspects of their journey they have to do... basically disconnected from the other one. The "Miracle Queen" endcard shows it quite nicely as well where they are heading now: away from each other.

Obviously the season started with Marinette growing into her new guardian status including everything miraculous related, since she is the main lead and because the new ways the episodes can now utilize everything Miraculous need to be established first before we deep dive into the messed up Agreste mystery.

So while I totally agree that it is annoying to get so little Adrien/Chat Noir content currently I also understand the practicality behind it. As I said, before s4 Marinette was the active main character who mostly didn't really have her own plot. So now adding her plot aspect and have her ACTIVELY figure everything needed out means that right now Marinette/Ladybug is the active focus main character who is solving a huge part of her s4 character arc. That simply drowns out Adrien as the currently still mostly-inactive secondary main character who, yes, may be right in the middle of the shows emotional + villain plot/lore/backstory, but that side of the story simply isn't in focus at the moment.

And I gotta say, I'm kinda glad they're doing it this way. Because I'm gonna be honest, when the season starts giving us Adrien/family Agreste episodes like "Lies" and "The collector" (in this case "Gabriel Agreste" for example) again, I don't want the narrative to be forced to spend time with something guardian lore based just because they didn't took their time to do it earlier.

So, as we see on the s4 episode raster "Gabriel Agreste" is episode 9. Honestly, I expect most of it (especially the ones near the beginning, so ep. 5 included) til that episode to be Marinette based the way everything else til now did (besides Lies obviously and Guilt trip didn't hardcore focus on Marinette/Ladybug either and that's because it's after "Gabriel Agreste") in the spirit of "Truth". It's just the needed set up from Marinettes side of the story and I can live with that.

Because we actually saw the change after "Gabriel Agreste" already in "Guilt trip".

I don't know why some people pretend like Chat almost cataclysming himself after hearing how guilt-eaten Nino is for Adriens sake isn't a huge indicator that the episodes afterwards will not only acknowledge but also DEAL with Adriens/Chats situation and problems. Remember, we are talking about CHAT NOIR here not Adrien Agreste. The show has always portrayed and acknowledged ADRIENS issues very straight forward and with the proper seriousness (especially when it comes to his family), whereas Chat Noir was often mostly used for comedic purposes with some exceptions of his problems being properly delt with (since Marinette/Ladybug was mostly oblivious to them, since Adrien keeps them hidden so well). But now in "Guilt trip" LADYBUG was confronted head-on with just how much negativity Chat has inside and how quickly and extremely he drowns in it.

Sure, correct, the episode also has his negativity "washed away" rather quickly by Ladybug opening up to him on how important he is to her

But this is in character for both of them as "Lies" very clearly showed us that the way BOTH OF THEM behave here is where the problem lies. There Ladybug was freaked out after Chat threw his life away once again but quickly accepted Chats very direct avoidance of the confrontation, since he seemed to be alright to her.

Something I also find noteworthy here is that Ladybugs dialog is "Seriously, you need to stop doing this to me!", which is.... a VERY Marinette-centric way of acknowledging the problem.

It completely shifts the issue away from Adriens extremely alarming self-harmful/suicidal tendencies and instead only calls out how it affects Marinette (whose feelings here are definitely valid, don't get me wrong!). It showcases perfectly how unaware Marinette still is of her partners inner tumult at that point and also parallels how Marinette called Adriens life "perfect" at the beginning of the episode (This is no shade towards Marinette, in general the entirety of "Lies" is about showing us just how harmful Adriens Chat Noir persona actually IS to him so these two moments of her being oblivious to Adriens and Chats immense problems very much fits into that episodes narrative and sets up what's about to come. I still have an entire essay in the making for "Lies" but, guys, it's just getting longer and longer. I suck xD).

So the fact that an episode after "Gabriel Agreste" brings this scenario back, just a little different but ALOT more revealing of Adriens immense problems to his partner, is VERY telling. Besides other things it tells us that this happens at the beginning of the arc that deals with (at least) Chats issues since Ladybug is still way too quickly too ready to accept her partner as "completely fine" again just because Chat makes it seem that way (while some negativity increasing guilt bubbles still to stick to him.).

And yet, others have already pointed it out that Ladybug IS noticing what Chat wanted to do and reacted accordingly...

she just didn't speak of it the way it is because it overwhelmed her, which calls back to Ladybugs "You have to stop doing this to me!" dialog.( For a great breakdown of her dialog HERE is a link to @flightfoot​ post)

In "Lies" Marinette was way too stressed by her new guardian role to even consider Chats side of it and therefore only spoke of her own, but in "Guilt trip" she's already past that stressful arc. So here she is immediately able to recognize Chats suicidal action for what it is, come to his (much needed) aid and lift her partners spirit the best she can by emotionally opening up to him (which is something we KNOW is incredibly hart for Marinette).

The difference between her reaction in "Lies" and in "Guilt trip" shows that Marinette has her guardian role already mostly handled and is now mentally able to be there for others again, so the extremely Marinette-centric "Truth"-like episodes are mostly passed. Now the episodes can bring Adrien/Chat Noir more into the game again and even shift to "Lies" - like episodes because MARINETTE can pay more attention to him again and isn't faced with something new, important and overwhelming Miraculous related every step she takes.

And THAT is extremely fair from a narrative standpoint.

---

I really need to stop elaborating so much on these posts because I'm only NOW actually getting to the point of where Adriens journey will disconnect for a while from Ladybugs. Sorry guys.

Okay, to understand where I'm going with this I will have to quickly explain how I always saw Chat Noirs place in the Ladybug+Chat Noir vs Hawkmoth war ever since s1.

Because here is the thing: Adrien wasn't able to truly leave the battle field ONCE since the origins. Marinette was completely out of Hawkmoths and Gabriels reach once she detransformed, which balances out her basically being the personification of the good sides force. And Gabriel literally decided whenever or not the battle is even ACTIVE right now! Besides that he is in complete control of his own actions and environment, which gives him all the necessary time, safety and downtime he needs to act as the personification of the evil sides force.

Marinette and Gabriel always knew when they were safe and off the battle field, but ADRIEN never had that and it left him LITERALLY right in the middle of both Ladybugs and Hawkmoths sides.

You see, because before Adrien became Chat Noir he basically was part of Hawkmoths side just by default. He was born into this family, that's his father and lost mother and everything he knows. Adrien didn't/doesn't even have to KNOW that he is part of Hawkmoths side, he's his son at some level he just IS! And I'm not saying this as anything negative, Adrien coming from Hawkmoths side is literally the reason why he became Chat Noir!

Because whereas Gabriel is having the time of his damn life as evil terrorist, created out of tragic and sinister circumstances, ADRIEN on the other hand couldn't handle his families environment and very same circumstances anymore and accepted the role as Paris' hero to escape his heritage for a while.

Keywords being: a WHILE.

Something unique about Adrien I always loved is the fact that he is the villains abused, isolated and overworked SON, who becomes a hero to escape his depressing life and YET it was never Adriens intention to LEAVE IT. Adrien merely wanted to use his time as Chat Noir to let of some steam and breath freely while doing some hero work so he can go back into his civilian life and try to one day successfully ment his broken family. He couldn't handle the current situation anymore but he still always saw worth in his family/father. I have SO MUCH respect for that!

But him not intending to leave his family and instead regaining strength as Chat Noir to continue to hold onto it came with the downside of him not being able to fully become part of the good sides people/force either. Hence why Adriens/Chats place always felt so lost in comparison to Ladybugs and Hawkmoths clear positions. He's caught in between their extremes trying to balance out BOTH at the same time. What an impossible task!

So he couldn't put in the same focus as Ladybug into being the good sides force because he is literally burned out from his civilian life on Hawkmoths evil side. But he also couldn't be involved as an ACTIVE member of his fathers evil force, because he chose to find refuge in his friends and as a hero on Ladybugs side.

Adrien unknowingly is part of BOTH the shows two extreme moral sides of good and evil and this season we will see Adrien/Chat Noir grow into his own within BOTH sides as well.

Because he simply couldn't have done so right away in s1. Now after 3 seasons Chat Noir is more than solidly established as one of Paris Heros and his time with Ladybug, the other heros and his normal friends helped him greatly to find his place on the good side. "Lies" set this up as Chat Noirs arcs starting point that now he has to stop connecting "being heroic" strictly with following Ladybug (as Marinette is the STAND IN personification for the good side, she's still a flawed human being like everyone else and not the ultimate force of perfect and good. Big difference.) just as he has to start looking past his fathers sympathetic moments/qualities to see that Hawkmoth isn't a 100%, inhumane monster just because he is the stand-in personification of evil in their fight, but the man he calls Father and still needs to be taken down. (I talked about this in more detail on THIS post)

Adrien has to seperat himself from Ladybugs path and focus on his family and I believe it'll start with the much dreaded (but expected) Ladynoir fight.

Funnily enough, what I'm talking about was actually already set up in "Frozer" I just didn't remember that for a bit. In "Frozer" we saw Ladynoir having a fight which caused Chat Noir to go his own way in the episodes battle.

I always found it interesting that the episode didn't had Chats decision, to not follow Ladybugs lead here, turn out to be a huge mistake. Almost every other show would have done so but now I think I understand. This episode and s2 in general SET UP the s4 conflict, s3 LEAD UP to it and now s4 DELIVERS it.

So what happened in "Frozer" is a direct parallel to what about to go down:

Ladynoirs fight will cause Chat Noir to not simply  follow Ladybugs side anymore the way he used to, but note, he DOESN'T leave the good side AND they make up again in the end after Chat saves Ladybug from the akuma. He just does things on his own because he isn't on great terms with her for a while. "Frozer" showed Chats decision to not only NOT be a mistake but also a necessary part of defeating the akuma, just the way it'll be in s4. Damn, Adrien breaking away from Ladybugs side, the way she (unintentionally tho) did at the beginning of the season, to focus more on himself and his family will be the game changing factor, when Adrien will have his completing arc where he goes from "not active character within the villain/backstory plot" to "ACTIVE character within the villain/backstory plot".

And we already saw with Marinette how many fast breakthroughs we get through these completing arcs. Which is also a reason for why Adriens/ Chats arc comes later in the season, because BUDDY. Once Adrien starts to actively uncover his families mystery and fathers secrets Gabriel is SCREWED! Adrien will gain the needed inside knowledge that complements Marinettes Miraculous power; and reunited they can take on whatever the hell kind of scale the Agrestes plan actually is.

So how to end this post? My biggest intention was to raise hope for everybody (myself included lol) who is right now very concerned and upset about how side-lined our boy is at the moment. But I prefer doing so in a way that actually works with canons context instead of sugarcoating what I don't like. And Adriens/Chats current position I definitely do NOT like but accepting it as realistic outcome from s1-s3 and set up for the escalation for both Ladynoir and his home situation gives it the proper purpose and pay off (narrative and character wise) that it SHOULD have.

Basically, the endcards of "Truth" and "Lies" show it perfectly.

It looks like ShadowMoth is turning a blind eye towards Adrien/Chat Noir because of Ladybugs new guardian status and "greater importance". But Gabriels tunnel vision on Ladybug will leave him vulnerable to his own sons secret actions against him and Gabriel won't see it coming until its already too late.

[laora-ryn]

why lichtendahl tsery is the coolest character in gundam 00

Or, in which Laura thinks a lot about Lichty's prosthetics. Probably even more than the production team did

look i just love lichty a lot okay

---

me, last night: i can't write this post, i have a horrific headache and laundry to fold

me, four hours and almost 4k words later: oops

laundry did not get folded

---

so i'm gonna preface this with, while i have two degrees in bioengineering, it's been about 3 years since I was in school, and nowadays I do more assistive tech and hardly any prosthetics. so, pls don't take my word as god or anything, I'm just here with feelings and science that is (hopefully) at least 75% correct

uhh slight content warnings for show screencaps with blood/dying in them?? and discussions of things that would probably be considered body horror

it is under the cut because holy GOD it got long

first of all, i would like to put out that i am so upset that we literally only find out about his prostheses when he's dying. it makes sense for the story and for his character, it just makes me really sad that it isn't explored any further. like, even prosthetic limbs or systems in general are barely touched on after this

Louise has a prosthetic arm in s2, and we see the surgical scars briefly during the party scene, where she's talking with Setsuna, but she turns the subject quickly. So like, all we know canonically about in-universe prosthetics is that they exist, and that they work well enough, and look close enough to real limbs, that they pass to people who aren't looking closely.

But at this point in 2308, Louise having a prosthetic arm is considered the last-ditch effort. The way Saji talks, the idea of regrowing her arm in a regen pod isn't out of the question, if it weren't for her particle poisoning. (I have another soapbox here about the pods, lol) So I feel like most likely, by this point prosthetic systems have kind of fallen out of favor, and the favored med tech is regrowth (so long as you have the $$$$$$$$).

Which begs the question of: how long ago was Lichty injured?

"My parents cashed in their chips in the solar wars," and he was injured in the same explosion. Setsuna's scene at the start of ep1, which we're led to believe is the twilight of the wars - at least in Krugis - is in 2301. So, as a guess, he was injured in the late 90's. He's 21 in 2307, born in 2286, so - 11-13. Prepubescent, or barely starting puberty, when he's caught up in an explosion that blows away half his body.

His parents were elevator engineers, but I have to assume that they were working within the atmosphere, possibly at the base, because catastrophic injuries like this + the vacuum = no chance of survival, definitely not long enough for someone to find him and get him medical help. So, he must've been on the surface. Still, it's a miracle he survived at all

The wiki makes it sound like his entire body is mechanical, and "only his mind" remained (???). Personally, that, uh, makes no sense to me, so here's my personal headcanon on how much of his body survived:

Obviously his right side was blown away, we see that in ep 24. But I imagine for him to have any sort of chance of survival, his heart must've been spared?? Which guided my thought process there. So, he's got a little more than half his chest, a little residual abdomen that probably got swapped out for prosthetics anyway, + his left arm.

Which...leaves us with a 12ish year old kid on extensive life support, who needs a new lung, a new arm, two new legs, a new diaphragm with which to use that new lung, and all new viscera, as well as a body cavity that will support all of those shiny new organs, both in gravity and without.

I headcanon that Lichty's got one of - if not the - most extensive prosthetic systems in the world. That his parents knew they were going into the job with risks, knew they were bringing Lichty (and the siblings I headcanon he had, who didn't survive the attack) into the potential crossfire of the war. So, his parents probably had it written into their contract that if anything happens to their kids while they're on the job, they get all their medical care paid for by the company, and they get the best care available.

I headcanon he's Ukrainian, ie HRL, which doesn't seem like the bloc to pull out all the stops to save a single nobody-kid. But assuming he has extended family who assumed guardianship, they would've been able to call in the contract and get Lichty put back together. (Sounds like a long shot to me, tbh, but obviously he survived somehow.)

So this kid's on life support in a trauma center somewhere, probably in Indonesia or maybe China, considering the HRL's elevator is in the middle of the Pacific. He's got an artificial digestive system feeding the parts of him that are left, he's on a ventilator, he's on dialysis, he's got so many tubes and wires coming out of him that he's half-hidden behind them in the hospital bed.

He's in an induced coma for months before he's anywhere close to stable and the doctors feel comfortable waking him up. And even once he's awake, he's kept in a sterile room because half his surface area is still open wounds and they can't risk infection. Everyone he sees, for months and months and months, is either on the other end of a video or in a hazmat suit.

And of course, even once he's mostly stable with machines substituting for the organs he's missing, there's the matter of rebuilding them.

We've got just a couple shots of his prosthetics - honestly, not a lot to go on, but here's the three I'm looking at:

(last image from this post by pwryyynce)

So, what I'm seeing here is that his musculature and bone structure are all made of metal, and probably whatever other structural parts were needed beyond his ribs/synthetic spine. They're covered by what looks like real skin, considering all the blood. I think it's reasonable to assume that they took skin samples and grew duplicate swathes in the lab in the early stages of his treatment, so they wouldn't need to worry about rejection when they grafted it onto him. They probably made or simulated subcutaneous tissue also, so that his arm doesn't look (and feel!!) like skin stretched over a bunch of metal. I feel like probably, people would say something if Lasse threw an arm around his shoulders and ended up with a bruised forearm lmao

What I'm really wondering about is his organs. It's been way too long since I took a biomaterials class, and there would be enough innovation 300 years down the line that all the stuff we use now would be moot anyway, but I wonder how many of his organs were grown or transplanted, and how many were just substituted with mechanical systems that do the same thing.

This is a part I'm really no expert in, but I feel like just putting in filtering systems to replace his kidneys would probably be a lot easier than growing him new ones. They'd make him a functioning urinary system to connect the filters to, but tbh that whole system would probably be easier/simpler to just re-engineer.

I feel like his lung would need to be organic to deal with expansion and just. All that oxygen exchange? But it's entirely possible that a synthetic lung exists 300 years in the future that they could install. Pulmonology isn't my strong suit Px

Digestive system would need to be completely rebuilt, and I've always imagined it as synthetic, just his intestines replaced by a mess of tubing, possibly engineered to increase their overall surface area, reducing the length of intestine needed and leaving room for other systems around them. His esophagus would still be there, at least part of it, so they'd just integrate that into an artificial stomach

What's REALLY tripping me up is his circulatory system. Like, okay, he has a heart, and re-creating the major veins and arteries would be doable, but - interfacing them with the lung so the blood can pick up oxygen?? Interfacing them with the stomach and kidneys and liver properly?? Like, I do not know how you would functionally recreate a capillary bed and that sounds like a job for Future Bioengineers lmao. But I just.

You'd think at first that he wouldn't have as much blood because of all the mechanical systems, and I think he'd probably have less than average, but most of your viscera is involved with processing energy to keep your brain going, right? So your blood still needs to go down to your intestines to get those nutrients in order to bring back up. And, on top of that, his skin - which presumably covers the majority of his body, and definitely covers his limbs and upper chest - is vascularized and needs blood, too.

So, he still needs a decent chunk of blood for his body to run properly, which is great and A+, except for the fact that blood is made in your bone marrow, and guess what he doesn't have a whole lot of, anymore?

I don't know if they'd be able to like, create some kind of system that approximates bone marrow, or somehow supplement the stuff he has left in his left arm and remaining ribcage/breastbone/spine, but this would also significantly impact his immune system since bone marrow is also where your white blood cells come from. So like...that would be a serious issue they would need to address, maybe they'd somehow put bone marrow in his prosthetic long bones, with enough of the hormones/stuff that tells it to keep production of BM up, since it's constantly reproducing itself? Or else just have a whole extra box in his abdomen that's like "no, you make blood now" idk like I said, this is not My Thing

Again his immune system would be fucked, so the Bone Marrow Box would also need to replenish white blood cells, which would not at all help with replacing his lymphatic system. His thymus would probably have survived since it's over the heart, but his spleen is gone and - yeah, I'm not qualified to talk about this lmao

tbh I don't understand the liver or pancreas or gallbladder at all, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask

But! His nervous system! is something i am qualified to talk about, buckle up kids we're going for a ride

because his brain/brainstem/spine to T9 ish, probably, would have survived. Which means his use of his left arm would be 100% intact. Tbh after all this he's almost definitely left hand dominant, even once he gets a functioning right arm again, for reasons I will get into in probably a few paragraphs

For the mechanics of a prosthetic arm, tbh in the 24th century they've probably perfected it. We've come a long way now (well, as of 2018, when I wrote my thesis) in making a hand that can physically move in the ways a real one can. the real problem with fancy stuff like this is controlling it.

Lichty would functionally be a shoulder disarticulation amputee (where your ball and socket joint is disconnected), which is. about as high as you get. Your major nerves to the arm are the radial (back of your arm/hand), median (thumb half of your arm/hand), and ulnar (pinky half of your arm/hand). Those three kind of thread around your collarbone before dipping down into your arm, splitting up gradually into smaller nerves that innervate different parts of your arm and hand.

Sounds great and neat and simple, right? You just follow the nerves and make new wires and attach them to the prosthetic, right?

(((((((:

nerves are a FUCK, and yeah, none of that is how it works, and tbh I feel like evolution just made it overly complicated on purpose, just to frustrate people because oh my god

To slightly oversimplify, you have two different kinds of neurons making up your nerves: sensory and motor. Sensory takes inputs from the endpoints (your skin, typically) and sends them back up the spinal cord to your brain. Motor takes inputs from your brain and sends them down to the peripheral nerves to create a result (typically, muscle contractions). These are not sorted into neat sections within the larger nerves, and aren't especially easy to differentiate, especially if you're just trying to zap a whole nerve with electricity to make the muscle go. you're gonna hit all sorts of muscles, and all sorts of sensory inputs, and it's a mess.

Here's a basic diagram of a nerve for reference:

Basically, what you need to know is that every axon (neuron) is going to innervate a particular muscle fiber, or send a particular type of sensory input for a particular patch of skin. These axons are not sorted neatly by type of neuron or area of the arm/hand. They regularly jump between fascicles throughout the length of the nerve, and fascicles aren't neatly sorted, either. So, trying to target a particular fascicle, for example, is usually a lost cause. (without putting an electrode INTO the nerve, which is a Whole Other Thing that's being studied, but urgh)

Currently, myoelectric prostheses are the 'state of the art,' where there are sensors on the inside of the socket that read muscle activity in the residual limb and use it to power the prosthetic. This...wouldn't work for Lichty for a variety of reasons, and is generally not super well received by patients today, anyway. Typically, if you're lucky, you get 4 electrode sites, so for example, you would be able to flex/extend your elbow, and open/close your hand. Not exactly 27 degrees of freedom, yeah?

A process that tbh could work well in conjunction with future!prosthetic arms is something called targeted muscle reinnervation (TMR), where they basically say 'hey Lichty, try and flex your right elbow,' they record which nerve endings in his residual shoulder light up, and then they attach those to the mechanism that flexes his elbow. (Typically they deal with fascicles, if I remember right, but tbh in 300 years I wouldn't be surprised if they could go more specific.) It wasn't the focus of my research - our lab did hands primarily, and TMR is usually reserved for high level amputees, and it's a SUPER invasive surgery, so not a lot of people go for it. But lichty's just about as invasive as you can get lmao, so

TMR can also do some limited sensory feedback! basically, they stimulate different nerve endings and ask him what he feels and where. That's where a phantom limb map comes into play big time. Depending on how complete it is, he could say "yeah it's upper arm, vaguely pressure?" or "yeah it's the back of my upper arm but sort of to the side, and about halfway down, and it's sharp poking." Both the motor and sensory stuff are kind of hunt and peck searching but they kind of have all the time in the world to work with him on this, so I think it'd be a really good option for him!

So, google targeted muscle reinnervation if you wanna learn more! It's cool as fuck, and it's the thing that I think is probably most viable for Lichty to get use of his right arm back! I don't know that it'd give him full movement and full sensation, but it'd be enough to go on - especially since they'd definitely prioritize getting the most common sensations and motions working. A couple people in my lab were looking at combining different movements to reduce the number of movements you'd need for prosthetics in general - moving your wrist at a certain angle to approximate both radial deviation and wrist extension, for example.

Now legs, I am less qualified to talk about. TMR also works for them as far as I know, though balance and gait would be a Whole Thing, he'd have to relearn how to walk, not just because he's been bedbound for so long, but because he has to learn how his new legs operate, and where his new center of gravity is, and just...yeah.

I imagine probably, legs are the last thing they get him working on - they get his torso finished and operational and closed up, and at this point he wouldn't need to be quarantined/sterile anymore. If he really wanted to be up and about at this point, they could get him a power wheelchair, or a one-arm-propel manual chair would work too. Then they'd get him an arm and start him with therapy for that, and skin grafts. Once he's recovered from the arm surgeries and doing well enough they'd probably start talking about prosthetic legs.

Depending on how well TMR works 300 years from now, he'd have to re-learn grip strength, pressure, heat, like he'd have all new baselines for his new limbs which would in particular impact his hand. That'd be a looooot of PT and OT to make sure he doesn't drop or crush stuff on accident. He also may need to learn to operate without proprioception, depending on whether his phantom map included that. Proprioception is knowing where your limb is in space without looking at it - so like, if he didn't have it, he couldn't just like reach over and grab something, or type on a keyboard, without watching his hand as he did it - at least without a lot of practice and trial and error.

also your nervous system does sympathetic and parasympathetic stuff which is like, the automatic 'tells your organs to do their job' except i know next to nothing about that. so uhhhhh I think it'd be reasonable to assume that all the mechanical replacements for organs have their own like, 'battery' and 'brain' in them that keep them going properly and that's all i'm gonna say about that

holy jesus god this nervous system section is like as long as the rest of it combined i'm so sorry

His ribcage would need to be rebuilt in metal, which we can see in the pics. His spine would also need to be, if only to connect his ribs to his new pelvis lmao, but I guess it looks like they built in more metal around his abdomen too, so the spine would be slightly less structural than in the normal body. but - yeah, there would definitely be a lot of work going into into 'printing parts that will keep all these obscenely expensive organs in place and connected to the right things'

(oh that's another thing!! I headcanon that all these custom parts are 3d printed to his specs, in whatever material is best for that particular job. Presumably the material options are a lot more than we have now, and esp the metal structural parts, I think would make a lot of sense to print)

In terms of skin coverage!! Pictures are inconclusive whether he has skin covering his abdomen, or just his upper chest and limbs!! We can see skin on his hip and shoulder, but none in between, but I can't tell whether that's because his side was damaged worse, or if there's no skin there to begin with. Personally I think grafting skin to metal would create all sorts of New Issues that would be more effort than it's worth, but shrug, and also, leaving it open, with just a brace to go around his abdomen as extra support, would give him/his doctors easier access if anything were to go wrong. In my fics I go with the brace solution, because angst, but YMMV

skin coverage brings up all sorts of angst that his silly swimsuit just cracks the surface of. he's def wearing that suit for at the VERY least the skin graft scars, and also probably because he doesn't have skin on his abdomen sdlfkjsodfjsl

The other fun thing that would need to be taken into account for lichty! Is that! He's twelve (ish) when this happens! And twelve year olds! Aren't done growing! Lichty's pretty tall, 5'11" ish if I remember right, so it's not like they just stunted his growth permanently.

If he's 12 when he's injured, I'd guess he's probably 14 ish once he starts looking at getting prosthetic limbs. 14 yo boys aren't done growing either, so they'd either have to make him Weirdly Long for a teenager before he grows into his prosthetics, or make his limbs and torso designs growable to match what they think his height and weight would've been.

Growable limbs would be Really Difficult but probably doable? he'd just have to come in every several months after he's discharged to get Stretched (lol). On the other hand, he's probably actually pushing 17 by the time he's discharged, by which point most teenaged boys are done growing. So, it would make sense for them to make him Long while he's an inpatient, since that last year of therapy would be the most intense/functional, and also when he'd be roughly his adult size. So, he'd be a little disproportionate for a few years, but theyre years that he spends largely in a hospital bed anyway, so it wouldn't be that big of a Thing?

Then, they'd be able to discharge him when he's ready, without any plans to bring him back unless something goes wrong

They would've just estimated what his limb lengths would've been, with some growth room in the size of his chest and his right shoulder. His remaining chest would still be scrawny as a 14 year old, when his torso's closed up, but on the off chance he turned barrel chested by the time he hits 17 lol they'd need a plan for that. Luckily, adult!lichty is scrawny af, so there was probably minimal adjusting that needed to happen there.

The other other thing is, he hasn't gone through puberty yet! And while some of the puberty hormones would still kick in on time, ie the ones that come from his brain, he's also now missing all his reproductive organs. so, he'd need to get injections for the hormones he's missing, probably, because he looks and sounds like he did, indeed, go through puberty

(it's my headcanon that he's infertile even though he desperately loves kids. He and Chris adopt a small horde once they retire peacefully from the job they definitely didn't die doing)

This kid definitely has chronic pain - phantom pain and otherwise - especially when he's in gravity. he definitely has sensory and motor deficits that he gets really good at hiding. he definitely prefers to stay in space because it lessens the pain, and also because it means he doesn't have to walk around, which reduces pain even more. He's probably got a backup cane and/or wheelchair stashed in the back of his closet for bad days on the surface. he probably goes to see dr moreno more than anyone else, which causes lasse and feldt and chris to constantly ask if he's okay, as well as they can around the secrecy rules. he's definitely left handed, and sometimes his right hand is next to useless depending on the day, so he's gotten really good at typing one handed, and maybe even prefers the one handed keyboard he learned to QWERTY or standard DVORAK or whatever they use on the ptolemy lol

uhhh he weighs more than a normal person his size, most probably, because of the metal parts. the blood flow means his arm and legs would be warm, and the skin has nails and hair and wrinkles that make it a convincing enough arm, but if you hold it too tightly or look at it too closely it looks a little off in a way you can't place

he's definitely got a Thing about people touching his abdomen or chest, not even like because he's touch-sensitive like setsuna, just because his stomach isn't gonna squish like everyone else's and that'd lead to way more questions than he's willing or able to answer

an artistic rendition:

lasse: when the FUCK did you get abs like this oh my god???

lichty: nervous sweating

but yea tldr is 'this kid definitely shouldn't be alive, but he is, so laura got to geek out about biotech and uh also his rehab would have taken literal years after the literal years of surgery to put him back together.' in other words he was probably recruited to CB like. Barely a few months after he left the hospital for good

((also, as an aside, i would like to make you all very sad and remind you that lichty's backstory is actually really similar to lockon's, he lost his family in a terrorist bombing as a kid, and was horrifically injured by it to boot. but so far as we can tell, he basically took the exact opposite approach to neil. like yeah, his cheeriness is probably a front at least part of the time, but like, he didn't go off the deep end, and join CB for revenge. he joined to make the world a better place, and never once talked to anyone at all about the stuff he went through as a kid, and never - so far as we can tell - blamed anyone for it))

((like idk guys just. lichty going through the same thing, only worse as lockon, and coming out the other end as an objectively happier and arguably better person, gives me a lot of emotions that i'm struggling to articulate sldkfjaosdjflad))

((also I definitely headcanon that the kpsa did the bombing that killed lichty's family too just because it hurts a lot, especially since lichty's bomb would've been roughly a year after Neil's))

I uh don't really have a conclusion here so. Have 4k words of science dump, thank u all for encouraging me yesterday to write it!!!

[i-know-you-can]

The writers don't build anything so having Jughead in love with Tabitha all of sudden in 5x18 ( even meeting her parents and the romantic duet) will not be a surprise. Even after spending the season showing how he is not over Betty

That's true. There is hardly ever any build up to anything. They don't seem to care about that sort of stuff and just throw whatever storyline they want at us.

But also unless something dramatically changed in the next ep, I don't think Jug is meeting Tabitha's parents as her boyfriend or potential boyfriend. But I'm still very much confused why that is something they're putting in that episode at all. I'd say I hope it makes sense but I'm past believing in miracles.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Kayo, Virgil

Still no idea if this is going to end up a multichap or just a long oneshot, but it’s still going, still not finished, and here’s another 6k words to add to the pile.  I don’t like lifting lines and stuff from episodes, so this section works around the canon stuff in Venom but doesn’t actually quote it directly at any point (I have watched that ep so many times today).  Ditto to yesterday - no proof reading has happened yet.  As this section deals with the episode Venom, watch out for spiders.

Part 1

The journey passed in mostly silence, Virgil wrapped up in whatever thoughts were running through his head and Gordon controlling the ice compress.  At one point, he set it to one side entirely in favour of retrieving a tub of Brains’ anti-bruise cream.  Compared to the ice, it was slightly warm to the touch as Gordon applied it liberally across his shoulders and torso; he couldn’t stop his chest hitching at the touch and his brother gave an apologetic half-grin but didn’t relent until Scott’s bruises were entirely smeared with the stuff.

Scott was grateful for it – past experience told him that while it was no miracle cure, but it would certainly help.  With the painkillers almost entirely worn off, and well over an hour before Virgil would let him have any more for fear of an overdose, anything that would help dull the pain was welcome.

The chill of the returning ice pack some ten minutes later elicited an unexpected sigh of relief, which in turn seemed to coax another almost-smile from the brother standing over him.

If he’d thought the rage of his brothers was intense, it was nothing compared to the short woman waiting with firmly crossed arms and eyes of steel when Scott emerged from Thunderbird Two, flanked on either side by brothers keeping him upright when his body wanted to curl up from the pain.  He’d been spared the indignity of being stretchered out, Virgil adamant that the best thing for him was walking on his own two feet despite the pain, but was leaning rather heavily on his brothers.  Without any painkillers, every breath sent stabs of agony through his torso.

There was no sympathy in Grandma’s eyes as she’d ordered him to the infirmary.  Scott had known better than to expect any, even though he would have preferred some – he was in the wrong for going out on another mission knowing he was injured, and Grandma wouldn’t let that slide.

It wasn’t a long walk, but even that wore him down as he stumbled his way through the hangar, brothers still keeping him steady up until they entered the room.  One of the beds was already raised at the head, ready and waiting for a patient.  Unless there was something Scott didn’t know, they were only expecting one.

“Uniform,” Grandma said firmly, arms still crossed.  He was already stripped down to the waist from Virgil’s initial check, and it was Virgil who held him up as Gordon ducked down to remove his greaves and boots before pulling the flight suit down his legs.  Any protests Scott had about being able to deal with his own uniform were swallowed before given a chance to be vocalised.  From the look in his grandmother’s eye, he’d lost the right to his pride the moment he’d left for Cornwall.

That didn’t make it any more enjoyable to stand in the middle of the infirmary in nothing more than his underwear.  Thankfully, as soon as his uniform was gone Virgil guided him over to the prepared bed and insisted that he get on it.  Scott didn’t protest, and not only because his ribs were killing him.  Grandma looked no more impressed than his first sight of her in the hangar, and if there was one person in the family Scott would never dare push too far, it was his grandmother.

She didn’t say anything, just watched as Gordon folded up the dirty uniform and put it out of the way while Virgil rummaged around behind him for several seconds before returning with a needle.  Scott looked away with a grimace as it headed for his arm.  He hated needles – always had done, always would do – but after the prick of it pushing through his skin came the much needed rush of relief.  He sagged back against the raised head of the bed, tentatively taking deeper breaths now that the action didn’t send stabs of agony through him, and let Virgil fuss with the covers.

“I’ll take it from here, boys,” Grandma said after a few moments.  “You two go and get yourselves cleaned up.”

“But-”

“Now, Virgil.” Favourite grandson or not, Virgil knew when not to push his luck.  With one last look at Scott, brown eyes still dark with guilt and even some betrayal, he put a guiding hand on Gordon’s shoulder and left the room, younger brother in tow.  Scott watched them go with a heavy feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with his ribs.

Grandma cleared her throat, the noise loud in the silence, and he reluctantly turned his attention to her.

“I know you know better than this,” she started.  While he was normally taller than her, even with the bed in a reclining position she towered over him and Scott was reminded of being a young child having been caught climbing the tree he’d been forbidden from going near.  “What on earth possessed you to get back in that pilot seat not once but three times with a broken rib, young man?  You’re lucky it didn’t cause more damage.”

Scott thought back to the trash mine, Virgil storming off without a backwards glance and Gordon turning his back on him in order to get the surviving pod secure in the module. Part of him wanted to say he hadn’t had a choice that first time, his brothers totally ignoring him, but he knew that wasn’t true.  All it would have taken was a single call to John to get Thunderbird One remote piloted home, and on the miniscule chance even that hadn’t alarmed Virgil and Gordon, he was perfectly capable of boarding the large green ‘bird without their permission.

“I didn’t want to upset them,” he admitted.  After whatever had set them both off, he’d thought giving them some space would be best, and they’d both feel awful about not noticing.

“Your brothers are big boys, Scott,” Grandma cut through his protests.  “Whatever little spat the three of you were having, you know they would have much rather you came clean then than find out the way they did.”  Scott winced.  Finding out from someone they’d barely exchanged three sentences with was hardly the best way.  “I don’t care what argument you boys get into, you all still have to trust each other on rescues or International Rescue will fall apart.”

Her words stung. There was no doubt she knew that he’d been failing as a commander since they’d received the SOS from Braman. Gordon had even called him out on his distraction at the air show, reminding him that even though they were trying to save Dad, they still had a world to look after in the meantime.  He’d been right then, and Grandma was right now.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I messed up.”

“You did, but I’m not the only one you need to apologise to,” Grandma replied, perching on the edge of his bed.  “I want you to stay in here tonight.”  He agreed, and after a moment she made her way to her feet again.  “Now then, I need to talk to your brothers.”

“No!” he protested, reaching out for her wrist to stop her.  “Please.” Don’t scold them.  He knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn’t let his brothers be punished for his poor judgement.

For the first time since the hangar, Grandma softened.  “I think they’re punishing themselves enough,” she assured him, before stepping back towards him and gently cupping his cheek with her hand.  “It would help everyone if you looked out for yourself like you do your brothers, Scott.”  He blinked at her, not quite comprehending her point – it was his responsibility to look after his brothers – and she gave him an almost sad smile before leaving the room.

His hand, no longer holding her wrist, fell to his side limply.

Despite everything, he found weariness creeping up on him.  It was gone two in the morning, the day had been a disaster from beginning to end, and by the time two figures slinked back into the room, a third flickering into view, he was fast asleep.

Scott had been grounded many times in his life, for a wide variety of reasons, but being grounded thanks to a broken rib was one of the most frustrating.  The combination of painkillers and rest meant that after two weeks he felt perfectly fit, but every time he tried to reinstate himself on active duty his brothers dragged him straight back to the infirmary for another scan to prove to him that just because he didn’t feel it didn’t mean the rib wasn’t still broken.

At least his brief spat with his brothers had come to an end; as he’d predicted, a night to sleep on it and the whole thing was water under the bridge, proven by a stretchy toy sat on the table by a tray of breakfast when he’d woken up. Conversations had been had with all of his brothers, including Alan despite the youngest not being directly involved in either rescue, apologies offered and accepted, and everything had returned to normal.

Normal except for the presence of the Mechanic in their home.  The man kept himself to himself, rarely seen outside of Brains’ lab, and never without Brains himself, but while intellectually Scott knew he’d been used by the Hood and genuinely wanted to fix his mistakes, he couldn’t forget Thunderbird Two crashing to the ground, Thunderbird Four torn in half and Thunderbird Three locked in a deadly battle – let alone the TV-21’s fate.

He knew they needed the Mechanic’s help, he knew that the Mechanic hadn’t once done anything to any of them since the Hood’s control had been removed, he knew Kayo owed her life to him after the mess that had been their visit to the Hex.  That didn’t mean he trusted the man, and ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a problem.  He’d have buried himself in rescues, kept his brothers away from the man and trusted Brains and MAX to keep an eye on him.

Unfortunately, Scott was banned from not just rescues, but leaving the villa at all until his ribs were fully healed, and he’d never done well at being cooped up, even without being in constant close proximity to a man who had almost killed three of his brothers.  With nothing else to do, he found himself growing more and more agitated about the entire situation – being grounded, the T-Drive still being built so Dad was still stuck there waiting in the Oort Cloud, close proximity with the Mechanic – and his temper quickly latched on to the obvious target.

It was honestly a surprise it took five weeks for it to come to a head, the Mechanic’s patience with him running out at the same time his inner frustrations exploded, leaving an uncharacteristically bold Brains to intervene.  If not for Virgil and Kayo’s timely interruption, Scott had no idea how that confrontation would have ended.

On a surprising upside, it got him off the island, although it rankled a bit when Kayo eased herself into the co-pilot’s chair and he was reminded that technically he was still grounded and only along for the ride.  Considering the nature of the mission, it was obvious that he was only along as an extra pair of eyes.

Painkillers stashed in baldric at Virgil’s insistence – while he didn’t need them much anymore, occasional flare-ups happened and on a mission was a likely time for one to occur – he reluctantly slumped into Alan’s usual seat.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” he asked.

“Dr. Furnier got bitten by a Creeping Banana spider and the drone delivering the antivenom’s been lost,” Kayo leaned back to tell him.  “We’ve got both the co-ordinates of Dr. Furnier’s position and the last known location of the drone, so Virgil’s going to drop me off in a pod to look for the drone while he heads to Dr. Furnier’s location to see what he can do.”

“What am I doing?”

“Your choice, big brother,” Virgil informed him cheerily.  “But if you do anything to worsen your ribs I’m grounding you for even longer.” Scott knew better than to consider that an empty threat, and also knew that Virgil was hoping against hope that he’d stay in Thunderbird Two like a good technically-still-grounded person. He also knew that Virgil knew his hope was unlikely to happen.

“I’ll go with Kayo,” he decided, and chose to ignore the eyerolls he got from his siblings.  “We should find it faster with two people looking.”

“F.A.B.,” Kayo agreed. “But I’m still piloting.”

Scott rolled his eyes but decided that battle wasn’t worth fighting.

“Remember, we’re on a time limit,” Virgil informed them.  “Dr. Furnier needs that antidote as soon as possible or he’ll die – and if either of you get yourselves bitten I’ll murder you myself, got it?  There’s only enough antidote for one person.”

“I’ll make sure Scott’s careful,” Kayo promised, ignoring his hey!  Virgil gave a chuckle in return.

“You, too, Kayo,” he cautioned.

“I’m always careful,” she scoffed.  If Scott didn’t know her, he’d think she was offended at the accusation, but there was a glimmer of a smile on her face as she said it.  No, his siblings were teasing each other – and him.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he chimed in, and they both had the audacity to laugh at him.

“Joking aside, time is of the essence,” Virgil reminded them.  “We’ll be at the drone’s last known position in a few minutes so you’d better get that pod set up.”

“F.A.B.,” they chorused, both releasing their safety belts to stand up.

“And Scott?”

“Hmm?”

“Take it easy, okay?” There was no teasing in Virgil’s voice any more, just a quiet yet sincere plea.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, equally sincere.  He couldn’t swear he would, not when there was always a risk on rescues, even one as seemingly-simple as this one, but he could promise to try and he knew that was what Virgil was asking.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kayo added, echoing their joking from earlier but now equally as serious as them.  “Come on, Scott.”

Perfectly aware that he’d been nudged out of his role of commander and into Alan’s usual role of lowest-ranking operative, he followed her into the module as she set up a dragonfly pod – and accidentally revealed her fear of an insect they might encounter. Whether it was a true accident or an attempt to distract him from the fact that she was the one headed for the pilot’s seat he wasn’t entirely sure, but the idea that Kayo had arachnophobia had never occurred to him before.  She seemed far too feisty to be afraid of any spiders.

Virgil gave them a brief warning before there was the distinctive noise of the module being released.  Unlike a Thunderbird Four drop they were only lowered slowly until the door could open and Kayo directed the pod to pounce out into the air.

Dragonfly Pods were much more comfortable when you were sat in one of the designated seats, rather than clinging to the outside by the tips of your fingers.  Scott didn’t let himself think about that too hard, instead focusing on his scanner for locating the drone in question.  As Virgil had said, it wasn’t far from where they were, but even their smaller wingspan wasn’t enough to get them below the treetops.

He spied a bare tree that looked sturdy enough and directed Kayo down to it, already making plans to climb down and see some action.  Yes, he’d promised to be careful, but he’d been climbing trees his entire life.  He could handle that with a five week healed rib.

It turned out that he didn’t need to convince Kayo to let him out, because by the time he’d finished his initial reasoning the tree had decided it didn’t like being landed on by a giant mechanical bug and dropped them all the way to the jungle floor.

Ouch.

The impact jarred his rib uncomfortably and he couldn’t quite swallow the gasp of pain.

“Scott, are you okay?” Kayo asked, her voice full of concern.  She twisted in her seat to look back at him, eyes wide, and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

“I’m all good,” he promised, pushing up his harness.  “How’s the pod?”  The roof lifted up and he jumped out onto an extended leg as she ran diagnostics. Thankfully, they’d only lost the wings and it was otherwise still functional.  After his confrontation with Brains and the Mechanic, he really didn’t want to have to face the engineers with another destroyed pod – especially not Brains.

Even more thankfully, they’d found the drone, although typically it was now up near the top of the same tree that had just dropped them all the way to the floor and now they had to climb up.   Kayo’s challenge of a climbing told him that she was reassured his rib hadn’t worsened in the crash, which he was grateful for.  He was less grateful for the fact that he’d lost said race.  True, time was of the essence, and his rib was twinging so he was far slower than usual, but that didn’t do much to soothe his pride when she dropped down from ahead of him to climb along the branch in question.

He hung back by the trunk. The tree had already proven that it was all too willing to drop them down, and he was really tempting fate by being up there with a healing rib as it was.  Kayo was lighter and also more agile – the branch was less likely to collapse under her weight, and he was ready with a helping hand in case she had to beat a hasty retreat.

Until a leaf – a leaf, of all things – settled on top of the drone and the tree decided enough was enough.  Torn between darting for the security of the trunk and getting to Kayo, he didn’t manage to get back in time before the entire branch parted company with the tree, dropping them straight into the water.

Ouch.  It wasn’t quite as bad as being dropped back onto the ground, which would have certainly thrown him straight back in the infirmary with his sister for company, but it still hurt.  With the combination of the sharp pain and the strong current of the stream, he definitely fell short of Gordon’s minimum requirements for water competence, and it was luck more than skill that found him clinging to the branch again as they were spat out at the top of a waterfall.

Well, he was.  Kayo ended up halfway down the waterfall, clinging to the edge of the very rotten branch.  Scott was hyper conscious of the long drop if she lost her grip – or it broke.  The pain in his ribs wasn’t enough to stop him from moving to help her when her attempt to climb back up ended in her falling further.  It certainly wasn’t enough to stop him going straight for his grapple when it broke as he’d feared, aiming and shooting at his sister for her to catch.

He wasn’t suicidal enough to call Kayo heavy, and she certainly didn’t rate as such compared to half the people he’d rescued, but the sudden jerk as his arms and braced chest took the entirety of her weight did nothing to help the pain lancing through his chest again.  Virgil and Grandma were going to kill him for this, even if it wasn’t really his fault.

Speaking of Virgil, his brother’s sudden reminder about their time limit, while no doubt necessary on his end, could hardly have come at a worse time as Scott realised his lunge to catch Kayo, while successful, had put him over the edge of the outcrop the branch was balancing on.  Even if his chest wasn’t in pain, he wasn’t sure he’d have made it back without it falling – physics was still physics, as John liked to comment.  As it was, both his and Kayo’s survival relied on his core strength keeping him balanced while also not dropping his sister.

Ordinarily, that would have been a strain, but doable.  Now, it was agony, and he needed a solution sooner rather than later, which Kayo thankfully found in the form of a ledge in the cliff.  Getting her there was more of a challenge, and by the time she managed to cling on more than a few grunts of pain had passed his lips.  She didn’t comment on it, saving her breath for more immediate concerns like summoning their pod – since when was it coded to respond to ‘here boy’? – but he knew she heard them.

As he watched the pod clamber down the cliff edge, he made the mistake of thinking the worst was over. Kayo could secure the line to the pod, he could secure the other end to the outcrop, and then it would be a case of ziplining across.  His ribs wouldn’t like it, but they’d manage.  The tree branch had other ideas, overbalancing despite his best efforts and pitching him down the waterfall.

It was purely instinct that had him still clinging to his grapple, arms wrenching sharply from his own weight – greater than Kayo’s – as he fell, trusting Kayo to do something to stop his fall.  He couldn’t see what she’d done, exactly, but when he realised he was swinging – fast – towards the cliff face, he assumed she’d found something to hook her end of the cable onto.

The impact, mostly absorbed by his legs, had him crying out in pain as his ribs heaved.

“Scott!” Kayo yelled, and as he hung limply from his arms, fingers locked around the grapple, he looked up to see her head poking out from the ledge, looking down at him worriedly.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed, hoping he was imagining the tremble in his arms.  Calling on his core muscles again – which after five weeks of minimal use were not appreciating the sudden work out either – he managed to raise his feet to connect with the cliff again, knowing the best way was to walk up.  Knowing that Kayo would have secured his line, he used the grapple to shorten the cable, pulling himself up until he managed to reach the ledge.

Kayo pulled him up as soon as he was in arms’ reach, helping him clamber up next to her, where he paused, using dismantling his grapple as an excuse.  From the narrowing of her eyes, she wasn’t convinced.

“Scott, I know we’re on a time limit, but on a scale of one to ten how much worse are your ribs after that?” she asked, rummaging around in the pod.

“Maybe a three?” he hedged, stowing his grapple pack back in his baldric and replacing the grapple itself at his hip before pulling himself to his feet with the help of a nearby pod leg.

“On what, the Gordon Scale?” she asked sharply, clearly disbelieving.  He rolled his eyes.

“On the Gordon Scale it wouldn’t even register,” he retorted.  “But like you said, we’re on a time limit so let’s move.”  His attempts to get into the pod were foiled by her turning around and stepping right up to him, nimble fingers darting into the baldric pouch containing the painkillers.

“Take them,” she ordered, a bottle of water thrust at him alongside the pills.  Realising it would do more harm than good to both the mission and his body not to, he obeyed, popping back the medicine with a swig of water while Kayo carefully manoeuvred the pod into a position where they could more easily scramble inside.  “You first.” She knelt down and cupped her hands, giving him a step to use.  Normally he wouldn’t need the help, but he’d already suffered enough damage on a supposedly harmless mission and wasn’t interested in worsening the lecture he was due for.  With a grunt that was half effort and half painkillers still kicking in, he accepted the boost, settling in the passenger seat as comfortably as he could and stowing the water bottle as she clambered into the driver’s seat once more.

Travelling down cliff faces head first was always an interesting experience.  With the pod’s wings gone, they were at the mercy of its grips and gravity, and Scott tried not to let himself lean too heavily into the harness holding him in place with minimal success.  During their descent, the painkillers kicked in properly and the pain in his ribs was finally dulled by the time he spotted the damaged, grounded drone on the opposite side of the stream.

Kayo jumped out and hopped across with a determined aura.  He watched her go before remembering that he should probably be helping, climbing out and following her at a slightly slower pace – which gave him a front row seat to the thing neatly evading her attempt to grab it, and a sinking feeling.

Earlier, he’d wished for his jetpack.  Now, he wished for his own Thunderbird, and more specifically her drones.  It had taken a combination of them to capture the camera drone on the mountainside, and despite his and Kayo’s best attempts – Kayo’s better than his; painkillers dulled the pain but he was still aware he couldn’t lunge and dive for it the way he ordinarily would – it danced just out of reach before eventually settling on a branch.  Even if they dared climb another tree in this jungle, by the time they got there it would just take off again.

Scott had always despised the kids who thought it was funny to throw stones at animals, and in turn had found it karma whenever the cornered animal eventually fought back, but as the drone wandered from side to side – he agreed with Kayo’s assessment that it was taunting them – and he caught sight of some loose stones on the ground, he wondered if that was the answer.  It wasn’t like the thing was actually an animal, after all.

When it came to him and Kayo, their marksmanship was pretty equal.  However, in their current conditions, Kayo was far more mobile than him and had a much better shot of catching it if – hopefully when – it decided to attack him, so Scott unanimously selected himself as the bait. Even though he was fairly certain overarm throwing was another thing he probably shouldn’t be doing.  The painkillers kept the worst of his body’s protests at bay, but the grunts he let out weren’t entirely down to exertion. Kayo eyed him disapprovingly as she checked in with Virgil, letting him know about the delay.

Just like the poor cornered animals, the drone took its sweet time deciding it had had enough of stones being pelted its way; Scott’s hastily scavenged ammunition was running low by the time it chirped angry-robot noises at him and Kayo ducked behind a rock, out of side as the small machine divebombed him.  It was small and lightweight enough that chances were it wouldn’t do much damage if it actually collided with him – at least, if his ribs were intact – but thankfully he didn’t have to test that hypothesis as Kayo’s aim was true.

Unfortunately, it appeared the drone could lift a fair amount of weight, and Kayo found herself being carried around as she fought to find the power switch.  Scott should have been able to catch her with ease – it was hardly the first time he’d caught someone dangling precariously from a rope or similar – but he hadn’t been this physically active since the trash mine, and his body decided that now Kayo had hold of the drone, adrenaline was no longer a requirement, leaving him feeling suddenly quite tired.  Thankfully, Kayo proved to not need his help, powering down the frustrating little drone and wrestling the antidote away from it.

He had a brief moment of panic about how long it had taken them, and how they’d get all the way to Dr. Furnier’s base with a wingless pod fast enough, when familiar VTOLs sounded overhead.  He grinned in relief as Thunderbird Two came into view, lowering until it was possible for Kayo to grapple her way up into the module, antidote in hand, and run for the medbay and their patient.

Far more tired than he was happy with, Scott scooped up the deactivated drone made his way back to the pod, settling in the driver’s seat to nudge it directly underneath the bay doors and remotely engaging one of Thunderbird Two’s high tensile cables to latch on to the pod in question, drawing it – and by extension, him – up inside the bay.  By the time he made it to the medbay, a man who had to have been Dr. Furnier was sitting up and talking, clearly reacting well to the antivenom that had given them so many problems.

Satisfied with a rescue – finally – well done, he made to put down the drone by a sample jar, only to realise it was carelessly lying on its side with the lid off.  Virgil was never that careless, and the panic on his brother’s face, compounded by the cry of “the spider” from the expert told him that Virgil’s adventure hadn’t been entirely smooth either.

And that there was a spider, presumably the same one responsible for the whole mess in the first place, loose on Thunderbird Two.  He knew for a fact they didn’t have any more of the antivenom – if they did, Virgil would have used it rather than waiting for them – and the hospital didn’t have any in stock either.  That was not good, and he froze at the command not to move, seeing Virgil do the same.

Kayo did not freeze, instead crouching down and bobbing back up a moment later with a large and vibrantly coloured spider with somewhat intimidating fangs in a clear specimen box. From Virgil and Dr. Furnier’s reactions, that meant crisis averted, although Scott couldn’t help casting a suspicious eye over the rest of the medbay to make sure there hadn’t been more than one.  Gordon would complain about messing up ecosystems if they brought any back to the island, and he didn’t think he could live with the knowledge there was a spider that deadly in the same home his brothers lived.

No sign of webbing, and no more bright orange blobs of spider, had him reassured and he remembered as Virgil relocated to the cockpit to get their passenger to Rio’s hospital, just to be on the safe side, that he’d thought Kayo was afraid of spiders. Despite everything that had happened, and perhaps because of the lecture he knew was coming his way, his curiosity was piqued over what insect could possibly have her so afraid.

That it was butterflies gave him a much-needed laugh – and part of him wondered if it really was butterflies or if that was her intention, although he couldn’t see any of her usual tells for lying – and also successfully distracted Virgil long enough for them to get to the hospital and drop off Dr. Furnier, who seemed delighted to be safe and well.  Not an unusual reaction for someone they’d just saved, and Scott once again felt that warm happy glow he never told his brothers about for a job well done.  It had been a while since the last one – neither the trash mine or the following Cornwall mine had ended on a positive note, despite the rescues being a success.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked around to see brown eyes surveying him intently.

“Kayo said you had to take the painkillers,” Virgil observed, because of course his sister had run straight to Virgil with that bit of information.  “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” he protested. “Just a precaution, that’s all.”

“A precaution after our pod crashed, we fell out of a tree – twice – got tossed around underwater and then spat over the edge of a waterfall and had to climb up a cliff?” Kayo asked innocently.

“Hey, that happened to you, too!” Scott protested, over Virgil’s horrified what.

“Both of you sit down and let me have a look at you,” their brother demanded.  “What happened to this being a simple search and rescue?”

“Someone jinxed it by calling it ‘simple’?” Scott offered, making a dash for the co-pilot’s chair and beating Kayo to it by pure virtue of already having been closest.  Kayo glowered but settled in the chair behind him.

Virgil growled, although whether it was at his words or their antics, Scott wasn’t sure.  Doing up the safety belt so there was one more reason not to turf him out of his victory seat, he sat back and let Virgil run the medical scanner over him.  The events of the trash mine and Grandma’s subsequent scolding were still too recent for him to kick up his usual fuss, even though he feared his recovery had taken a major set-back.

The scan flagging up a red in amongst the various ambers he knew had to be bruises from the multiple falls was most unwelcome.

“Kayo I thought you said you would keep an eye on him?” Virgil demanded.  Behind him, Kayo sighed.

“I did!” she protested. “He stayed in the back of the pod, didn’t do anything strenuous except throw some rocks and climb a cliff face – which needed to be done, by the way – and was the most hands off I think I’ve ever seen him on a rescue.  We just got unlucky.  A lot.”

“Well that bad luck’s just landed Scott at least another three weeks of grounding,” Virgil grumbled, and Scott groaned.  “It might be more.”

“More?” Scott whined. “I only came out on this mission because you asked.”  And because he’d been going stir-crazy in the house, so his family had probably been looking for an excuse to get him out of it.  “I didn’t even know about it until you came looking for me!”

“I know,” Virgil sighed, looking and sounding apologetic as he put a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to have any risk; I would never have brought you along if I’d known this would happen.”

Scott looked up at him, his brother’s brown eyes once again full of guilt, and pulled a small smile onto his face that he hoped was reassuring.

“I know,” he said, covering the warm hand with his own.  “I’m sorry, it wasn’t your fault.  I should have stayed on Thunderbird Two like you wanted.”

Virgil gave a rue smile. “I’m glad you didn’t; I almost didn’t notice the spider, and considering how today went, you’d probably have been bitten if you’d also stayed.”

Scott chuckled.  “Yeah, that would’ve been bad,” he agreed.  “That would’ve been really- look out!”

He shoved Virgil to the side, getting just enough purchase to catch his younger brother off guard and force him to stumble a step away.  The bright orange blob of spider he’d seen at the last second descending from the cockpit ceiling missed Virgil by scant inches, but instead landed on Scott’s outstretched arm.

He froze, holding his breath and hoping – really hoping – that he wasn’t about to find out if those dangerous looking fangs could get through neoprene.

“Scott!”  Kayo and Virgil both moved, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the spider regarding his arm to see what they were doing. They didn’t keep sample jars in the cockpit – there was no need to – but he heard a locker opening as one of his siblings presumably hunted for something to trap it with.

Huh, its legs were striped with black and its body was actually really quite hairy.  Scott hadn’t noticed that with the previous one he’d seen, and wasn’t entirely certain now was the best time to register that, either. Not when it reared suddenly, fangs on full display, and stabbed down at his uniform.

For a moment he thought it was okay, that the neoprene had been tougher than the fangs, but then he felt it.

Two tiny, needle-like pinpricks.

Uh oh.

“Scott!”

next...

[miss-cinereo]

my thoughts on good omen ep. 1, written as I watched it

starts off well with god being a woman and Eve and Adam being black

aziraphale giving his sword to Adam!! and being embarrassed to tell Crowley but still telling him because he wants assurance I'm!!!

I'm 5 min into the first episode and this is already my favourite thing

how did they not know each other's names a minute ago but they're already sharing secrets, joking, and shielding each other from the weather

THE INTRO SEQUENCE!! the music! the paper cutout style! death on his horse! the fucking guillotine someone's carrying with them!

I'm less familiar with Gaiman's writing but I def recognise some delightful Pratchett vibes in this

these other demons taking things so seriously is fucking hilarious to me for some reason

ah, of course, never forget the paperwork

lmao that is a chaotic gay walk if I ever saw one

I mean sure I love demons and sassy bitches but aziraphale litterally shows up on screen and I squeal... he is so precious

(his completely nonplussed "it's sushi" says so much about how he too has been affected by living on earth without being as blunt as "he's been up here for too long" about Crowley)

I don't like Gabriel

there are going to be a lot of jokes about angels and miracles isn't there?

these satanic nuns are going to fuck up the baby exchange won't they??

lmao I wrote satanic nuns like 2 seconds before she said it

wow what a useless man "good luck" is not what you tell your wife as she's about to give birth to your child.

"baby A, baby B, and the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World and Lord of Darkness" is such a good joke and I hope they run with it for a while

"a regular Y-chromosomed boy" wow this fucker would absolutely deserve to be handed the antichrist instead of his own kid. jackass.

ah what a wonderful mess of miscommunication and coincidence

LMAO who tf agrees to name their child WARLOCK when they even had a name fucking planned out?????? poor kid

and the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings and whatever else there was is landed with Adam because of course he was

fucked yourself over shutting down all those phonelines did you crowley?

also, his reaction to basically starting armageddon is swearing a bit before calling his boyfriend.. that's cute

Aziraphale's face when Crowley starts mocking him about all good classical composers being in hell is fucking amazing

((is it actually called gravlax in English?? another nordic dish to be proud of?))

them not knowing if the reign of terror was heaven or hell says a lot about both places tbh

"this is purely social" so.. hanging out (which they've clearly been doing for centuries at least) is fine, but actually cooperating is a no no? or is stopping armageddon a no no? which part is the issue here aziraphale?

the family went home after only 24 hours? I don't know a lot about childbirth but that seems way soon

trying to pronounce french words before giving up and saying it in english is,,, relatable

okay, disobedience was the issue (should have known, he is an angel) but yeah he's hardly been a puritan so far so....

wow I wish it was that easy to sober up for humans

Crowley is pretty decent at this demon, tempting/manipulating business isn't he?

wow agreement immediately followed by flirting huh? is that what we're doing

what the fuck is that lullaby

ohh, crowley going down into that mirror image was cool!

I don't like Gabriel

"don't lick the walls" ???

an 11yo who thinks he's too cool for dinosaurs is like the least relatable person ever

Crowley trying to hint at murder and aziraphale just. not. getting. it. is brilliant

poor aziraphale, no one appreciates his magic tricks ):

poor them, realising they've spent a decade with the wrong kid and probably fucked everything up..

dog is a great name, and the lovely description of what kind of dog he wanted let the hell hound know exactly what it should be. how practical

also, "the sort of growl that starts in the back of one throat and ends up deep in someone else's" is a very good line

"somethings changed" "its a new cologne" "not you, I know what you smell like" - gayyy

holy shit this is very good! (Im probably going to keep doing posts like this cause I have to express my thoughts but I don't wanna spam people with them)

[doctortreklock]

An Ancient Place (the by his side remix) - December 32, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Full of History and Secrets (x)

December is a month of remixes and sequels!!!

Fandom: Good Omens

Title: "Night Vale is an ancient place. Full of history and secrets, as we were reminded today." Welcome to Night Vale, Ep. 4

Words: 4635

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If there was one thing Aziraphale hadn't expected from a brisk fall day in 1967, it was meeting Anthony J. Crowley.

He'd been doing his usual afternoon stroll through Soho, feeling somewhat more lonely than perhaps he customarily did, when he decided, on some whim that he would be forever grateful for, to pop into St. Patrick's for a brief visit.

Like all holy sites, he felt a pleasant warmth as soon as he set foot on the hallowed ground. Surveying the sanctuary with all the satisfaction of a job well done by someone else, he noticed a particularly striking man by the basin of holy water.

He was dressed in what Aziraphale had come to suppose must be the fashion of the day: an overly tight outfit in a somber black that looked out of place in the brightly lit church. With dark, round sunglasses and heeled boots to be precise. He found it a bit ridiculous, but was quietly aware that they must find him equally ridiculous for his own, more old-fashioned, apparel. Not that the thought made him anxious to match the current trend. Aziraphale had determined long ago that he would only bend to the latest fad if it was no longer the latest. It would hardly be worth updating his wardrobe for any style that lasted less than at least three decades.

Though most trends in human fashion were perplexing and often downright distasteful, Aziraphale couldn't help but note that this man seemed to wear the clothing with ease. The dark jacket flexed easily around his body as he carefully held a glass jar in the water to fill it. His black leather gloves were likewise somewhat jarring when compared to his otherwise brilliant surroundings, Aziraphale noticed. But, he admitted, to the contrary, they also seemed to fit him just as well as the rest of his ensemble, regardless of how out-of-place they seemed in context.

As he watched, the man pulled the bottle cautiously out of the water and held it nearly at arms' length, as if struggling to figure out what to do with it. Unbidden, Aziraphale felt a smile slip onto his face.

It quickly vanished, however, when the man seemed to discover an itch in the most inconvenient place, giving what could be overestimated as a full-body flinch. The general effect, however, was that the glass bottle slid against his leather gloves and began to fall.

Before he knew it, Aziraphale had reached out and caught the jar. He wasn't out of breath, which meant he must have employed a minor miracle to have made it so quickly. Hopefully Gabriel wouldn't audit his miracles any time this century. Either way, he didn't regret his slip in the slightest, as it made the man's face light up in the most relieved smile he'd seen in decades.

"Here you go," he told the man, surprised to find himself a little breathless after all. "Careful that you don't drop it again," he cautioned. "That glass would be quite a bother to clean up."

The man took the bottle back with a dazed nod, holding the bottle gingerly, close to his body this time. Good deed done, Aziraphale began to turn away, ignoring the hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. There was no reason for it, after all. He'd only just met the man.

"Would you like to grab a drink?" the man blurted, and Aziraphale halted in surprise. "As thanks," he finished.

The hollow feeling vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a warmth that Aziraphale couldn't quite attribute to the church, no matter how much he wanted to rationalize it away. "I would be delighted," he told the man.

The man adjusted his grip on the bottle, tucking it close to himself and reaching out with his free hand. "I'm Crowley," he said. "Anthony Crowley, but most people call me Crowley."

Aziraphale smiled and shook Crowley's hand, the leather of his glove soft under Aziraphale's fingers. "Ezra Fell," he said, introducing himself by his current pseudonym. "I sometimes go by Zira," he added on impulse. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him that this human, who he had never met before and likely never would again, address him by even a portion of his true name, but he could not deny that it did matter.

Crowley grinned at him, a wide smile of delight, and for a moment, Aziraphale was so distracted he couldn't have said if he was standing in a church or on the moon.

--

Anthony Crowley turned out to be the most fascinating person Aziraphale had ever met, and he'd spent time with everyone from Virgil to Arthur Doyle. They seemed to click instantly, almost as if Crowley had been made as his mirror, a perfect foil. If Aziraphale hadn't known, deep in his corporation's bones, that his Creator had never been so generous and would never forgive him for his arrogance, Aziraphale might have wondered if Crowley had not been made just for him.

He could picture Crowley everywhere, at every point in his own history. Cutting a dashing figure through ancient Rome, rescuing him when he'd been discorporated in France during the Revolution, even standing next to him at Eden as he watched the first thunderstorm. Even now, looking back at his memories, Aziraphale could nearly taste the empty spaces around him where Crowley would have stood, slotted in so neatly it would be impossible to tell he hadn't been there the entire time, warping the emptiness around his own solitary figure into a pair of companions, two partners, a binary star system in perfect balance.

--

"Packing is exhausting," Crowley proclaimed, flopping back onto Aziraphale's bed. Though, as of today, it was their bed, really. Aziraphale felt a flutter of joy at the thought. He'd only known the man a month, but already he knew that he wanted to spend as much of Crowley's life with him as the human would allow.

"It was mostly unpacking today, my dear," Aziraphale told him in amusement. "The packing was yesterday." He flitted around the room, tucking away more pieces of his solitary life that he hadn't quite managed to get out of the way yet.

"I don't care," Crowley told him firmly. "Packing, unpacking, it's all the same to me. Moving is exhausting, angel," he declared with a wide gesture in front of him. That he happened to be gesturing at the ceiling did not seem to put him out at all, Aziraphale noted with a burst of affection.

"Well, then," Aziraphale said lightly. "Maybe you should just never move again." He didn't pause, stuffing the detritus of the 1930s into the corner of another drawer. He also didn't look at Crowley.

"Maybe," Crowley echoed, and Aziraphale could hear the smile in his voice.

He chanced a look over at the bed, and Crowley was watching him with something like wonder and something like love in his gaze. "Maybe," Aziraphale repeated more firmly.

"C'mere, angel," Crowley said softly, sitting up and holding out a hand. Aziraphale went to him effortlessly, allowing himself to be pulled down next to Crowley on top of the quilt. "Zira, I--"

"What is it, my dear?" Aziraphale prompted when Crowley faltered. He reached out and gently tucked a lock of Crowley's hair behind his ear.

"I--" And Aziraphale had only known Crowley a few short weeks - though it felt like a thousand years already - but he'd never seen the man so vulnerable. "Zira, I've been alone for a long time," he said quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, and Aziraphale's heart broke a little at seeing the tears well up around his eyelashes. "I never thought I'd meet anyone who would want to spend a month with me - me, as I truly am - much less a lifetime. And I just..." he fell silent, overcome with emotion.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale whispered to him, cupping Crowley's cheek with his palm and pressing their foreheads together until their noses brushed and their breath mingled and Crowley's face was too close for Aziraphale to see the tears in his beautiful, golden eyes. "I know."

He held Crowley close until the man's breathing evened out and Crowley fell asleep. Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to move if God themself had appeared and ordered him to. Instead, he expended a few small miracles on switching off the lights and repositioning them under the blankets instead of on top of the covers.

Aziraphale carefully lifted one of Crowley's hands from the sheets, kissed it gently, and held it, all night long. He didn't sleep.

The cool October winds whistled at the windows that night, but inside an angel kept watch over his slumbering partner and vowed to never let the man be lonely again for all the days of his life.

--

Sometimes Aziraphale wondered bleakly what he thought he was doing. Playing house with a human was never something that could be forgiven or overlooked by his superiors. It was only a matter of time before they found out. Even if his time with Crowley was long past by the time they discovered his infraction, it wouldn't stop them from issuing punishment.

Even if he managed to slide under the radar for another century, it wouldn't matter in the long run. Crowley's soul was bound for Heaven; Aziraphale refused to contemplate otherwise. But angels and human souls were strictly separated. Even if he discovered Crowley's location and broke a thousand rules and laws, he still wouldn't be able to find his beloved.

Somehow, though, when he watched Crowley coax another stubborn bromeliad into blossoming, a small, genuine smile on his face, he had to admit that it was worth it. If he lost Crowley sooner than anticipated, if he was demoted, if he Fell, if he was plunged into a column of hellfire, if he searched fruitlessly for all eternity... It would all be worth it for ever smile he could put on his dear Crowley's face.

--

They had just gotten back from Warlock's birthday party when Aziraphale got the message from Gabriel. It was clunky and awkward, the way Aziraphale could only imagine his own would have been if Crowley hadn't patiently dragged him into the twenty-first century.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel demanded. "What is the meaning of this? Was it not the point of adapting Heaven's communication system so that you could be easily reached at all times? We should have kept scrolls. I liked scrolls. Uriel liked scrolls too; I know they did. Michael liked telephones, though, so we had to switch. Ugh." It was around that time that the answering machine had run out of space and cut him off.

Aziraphale frowned at the telephone, but was distracted by Crowley's announcement that he was going out on an errand.

"That sounds fine, my dear," Aziraphale told him. "I need to go 'round the corner as well. I've got a message from a rare bookseller I know and he wants to meet with me," he lied. It was his standard lie for the Heavenly business he was still called upon to complete. He would have worried about how often he needed to be gone, but Crowley traveled around the country as well on technological consultations, so they could align their absences to each other's.

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how he felt about the fact that his bookshop, once a comfortable home for one, now felt empty without two. He settled on being very thankful for Crowley's entire existence.

Once Crowley was gone, Aziraphale locked up the bookshop and walked a few blocks over to his favorite sushi restaurant. Well, third favorite sushi restaurant and his favorite to go to without Crowley. Crowley adored the conveyor belts in Aziraphale's first and second favorite restaurants, but Aziraphale preferred the chirashi from the third. The other two never seemed to get it quite right.

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel boomed. Also, Aziraphale's third favorite sushi restaurant was the only one Heaven knew about. Which was why it was so ideal for these sorts of meetings.

"Gabriel," he greeted, not quite meeting the same level of excitement as the other angel. "Why did you need to meet with me so urgently?"

And then Gabriel told him about the Apocalypse.

It was all he could do to nod in the correct places as Gabriel extolled the virtues of the coming End of Days. "Right, right," he agreed at the end. "And what's my role in all this?" He was desperately hoping his role was to tuck himself into a corner somewhere and come out when it was all over. At least that, he could do with Crowley.

"You are to take up arms alongside the rest of Heaven!" Gabriel told him cheerfully. "Come back with me and prepare for the Great War!"

No! Aziraphale's brain screamed at him. "I've got a couple things to talk care of," he prevaricated. "Earth things, you know. Principality duties and the like. I'll pop up when I've got a minute," he promised.

Gabriel didn't seem to like that very much, but he did accept it, and a moment later, he vanished.

Aziraphale immediately collapsed back into his seat as if all his strings had been cut. "Oh my," he whispered to himself. "Oh my word."

Aziraphale had once been a Guardian of Eden, with the sword, rank, and title to go along with it. He had seen six millennia of human history unfold before him and had held his beloved in his arms for fifty years. He had anticipated watching human history for another six millennia and holding his beloved for as many years as he had left.

So now, to see the world dwindle, that future history cut short, was devastating. But not as devastating as realizing he wouldn't have the millennia after that he had planned on.

Human lifespan was limited by design. But just as Aziraphale had imagined Crowley beside him for the first six thousand years of his life, he had hoped to imagine him by his side for the next six thousand. That once he'd lost Crowley standing beside him, he would still have the painful, bittersweet memory of Crowley as his companion for the rest of time, lingering in the space around him, in the empty spot that Aziraphale knew he would now reflexively compensate for for the remainder of his existence.

Which now seemed lingeringly brief. His breath caught in his throat as he had sudden visions of Crowley cut down by flaming swords or beset by hellhounds. "No," he whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it. There were more casualties of war than the loss of his eternity, Aziraphale knew.

He threw a few bills on the table and rushed back to the bookshop, abruptly desperate to retreat behind her familiar walls. Maybe Crowley would be home soon, he thought longingly. Then he could hold his dearest partner tight and pray and try not to become swamped by the despair he could already feel rising inside himself.

There was nothing he could do to stop the Apocalypse. It was ineffable, after all.

--

Every once in a while, when Crowley seemed surprised to find another birthday at hand, or when he cursed under his breath at the arthritis creeping through his joints, Aziraphale would excuse himself and sit in the corner of their bookshop, staring at his own hands until they stopped shaking and his vision had cleared again. Then he could wipe his face, breathe for a few minutes, and go find Crowley, a smile on his face.

His hands were never the aching, swollen mess that Crowley's became as they aged. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of his hands hurting too much to hold his books, so he had simply introduced weaknesses into the bones, sapped the strength from the muscles, allowed the skin to thin and age until it was almost like the vellum pages of his favorite tomes. He had hoped Crowley wouldn't think it an unusual sign of age.

Once, when they were younger men, when Aziraphale had found the first of Crowley's grey hairs, curled just above his ear, when Aziraphale's stomach had dropped for the first time at the inevitability of time, of aging... Once, Aziraphale had sat next to Crowley on a park bench in St. James and remarked quietly on the shortness of the human lifespan and then, quieter, on how happy he was to have the opportunity to spend any of it with Crowley.

Once, Crowley had frozen, then abruptly curled closer into Aziraphale's side and had asked Aziraphale in a rough voice to emphatically "never bring it up again, please, angel." And Aziraphale had simply curved himself over his dear, dear friend and carded a hand gently through Crowley's still-mostly-dark hair and assured him gently that he never would. It had broken his heart enough to say it the first time.

--

There was a book. Oh, thank his Creator, there was a book.

Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure where it had come from, given that he had an encyclopedic knowledge of his collection and The Nife and Accurate Prophefies were decidedly not in it, but he had elected not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were. Maybe the appearance of the book was itself ineffable, he thought giddily. Maybe it was a sign.

Crowley had been wound tighter than a particularly high-pitched harp string the past few days, but Aziraphale couldn't blame him. He knew he had been fraught with tension himself ever since the conversation with Gabriel. Even the tender moment with Crowley that evening hadn't dissipated his lingering dread.

He had finally deciphered the identity of the Antichrist and the location of the Apocalypse's commencement, when Aziraphale's thrill of discovery trailed off into hesitant contemplation. What was he going to do with the information? If there was anyone else he could trust to definitively wish to halt the Apocalypse...

Crowley sprang to mind instantly, but Aziraphale discarded him just as quickly. Crowley was the love of his existence, a deeply sarcastic man with a heart of gold, but he was still only human. In a battle of angels and demons... Aziraphale had to keep him safe.

The next best option was Heaven itself. Surely the angels would want to stop the Apocalypse. Surely they would. And then Aziraphale and Crowley could have the remainder of their happily ever after. So he called them.

Unfortunately, it appeared Heaven itself did not have quite the same view on Heaven's role in halting the Apocalypse as Aziraphale did. He had only just managed to extract himself from his conversation with the Metatron when the Witchfinder Sargent himself burst into the bookshop. Aziraphale only had a fleeting moment to be thankful that Crowley was out before he vanished in a beam of white light.

--

The next few hours were harrowing for Aziraphale. He had needed to get to Tadfield as quickly as possible, and so had ended up riding shotgun with Sargent Shadwell's - ahem - lady of the night. All the while, he had fretted to himself about whether Crowley was alright and how frantic he was going to be when he returned to the bookshop to find Aziraphale missing and he'd left a chalk circle on the floor, oh dear, and was he going to call the police and file a missing persons report or was there a minimum amount of time Aziraphale had to be missing for that?

So he was understandably a little distracted from the actual Apocalypse itself. Once he was himself again, it took him a moment to realize the vision of Crowley running towards him was not actually a stress-induced hallucination. For one, Crowley's skin was pale under dark soot and when he hugged Aziraphale, he smelled of smoke. For another, even Aziraphale's imagination couldn't accurately conjure up the feel of Crowley's arms around him, no matter how many times he tried to memorize it.

Then he and his partner had to introduce themselves to the Antichrist. And what a bombshell was dropped. It did oddly remind Aziraphale of a bomb strike. Or perhaps one of those grenades he'd found himself on the wrong end of once or twice. The inciting event. A moment of ringing silence. And then an explosion.

Only this explosion didn't bring rubble or fragmented metal shards. It brought--

"Me, too," Crowley said, eyes wide in astonishment.

And that didn't make sense. "What?"

"I'm immortal too," Crowley said with hushed awe. "Neither of us is going to die."

Aziraphale's world ground to a halt. "What?"

"I get to keep you," Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale could see something like wonder and something like love in his gaze, just the same after so many years together.

Then they were rudely interrupted by the attempted continuation of the Apocalypse. After a spot of encouragement, Adam sent Gabriel and the accompanying demon away, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone once more.

"Let me introduce myself again, properly this time," Aziraphale said, excitement bubbling up. Crowley was immortal. He wouldn't have a shade of Crowley, he would have Crowley by his side for the rest of eternity. All that was left was to discover the shape that eternity would take.

"My name is Aziraphale, a Principality of Heaven, formerly Guardian of the Eastern Gate," he told Crowley, holding out a hand. "I have been stationed on Earth since Eden, and I am desperately in love with you," he added, just in case it needed saying. And now, laid bare with words, he stripped off the layers of miracles that had been keeping him aging apace with his so-called human partner.

Crowley reached out and took his hand. Aziraphale gripped as tightly as he dared. The arthritis was still running through Crowley's hands, but Aziraphale needed Crowley to understand one thing: he was not losing Crowley. Not now. No matter who Crowley was, angel or demon or other, Aziraphale was not losing him.

"Crowley, Serpent of Eden and the First Tempter," he said, losing layered illusions as well. Aziraphale could feel the fingers beneath his strengthening, straightening, and slimming, and he gripped all the tighter. "I was assigned to the temptation of Earth six thousand years ago." He cleared his throat. "I have been in love with you since you saved me from accidentally destroying myself with a jar of holy water."

All Aziraphale's half-recalled stories of the Serpent of Eden vanished abruptly. For a heart-stopping moment, all he felt was cold terror at the thought that Crowley might have died the day they met, that Aziraphale might have lost Crowley before he ever really got him.

If Crowley had needed circulation, Aziraphale might have been concerned by how tightly his was holding his partner's hand now. "Was that-- What were you doing with holy water, Crowley?"

Crowley looked surprised at his concern. It was the same look he got when Aziraphale reminded him point-blank to take his medications, and that more than anything told Aziraphale that Crowley-the-demon and Crowley-the-human were still the same fundamental Crowley.

Then Crowley told him about Ligur, which he seemed to think would be reassuring. Aziraphale was most definitely not reassured. Spine-chilling terror was not, in fact, more fun to experience for the second time in ten minutes.

Fortunately for Crowley, Lucifer decided to show up shortly afterwards, saving him a long, twenty-seven point lecture on personal safety.

At long last, however, it was over. Finally. For good. The Antichrist and his friends went their way; the young couple went theirs; and Shadwell and Madame Tracy set off for London as well.

In the light of their escape from certain doom, Crowley seemed to have forgotten how he'd come to arrive at the air base. He stuttered to a halt outside the gates, and Aziraphale was going to ask him what was wrong until he caught sight of the same thing and stopped just as abruptly.

"Is that..." he trailed off, because he knew exactly what it was. "Oh, my dear," he murmured, putting a comforting hand on Crowley's shoulder. The demon swayed into the contact, so Aziraphale slid his hand around his back to his other shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. "What happened to her?" He knew as well as anyone who had ever met Crowley, that the Bentley was his most treasured possession.

"I--" Crowley faltered. "I thought Hell might have gotten you. And then the M25 was on fire, and..." he trailed off. "This," he finished, gesturing half-heartedly toward the shell of his precious Bentley.

Aziraphale couldn't begin to touch on all the ways that made him feel. "I love you," he told Crowley firmly. "Wait here."

It didn't talk too terribly long to track down the Antichrist, even if he did have to invoke a minor miracle or two to catch the bicycles. After a rambling explanation and a tentative question, Adam looked surprised and fixed the Bentley with a thought. Apparently he'd thought he'd undone everything already, and the car must have slipped through the cracks.

Aziraphale thanked him politely and went to find his partner.

When he arrived back at the Bentley, it was to find Crowley already tucked inside the cabin, running his hands over the steering wheel and cooing at the dash. "All right?" he asked.

Crowley looked at him. "I love you," he said. "So very much, angel." And then he kissed his hand and his cheek and his forehead and drove them back to London, holding Aziraphale's hand the entire way and using miracles to compensate for being a hand down during shifting.

The drive itself was quiet, as if neither could bring themselves to give voice to the revelations surround their, well, revelations.

At last, Crowley broke the silence. "So many years, angel," he said quietly. "So many years we could have known each other."

"I like to think we made up for it," Aziraphale said lightly. "Quality, not quantity, my dear. I can't imagine we would have been as we are if we had met as ourselves."

Crowley hummed. "You may have a point there, Zira."

"Besides," Aziraphale continued, ignoring the fluttering in his belly at the nickname. Zira was something of himself that only Crowley had. No one else called him Zira. He found he was quite content with that even now, when Crowley had the option of his full name. "It's hardly as if our paths never crossed. The Tower of Babel was yours, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Crowley admitted, glancing at Aziraphale before turning back to the miraculously reconstructed M25. "I was quite proud of that one, actually. Got me a commendation for original thinking."

"I can't say I enjoyed it as much," Aziraphale told him. "All those new languages meant more rules to learn. And the translations!" he exclaimed. "I had never imagined they could be so terrible."

Crowley snorted. "Should I be apologizing for doing my job?"

"Never," Aziraphale told him warmly. Then, "I pictured you there, you know," he said quietly, holding Crowley's hand tightly. "With me. Every lifetime, every city. You slotted into my memories as if you had always been there."

Crowley exhaled. "I never could," he confessed. "Not because you're so modern, angel," he teased, "but because I couldn't imagine you having lived and died so long ago."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just held Crowley's hand. "I'm here," he settled on. "Now and for always, my dear."

"I know," Crowley said, meeting his eyes again. They were full of warmth and love. "I'm so glad for it, you have no idea, Zira." Then he continued, lighter this time, with a familiar, curious smile. "I've been wondering. Did you ever met Virgil?"

[pamphletstoinspire]

100th Anniversary of Stigmata of Padre Pio

On this day, 100 years ago, Padre Pio received the stigmata, which are visible wounds like Christ's. Not even science can explain how these wounds appeared or persisted for the remainder of his life:

On the morning of the 20th September 1918, after having celebrated Holy Mass, the priest Padre Pio retired to the choir stalls for his usual thanksgiving. The place was S. Giovanni Rotondo and the church, Our Lady of Grace.

Outside in the small piazza the morning was similar to most other mornings on the Gargano. The friary, lying at the foot of the mountain, high above the village, seemed isolated and remote, altogether cut off from the world. Peace and quiet hung heavy in the mountain air filling the huge spaces with indescribable serenity and calm.

Padre PioChirpings of birds, muted and subdued, coming as if from far off and the monotonous drone of myriad flying insects were sounds to accentuate the silence of the place. They adorned but did not disturb it. Already the clear lines of morning were fading and merging into the heat of midday. High up, a blazing sun seared the massive garganic granite, sending all creatures hurrying to the cool oasis of shuttered rooms.

Only a few old folk long accustomed to this midday furnace moved slowly about, entering the small church to say their devotions, then emerging and making their way across to the ancient yew-tree dominating the middle of the piazza to rest silently in its shadow. A day like other September days with little hint that it could be any different from those which had preceded it or from those which must assuredly follow it.

For the young priest, however, just then kneeling in the chapel of the church, this morning was to be very different, a fateful morning like no other, containing within it a destiny, a summons whose imperious and exalted demands he would attempt to fulfill to the end. Here inside the church the silence was very great. Not a sound penetrated the thick walls from outside as P. Pio, oblivious to everything except the memory of his recent Mass, slowly prostrated in loving adoration before the outspread, bloodied figure on the crucifix.

With that marvelous facility possessed by the mystics by which all external objects are abandoned he withdrew into himself, his spirit yielding to the peacefulness which invaded his whole being, a peacefulness, he later wrote, "similar to a sweet sleep". In this absolute silence he prayed, mind and heart totally wrapped in the burning love which consumed him like some incurable fever. A sweet calm heralding the forthcoming storm.

What happened next can best be told in the simple, unadorned words of P. Pio writing to P. Benedetto little more than a month afterwards: "It all happened in a flash. While all this was taking place, I saw before me a mysterious Person, similar to the one I had seen on August 5th, differing only because His hands, feet and side were dripping blood. The sight of Him frightened me: what I felt at that moment is indescribable. 'I thought I would die, and would have died if the Lord hadn't intervened and strengthened my heart which was about to burst out of my chest. The Person disappeared and I became aware that my hands, feet and side were pierced and were dripping with blood" (Ep., V. 1, no. 5 10, p. 1094). P. Pio had just received the visible stigmata. There was nobody about. Silence settled once more round the brown robed figure now lying huddled on the floor.

The StigmataA long Calvary had just begun and with it the answer to a prayer: the prayer of his profound desire to identify with Christ crucified not only by participation in the priestly apostolate but in some mysterious way in that supreme immolation of Our Lord on Calvary (cf. Le Stimmate di P. Pio, G. Cruchon, SJ, Colana "Spiritualità", No. 1, p. 102).

He had not desired this physical conformity and when he had recovered somewhat from the immediate experience his embarrassment was extreme: "I am dying of pain because of the wound and because of the resulting embarrassment which I feel deep within my soul. . . Will Jesus who is so good grant me this grace ? Will he at least relieve me of the embarrassment which these outward signs cause me" (Ep., V. 1, p. 1904). Not the wound, not the pain did he wish removed but only the visible signs which at the time he considered to be an indescribable and almost unbearable humiliation.

Later, much later, however, he would come to love and cherish these divine marks of predilection, drawing from them that rich source of superhuman energy which from then on marked his apostolate of love and suffering. With Catherine of Siena he could truly say: "My wounds not only do not afflict my body, but they sustain and fortify it. I feel that what formerly depressed me, now invigorates me." His wounds, hitherto invisible but now manifested exteriorly, mark a definitive stage of his soul's transformation into the object loved, namely, the Lord who suffered and was crucified.

For the next fifty years they would confound impartial science; their continuous and profuse effusion of blood, accompanied often by the sweetest fragrance, came to be regarded as a prolonged miracle, because, as the experts correctly state, blood for its production requires nourishment while this friar's extraordinary frugality was such as hardly to maintain the life of a small child.

The remarkable nature of this miraculous gift becomes more apparent when it is considered how such loss of blood was simply inconsonant with and disproportionate to the stamina and energy with which P. Pio with ever greater activity and zeal conducted his life in all matters relating to the service of God.

Such are the bald facts of P. Pio's stigmata. From his correspondence it is clear that very early in his priestly life there were, at least, indications of what eventually came to pass. Writing to P. Benedetto as early as 1911, only a year after ordination, P. Pio described a phenomenon which he had been experiencing for almost a year: "Then last night something happened which I can neither explain nor understand. In the middle of the palms of my hands a red mark appeared, about the size of a penny, accompanied by acute pain in the middle of the red marks. The pain was more pronounced in the middle of the left hand, so much so that I can still feet it. Also under my feet I can feel some pain" (Ep., V. 1, p. 234).

This is his first mention of the phenomenon to his spiritual father because, as he says, he was overwhelmed with shame. He simply did not want to talk about it, hoping no doubt that it was a passing thing which would soon clear up and then be forgotten.

Four years later, in 1915, his beloved P. Agostino demands certain information in the name of Jesus: When did Jesus first favour him with celestial visions ? Has Jesus made him a gift of his stigmata even though invisible? How often does he feel the crown of thorns and the scourging? P. Agostino asks these questions not out of curiosity but for the glory of God and the salvation of souls (Ep., V. 1, p. 659).

In his reply to this letter P. Pio recognizes the express will of God and willingly answers all three questions. To the first he replies that Jesus began to favour "his poor creature" not very long after his novitiate (Jan. 1903 to Jan. 1904); to the second, whether Jesus made him a gift of the stigmata, the reply is affirmative and we learn that from the start the wounds were visible, especially in one hand, but that P. Pio was so terrified in the face of this phenomenon that he begged the Lord to withdraw them.

From then on they did not appear again until September 1918 although their pain remained and were felt more acutely under certain circumstances and on determined days. The final question he also answers affirmatively. He experiences the pain of the crown of thorns and the scourging. How often he cannot say except that at the time of writing he has been suffering from them almost once a week for some years (cf. Ep., V. 1, p. 669).

The rest is history. News of the event spread like wildfire and by the following year there began that afflux of pilgrims to the tiny friary which has not ceased since. At first in a tiny stream they came, later in the tens of thousands, flocking to glimpse this priest with the wounds of Christ, to assist at his Mass, to kiss those mittened hands and for those who could speak Italian the privilege of confessing to him.

In all this, of course, there were dangers. The danger of a "personality cult"; of the possibility of self-induced wounds produced by a morbid, impressionable, temperament; the danger of fraud and deception, deliberate or otherwise, with the intent of leading a credulous faithful astray; that the stigmata was nothing more than an effect of natural causes rather than a supernatural gift; and finally, there was the dangerous possibility of preternatural and diabolic activity.

In the light of this, and in retrospect, it is understandable why the Church authorities took a course of action that at the time seemed harsh and cruel but which today can be seen, at least in part, as the anvil on which P. Pio's sanctity was hammered out, put to the test and purified to become the luminous and diaphanous veil through which men glimpsed God.

[crossedbeams]

ROSE REVIEWS… THE X-FILES - S1.E11 Eve

<<1.10 Fallen Angel ———————————  1.12 Fire >>

I’m salty today and what better way than to transfer that into something positive than to finish this long overdue and almost certainly irrelevant recap of Eve. Read on for children who are almost as scary as their acting is bad, prison aesthetics and idiotic blithering by me.

THE PLOT

The fathers of creepy children are being exsanguinated on opposite coasts and Mulder wants to know the aliens have upgraded from cows. IVF suspicions run wild and with a little help from good old Deep Throat, the terrific two suspect genetic government experiments gone wrong may be responsible for the shenanigans. When the creepy kids go missing, things escalate and soda becomes a very dangerous refreshment...

Let’s go...

MY STREAM OF SEMI-CONSCIOUSNESS

Ah. The X-Files, the show that is always a scenic autumnal bath for my eyes…. And where under the leaves there is probably a dead person eaten by a molewoman or an alien. Honey? I’m home.

We find ourselves in an idyllic suburban neighbourhood, (always bad news on screen), where very concerned joggers approach an underdressed child and her stuffed animal. It’s hard at this stage to decipher whether the kid is creepy or just a really bad actor but the suspense synth hardly encourages us to give her the benefit of the doubt...

They head to the backyard, where peppy jogging neighbour fails to notice that the kid’s dad is dead coloured, posed like a corpse and basically, stereotypically and obviously dead... until he claps him jovially on the shoulder causing a tragicomic half slump of dead dad, and exposing vampiric looking marks. The kid screams, not sure why, she’s way too far away to see anything. This is the point at which I begin to suspect that she is both a bad actor AND entry #224 in the Vancouver local listing of Creepy Kids for Hire. Move over Conduit boy!

CREDITS!

This week we only wait 2.5 mins for our special baby Agents to materialise, Scully dressed as a Catholic grade schooler and Mulder wearing a tie designed, as far as I can tell, to look like mushroom soup with licorice allsorts floating in it.

Their poor fashion choices don’t seem to put them off them though, and we zigzag between lip biting (Mulder), making weird moany noises (Scully), and the level of inter office eye contact we’ve come to expect from these fluffy baby agents all set to a soundtrack of cattle mutilation chatter. And our series first (!) cow slideshow!

Scully is still naive enough to ask why Mulder believes cattle mutilation is linked to aliens. Give it a few weeks and you’ll realise that aliens is pretty much always the answer to “Why….” on the X-Files and that eyebrow is the only appropriate response before you just go with it.

I can’t wait :D

As Mulds and Sculls traverse some stairs, I realise that creepy kid #1 is called Teena. Spelled the same as Mulder’s mum. Because apparently the X-Files name bank isn’t only shallow in the male department. Also is Teena a normal spelling in the States? Here it’d only really be Tina….

I then get distracted by Scully in the biggest of purple coats. I’d love to see S1 Scully’s closet. A symphony of oversized pastels with overcoats to clash… don’t worry though hon. You’ll get some style later though for the bargain price of two (2) family members and also your ova. Poor Scully.

Scully also looks incredibly young in this scene, speaking all soft to the kid. Moments like this I struggle to believe that Mulder “never saw her as a mom” until Home. She’s all melty round the edges even though the kid is weird and creepy.

When creepy Teena starts talking about red lightning, the massively coached and unnatural pauses in dialogue and the trouble pronouncing exsanguination are just so glaring you can’t believe that this kid’s innocent charade will hold up as long as it does. But it all adds to the creep, just in time for…

**bring bring ** Scully leans in to kiss her spoopy partner tell Mulder there has been another murder. Darn. Seriously though. Close talkin to the power on uuuungghhh right here. No wonder this fandom is so thirsty.

We’re in Vancouver San Franciso, still in giant coats, for another exsanguination and what we now know is death by digitalis. Mulder says that the two estimated times of death were at the “exact same time” and I chuckle to myself like the pedant I am. Estimates cannot be exact dumdum. It also takes the edge off him mansplaining timezones to Scully. SHE IS A MEDICAL DOCTOR DAMMIT. 

This scene has very nice warm, sunsetty lighting which is nice as our Spooksters demonstrate why the X-Files department is always over budget; they’ve flown cross country to do two laps of a crime scene while reading a file aloud and the kid they wanna question isn’t even in town. Where is she? I’m glad you asked, coz remember that sunny warmness? Well it’s over.

Back on the east coast, creepTeena is getting outcreeped by a thunderstorm and what appear to be disembodied footsteps at her door. We see nothing but a flash and then the door is open. It’s tense and I’m pretty sure this is never explained, raised as a concern beyond “she got abducted”?

A new day means new suits, Mulder in a tie inspired by parquet flooring and Scully in eggshell and pinstripes and a brown trenchcoat named regret. It’s a lot to process and they still don’t seem overly concerned about Teena’s kidnapping. Despite his post Samantha abduction PTSD, Mulder’s only contribution is a dramatic sky point and the suggestion the cops need to look up, but then dun dun dduuuuunh - there’s another one.

Sinister Cindy in the house. Literally.

She informs them she has lived there “since she was born eight years ago”. Zero inflection with that info and a sentence structure as unnatural as the phenomena Mulder wants to blame. Deffo a rent-a-creepykid. 100%. The woodenness only adds to it.

Commence super awkward kitchen convo where they Mulder and Scully try and fail to find a tactful way to imply Cindy might not be this grieving wife’s legitimate child. A birthing video is offered and declined. Thank god. Imagine is CHris Carter had to watch rushes of an actual woman’s vagina with a female child emerging. 

Mrs Reardon’s insistence that Cindy was daddy’s girl is pretty horrifying once you know how it ends. Damn creepy kids. Listening in while watching politics, Cindy is infinitely creepier than Teena and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not for this kid “actor”.

Back in the car and Mulder is still pretty blase about Teena’s abduction/kidnap, though I forgive him because his flippant potato/potahto is adorable and he does hang out in the bushes to try and protect Cindy from getting nabbed sending Scully off to the IVF clinic alone. Ahh... the foreshadowing is out there.

At the Luther Stapes Medical Centre, a doctor mansplains IVF to Scully. She does not punch him. Another way that she is better than me.She does however, maintain super intense eye contact with him for the entire walk and truly it is a miracle she doesn’t fall over.

The next scene is pretty uneventful except that I can honestly say that Sally Kendrick is the last human I would want toying with my cervix. She’s...robotic and it looks like she has to work out how to sit down like a human. She could give Theresa May lessons.

Back at the hotel there’s some funky camera panning that I am here for and also I think there is some dialogue but let’s be honest.... this is more important 

Yes Professor I would like some extra credit and may I also just smooth your poofy hair.

Even Scully knows it. Hence her confusion at being ushered out, for no obvious reason. She just wants to look at him and maybe get inside his shirt and ... and... Mulder’s “what’s a girl” is cute.... but this is cuter. (even more overanalysing of this scene here for ya glasses lovers). 

Instead of meeting a girl, Mulder meets Deep Throat in an excessively aesthetically pleasing place. Honestly, Eve is a beautiful episode. Despite the creepy kids and imprisoned women. (Eve Aesthetic here). DT seems very concerned that Scully not be invited and while I’m sure that this has some link to the possibility of spy!Scully, it reads more as jealous older manfriend wants pretty Mulder to himself. And honestly I get it. God, fic has ruined me. Anyway, enough of that, enjoy this picture of pensive waterside Mulder and try to recall the specifics of the Deep Throat reveal. Project Blah. Boys called Adam. Girls called Eve. Clones. Bad. Disaster. EVE-il is at work. ¬¬ (sorry)

Mulder has brought sunflower seeds because meeting an informant without snacks = rookie error. 

The important thing to note is that Deep Throat basically sets the stage for the Super Soldier Arc and everyone forgets about it when they actually get to the super soldier arc. God, for a continuity pedant, my fave is SO problematic!

Deep Throat finishes by telling Mulder he’s scored him front row seats to what’s left of the whole fucked up thing.

Cut to the most aesthetic Institute for the criminally insane and after some hot DAMN camera angles we get panic buttons and a tromp into the deeps where they keep all the government created monsters, including Eve 6.

I just wanna take a moment away from my snark and give a huge shout out to Harriet Harris who is SO good and creepy in this episode. A lot of the Season 1 extras/bit parts are average to the extreme and honestly, Harris makes this episode. Without her eyeball biting, jerky, wild eyed delivery, this ep would be as mediocre as the creepy twin actresses.

Now we’ve got that out of the way - we find out that Eve 6 screams when the lights are on but is fine with  an industrial sized flashlight being shone all up in her face.  Nobody’s ever got a good look at her... except presumably the person who undoes her straitjacket so she can pee? And now Mulder and Scully.

Eve 6 is my fave Eve tbh. She’s this perfect mix of terrifying and pitiful, alludes to the telekinetic connection that the younger Eve twins later reference, and is the kind of proof of government misdeed that and older Mulder and Scully despair of, delivered while they’re way too young in their partnership to do anything about it. She tells them that Eves are into suicide, psychosis and murder, and on exiting, our baby agents still don’t suspect the kids.

(Break for actual analysis) It struck me during this scene how this case tunes into both Mulder and Scully’s demons. For Mulder, it’s the missing girls and the incarcerated Eve represents a scenario that could explain Samantha’s absence in the most horrifying ways. What if she is a locked up experiment just like Eve 6? For Scully it’s a visceral representation of her struggle between scientific duty and Christian morality. The creation of Eve 6 is an aberration against both good scientific practice AND the divine right of Good to control life and death... and yet she is also a victim who did not choose too be engineered and while Scully tries to question her, maintaining composure, this face/stress swallow really says it all.

Just to double the sucker punch we cut to Cindy asking the lord to take her soul, her mother looking on with a mournful doomladen stare before telling her daughter how special she is. Cindy is unmoved, because she is special(ly evil) and Mama Reardon leaves, bereft of her husband and unacknowledged by her kid. We get it Chris Carter. Genetic experimentation BAD, family GOOD, foreboding, CHECK.... now can we just-

Mulder Scully stakeout! There is no iced tea in the bag and when Mulder posits that the adult Eves 7 & 8 did done the murders, Scully pulls this face, and mutters without much conviction that she was beginning to suspect the girls. 

GOOD CALL SCULLY

Except Mulder then says “no no and here is why” and Scully just goes with it. The whole delivery at set up of this scene feels very Season 1, by which I mean Scully vacillates wildly between submitting to Mulder’s experience and being done.with.his.shit, Mulder gets all the big lines/theories/feelings/hunches and Gillian especially (and David to a lesser degree) seem unsure how to play their nuances and dynamic. Essentially it all becomes irrelevant because CRISIS takes precedent but being the super-nerd I am, this stuff fascinates me as evidence of them still learning their characters. No way S5 Scully gives up on a plausible theory so easily, even if it makes 8-yos into suspects. If cats can be evil, these staring, soulless kids can be too.

Cue Mark Snow jangles and Cindy and her similar to Teena’s bunny rabbit run away from her terrifying wall dolls and many crucifixes towards the window where she makes terrifying eye contact with Scully’s binoculars before getting grabbed by someone who is considerate enough to announce themselves by turning on the lights?!.

Mulder will take the back! (any time Mulder. Any way ¬¬ ) and sets off with his almost convincingly held gun/torch combo while Scully takes the indoors. This is, invariably, only going to go one way.

DOWN GOES SCULLY!

Sally Kendrick/Eve? leaps through the window where Mulder confronts her by asking her which Eve she is, allowing her a chance to pull a gun, shoot at him and escape and this is why you don’t want S1 Muldo and Sculls handling your home invasion. I mean who holds their gun like this, takes out a psychopath and ends the day without a hole in them?

Fox “Thinks he can outrun a car” Mulder is who. 

I love his idiot face though.

Despite the fact that Cindy didn’t struggle/scream/react to her apparent kidnap at all, Scully’s remaining focussed on the adult Eves in support of Mulder’s dismissal of her earlier theory... well I already said it but - *sigh*

After Scully briefs the police and Mulder tries to reassurea distraught Mrs Reardon that her increasingly abnormal daughter will be found we get the kind of side by side, meaningful  moment that I am here for all day long. Except that the height difference is so extreme that they never actually get Scully in focus!

And Scully’s “and then what” brings us back to unsettling truth that even if the kid gets found, things aren’t looking good for her given how much murder is in her genes. Poor Mrs Reardon.

Very X-Files, through-the-motel-sign shot and we see Sally Kendrick taking Cindy into motel to meet Teena. The girls look... creepy... and Kendrick looks weirdly and simplistically happy given that she has multiple abductees, severe genetic issues and the FBI on her back. Maybe poor old Sal just wants a normal life? Unlucky girl, this is the X-Files, no happy ending for anyone EVERR. Except possibly a two-faced rapist who likes Cher but that’s for another time.

Back to Sally Kendrick who is rocking a poloneck and showing a remarkable lack of nutritional concern for someone supposedly a genius. Pretty sure 8 cartons of fries are no better for psychotic murder-kids than regular ones. She begins to explain that she was pretty hopeful that she’s evolved the murdering out of her second batch of Eves but turns out she actually made it worse! Let’s pop a check in the box for “playing into popular concerns about genetic testing” and “reasons you shouldn’t do it yourself”. She tells Cindy and Teena she’s “disappointed” that they’ve done murders ahead of the curve. They are not bothered which is unsurprising given they don’t know her/are psychopaths.

Aesthetically this scene is very pleasing and the lack of stilted kid dialogue “we just knew” vs. long sentences definitely adds to tension. As does the total lack of background music. Hearing even these fairly limited actors candidly and remorselessly admit to murder is effective. And Kendrick’s slightly desperate plea that they not think that way, that they be “better” as she designed has the double effect of showing her own Eve-y instability and her very human desire to not have made a horrible mistake in creating this terrifying she-devils.

Sorry Sal.

Genetic destiny’s a bitch

And the X-Files narrative demands that when you play god you get dead. unless you’re the CSM in which case you probably drink digitalis and kale for breakfast to aid skin regrowth. Bye bye Sally Kendrick. Thanks for the creepers.

On attending the crime scene, Mulder and Scully are midway through being told that the scene is undisturbed when they hear stuff breaking. This prompts some X-Files-Action-MagicTM and some truly outrageous faces by Gillian.

Yup

What is most disturbing on rewatching is that with the scene secured, Scully confirms death and Mulder goes to gaze out the window while the Creeper twins cower and cry on the floor. Noe we know they’re guilty AF by this point, but in the narrative DumbScull and MulderingItOver haven’t quite got there because they’ve been too busy gazing at each other so we have two children just whimpering in the corner while Scully pokes a corpse and Mulder mulders about. 

Scully does eventually go and pat them. And again I say fuck you CC and anyone else who “didn’t see her as a mother”.

Mulder volunteers to chaperone the creepsters to hospital and beyond and the guy in charge kinda just goes “meh”. Pretty sure some liberties have been taken with child service procedures but hey, at least this means we’re almost at the crescendo moment. Right?

Having loaded them into the car, where their spiffy red outfits match the velour upholstery and promised they’ll talk about “what happens next” (again, is this really FBI jurisdiction? Fox Mulder counselling bereaved kids seems like a HORRIBLE plan to me) , Scully and Mulder note the girls attachment and somehow miss the horrifying expressions of murder on their creepy little faces. 

Again though #aesthetic

Cue some spangly night driving music, Mulder looking all pops over a red vinyl steering wheel, Scully playing mom and the creepsters plotting murder in the back. Ver ver X-Files. They pull up to a used car lot masquerading as a rest stop and go for a group wee,Mulder makes the rookie error of a) hyping evil kids with sugar and b) letting them order a murder weapon, and as soon as Scully’s distracted, one of the creepsters, possibly Sinister Cindy creeps out to spike the drinks. 

Now at this point, honestly, I’m questioning the kids narrative motives. Yes they’re murderous, but aren’t they also meant to be hyper intelligent? Amd getting marooned at a nowhere rest stop, with the corpses of two FBI agents seems SUPER dumb. Like they’re a bit small and loudly dressed to hitch a ride to Vegas and make it on the strip. What gives, creepsters?

The waitress tries to stop her plan by insisting she wait to take the soda until it’s paid for, but is way too easily placated by the kids excuse. Stick to your guns lady, you might just stop a murder.

Although apparently nobody is paying any attention because THIS ISN’T SUSPICIOUS AT ALL IS IT?

Apparently Mulder doesn’t think so, even knowing digitalis is sweet and that there is something weird afoot, he doesn’t question his super sweet diet drink or the kids totally normal and not at all weirdly resistant to drinking sugar free soda and just does this. Seriously it’s like he wants to die in agony.

Scully’s not much better, simply commenting on the “syrupy” taste. MMhmm. Bitch. You’re a medical doctor with a previously voiced suspicion. Quit sipping the murder juice.

Fortunately, after some suspenseful drawn out paying and a forgotten key excuse, Mulder FINALLY twigs when he finds some green goop on the table. Apparently murderTwin is cackhanded when she pours and Mulder, having licked the poison just to check it’s murdery enough (I just cant even) rushes outside to karate chop Scully’s drink away from her in a way so unsubtle that the creepers escape.

Which is actually great news because it gives us all the chance for a nice dark, X-Files bread and butter cat and mouse around a truckstop, cool lighting and tubey-arty stuff sequence. Which I’m here for. 

Despite some pants ruining puddles, the twins are quickly apprehended except for some gun wielding truckers interfere because in this universe regular citizens can hold law enforcement at gunpoint and prevent them doing their job/identifying themselves and anyway everyone almost gets shot and the kids run off again. I should probably insert some pithy political point here about arming the kids too but I’ve been writing this review for 84 years and I don’t have the energy.

Fortunately, at this point Mulder and Scully rediscover some investigative nous and having flashed an ID and truckboy, they trick Sinister and Creepy into thinking they’ve sped off after a school bus. Mulder goes full on child catcher and nabs them with a “gotcha” and is finally deaf to their “we’re just little girls” plea.

I’d like to take a second to flag up his response “that’s the last thing you are” because he’s wrong too. They are little girls, as well as psychopaths, and everyone’s insistence that they must be one thing or another is a device for narrative obfuscation as old as the bible. The appearance of beauty/youth/innocence is not mutually exclusive of the presence of malign intent or evil. Just ask Henry James/Oscar Wilde. Or me. I literally wrote a dissertation on this so. Yeah. They can be little girls and killers Mulder. Don’t be reductive.

But I guess we do need the simplicity of “this kid is evil” otherwise Mrs Reardon ripping her daughter out of a picture and burning it would be more conflicting and we’re only on season 1. 

Likewise the disturbing concept of two eight year olds in a secure prison. I mean yes thy’re creepy but - duh duh dunnnnh - rescue is at hand! Eve 8 shows up for them and once again thy “just knew”. This is the kind of X-Files ending I love. This is the kidn of story I would have loved the revivals to pick up. Imagine (recast) grown Cindy and Teena, off doing murdery clone stuff. Yep. Okay. I’m done now. This is the end. 

Except the score. Which is...

A solid “C” Grade (26/50)

Plot 6/10 - It’s entertaining and a good idea but I penalised it because it depends on Mulder and Scully being super slow on the uptake. That said, they do actually solve the case.

Mulder  6/10 - Mulder is in charge (thanks S1) and presents a mess of grieving brother, heroic car catcher and good cop. Good, in character stuff but not exceptional.

Scully  4/10 - Scully seems to forget she’d an MD and a badass here. She lets Mulder talk her out of (correct) suspicions, gets taken down in the action scene and generally second fiddles. She’s a cute mom but not the Scully we want to see.

USP 3/5  - This was an ambitious idea, beautifully presented, and while it didn’t quite get the polish to make it iconic it is memorable, creepy and a good representation of S1 bread and butter eps. 

Other Characters  5/10 - These points are all for Harriet Harris. None for you creeper twins. None for you.

Bonus points 2/10 - One for being aesthetically pleasing. One for the dorky, cute, feeling out Mulder/Scully moments (motel urnghh) and also their mom and pop act at the rest stop.

That’s all for now folks. I’ll probably have the next one done this decade. Fire. Goodie.

<< 1.10 Fallen Angel ———————————  1.12 Fire >>

[carterashofficial]

Thanks, Aearyn

@aearyn was so unbelievably kind to tag me for this 

rules: answer these 85 questions and tag 20 people (ahaha no i wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy this took forever)

— what was your last…

1. drink: water. from the fridge. there might’ve been a dog hair in it because Scout and Abbey show their love through shedding. I didn’t care.  2. phone call: my old internship asking why I never got my w-2 form 3. text message: a coupon from World Market, if that counts. If not, i texted myself a spoiler for the kotfe fic so i don’t forget 4. song you listened to: Champion by Carrie Underwood b/c i love it and I NEED THE POSITIVITY   5. time you cried: UH... writing the kotfe fic. But i wasn’t actually crying. it was more like “im tearing up at this one scene b/c its breaking my heart”. Actual crying? been... so long i can’t remember.

— have you ever…

6. dated someone twice: ahahahhahahahahahaha.... ahahahhaha..... ahahahhahahahaha despite my best intentions, i’ve never dated anyone. I’ve been trying to change that. I want romance in my life. 7. kissed someone and regretted it: That would imply i’ve had my first kiss, and im 22 years old and still haven’t had it. APHRODITE WHY AM I SINGLE. I’M READY TO MINGLE 8. been cheated on: see above. Can’t be cheated on if you’ve never HAD A DATE 9. lost someone special: i would rather not consider this question, but Domino, Jewel, and my Grandma (all were very, very sudden and hit me like a bag of bricks).  10. been depressed: ha ha ha apparently i’ve had depression since i was 15. I was officially diagnoses in January of 2017 and have been on medication since. ahahaha  11. gotten drunk and thrown up: no I can barely get drunk even when i try, let alone enough for a damn hangover. Seriously. I can drink like Carmadda and not get drunk.

— fave colours

12. soft eggshell green 13. the blue at the edge of the horizon 14. metallic  anything

— in the last year have you…

15. made new friends: ........yes? i think? 16. fallen out of love: ahahahahaha no b/c i’ve never been in love (in the romantic sense and that’s how im taking this) 17. laughed until you cried: always 18. found out someone was talking about you: in the worst of ways 19. met someone who changed you: yes 20. found out who your friends are: oooooh yes 21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list: never been kisses

— general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl: all? how else do people find you on there? 23. do you have any pets: many. Scout, Abbey, the neon tetras (named the Heralds of Zildrog), my various shrimp, and Corypheus and Valkorian the golden inca snails  24. do you want to change your name: no, but i used to 25. what did you do for your last birthday: went bowling 26. what time did you wake up today: i woke up 3 times, once to Bug getting ready for school, then my mom asking if i opened the vitamins, then... i think 9 was when i finally crawled out 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: playing swtor or looking up some fresh and funky memes 28. what is something you can’t wait for: finished the next kotfe fic chapter and breaking everyone’s hearts. Or the next major expansion of SWTOR. I NEED ANOTHER CINEMATIC TRAILER LIKE GODDAMN 30. what are you listening to right now: nothing my house is silent and in the far, far distance, sometimes i can hear cars on the toll road 31. have you ever talked to a person named tom: i have an uncle named Tom. I have spoken with him. So Yes. 32. something that’s getting on your nerves: socialization. I can only take so much around others. If I was a Sim i’d have the lonely trait. 33. most visited website: Tumblr or my school’s student login page 34. hair colour: blonde/brown im really smack in-between and i just dye it lighter to make it blonde enough for me to be blonde 35. long or short hair: long. so long. down to my butt long                                   36. do you have a crush on someone: not sure. i like him, he’s funny and thinks im funny, and teases me back, but im shit at reading signs and far too much a coward to ask him out. I’m not sure. I had a major crush in high school that resulted in me falling in love with a guy but we never offically dated and then he crushed my heart. Long story. So i try to avoid crushes lest i break my heart again. 37. what do you like about yourself: bitch im fabulous 38. want any piercings: i got 3 in the lobes of each ear and cartilage in the left. If i get any more I think my mom would have a heart attack 39. blood type: ??????? no idea. I know my sister is O 40. nicknames: Milky (only drank milk as a kid, but this nickname has sorta phased away). Other nicknames give away my real name. But I do respond to my sister’s name. 41. relationship status: single and ready to flamingle 42. sign: Aquarius 43. pronouns: she/her 44. fave tv show: i literally can’t pick one b/c ive watched nearly every cop show on Netflix, including some that aren’t in english. All the cooking competitions i can find on Netflix and youtube, and im running out of TV to watch when i do art. Halp. 45. tattoos: Zero because my fatal fear is needles. 46. right or left handed: Left. left left left seriously i can.... maybe dip a french fry in ketchup with my right but that’s it 47: ever had surgery: wisdom teeth removed count? 48. piercings: 7 total in the ears and nothing else. 49. sport: I watch baseball and hockey (SPEAKING OF WHICH, GO DUCKS!). Used to play softball and some soccer. 50. vacation: if i can graduate a quarter early I want to go visit my family in florida and michigan 51. trainers: is... this british for shoes? i wear berkenstocks. only berkenstocks. because crocs are so comfortable but people judge. I also have hella wide feet where ever ‘wide’ shoes are too narrow. I can get by in Vans or my old old Nikes that i hardly ever wear

— more general

52. eating: whether or not if ketchup should go on it, ketchup is going on it. Unless if it’s breakfast food or desert. Breakfast food is my favorite and i could happily live off it it. 53. drinking: water, tea, juice, milk, Mike’s black cherry hard lemonade, monster energy drinks, RC Cola.... i drink a variety of things. Mostly water and tea. 54. i’m about to watch: i dont know I’VE RAN OUT OF THINGS TO WATCH ON NETFLIX 55. waiting for: myself to go out on a date and/or meet The Guy 56. want: many things. 57. get married: One day. 58. career: ssssssssttttttttttuuuuuuuuuudddddddeeeeeeennnnnnntttttttt

— which is better

59. hugs or kisses: i want both but maybe not from the same people. 60. lips or eyes: depends what each are doing tbh 61. shorter or taller: taller b/c im short and can’t reach the top shelf 62. older or younger: older but at this point im 22 and a lot of my classmates are 21 so like.... my generation. 63. nice arms or stomach: arms 64. hookup or relationships: relationships 65. troublemaker or hesitant: depends. like really depends. I’ll probalby go with troublemaker b/c they tend to be funny and on-the-spot and im a planner.

— have you ever

66. kissed a stranger: never kissed anyone..... ha ha ha 67. drank hard liquor: so yes. 68. turned someone down: ahahahhahahahaahaha haha ha. Actually yes I got asked to homecoming my senior year by this one dude who still gives me the creeps jsut tihnking about him. I politely said no. 69. sex on first date: never been on a date, never kissed anyone. Never ‘done the deed’. Would not do on the first date. 70: broken someone’s heart: uh my mom’s when I told her I had Depression and wanted to kill myself all throughout sophomore year highschool 71. had your heart broken: oh. Yes. 72. been arrested: no 73. cried when someone died: more like wailed loud enough that half the dorm floor heard 74. fallen for a friend: *side-eyes my sister* yeeees

— do you believe in

75. yourself: it varies over what. 76. miracles: I mean.... to an extent.  77. love at first sight: no 78. santa claus: I AM 22 YEARS OLD of course 79. angels: its complicated. my mom found a dead rat in our old house’s garage when i was 4-ish and all i remember crying for the dead rat when my dad tossed it in the garbage. My mom explained that an angel had already taken the rat’s soul to heaven. What did I picture the angel as? A carrot, wearing a tie, with mickey mouse-esque white gloves carrying a rat dramatically. This still haunts me.

— misc

80. eye colour: blue enough that you might drown in the ocean 81. best friend’s name: @athenascrown 82. favourite movie: if you think I can pick only one you’ve got another thing coming. but.... any star wars movie. If i had to pick one, Empire Strikes Back or Phantom Menace or The Last Jedi.... or Rogue One.... or Revenge of the Sith... 83. favourite actor: The guy who played the stormtrooper who hits his head on the door in Ep 4 84. favourite cartoon: the old Ducktales was a childhood favorite 85. favourite teacher’s name: I don’t want to put her name out here but she was my art teacher all through high school and she is one of the kindest souls ive ever met and if it wasn’t for her, i wouldn’t have gotten back into art

because this post took 5ever im not tagging anyone but if you want to do it, just say I tagged you and I’ll say i did

[suite-dee-reynolds]

85 Qs tag tagged by the lovely @yikespeare What was your last… 1. Drink: V 2. Phone call: My mum calling from NZ. 3. Text message: I was ending my bro empty spaces to hassle him. 4. Song you listened to: Buy the stars - Marina 5. Time you cried: I got tear in my eye making twilight spider mokey gif because im crazy. — Have you ever… 6. Dated someone twice: nope 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: A salvation army officer kissed me on the mouth once and i did not enjoy that. 8. Been cheated on: no. 9. Lost someone special: My father to death?  10. Been depressed: lol 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Yes, but it was because I chugged 4 awful tasting pineapple vodka cruisers in one go, I missed the toilets and ended up sitting in my vomit, the best bit was everyone else was hardly drinking and having a lord of the rings marathon, so I decided stand behind them in the kitchen and binge drink? The were def like what is wrong with this bitch lmao — Fave colours 12. Pink/purple 13. Orange/yellow 14. Green/blue — In the last year have you… 15. Made new friends: No :( 16. Fallen out of love: No love for me at all, in or out lol 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: no clue                                     19. Met someone who changed you: No. 20. Found out who your friends are: Not really lol 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook friends list: I avoid them like a plague. — General 22. How many your Facebook friends do you know irl: Most, but there's def a few randoms I added in like 2009. 23. Do you have any pets: 2 dogs and a cat, my boy Teddy died in Feb ;( 24. Do you want to change your name: No. 25. What did you do for your last birthday: Had family dinner. 26. What time did you wake up today: 8:30 ish 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Watching youtube videos. 28. What is something you can’t wait for: Nothing excites me at this point lol 29. What is your favourite animal: They all good. 30. What are you listening to right now: Background tv noise. 31. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yes. 32. Something that’s getting on your nerves: my clutter. 33. Most visited website: Tumblr 34. Hair colour: blondes 35. Long or short hair: long 36. Do you have a crush on someone: fictional? yes. Irl? no. 37. What do you like about yourself: My eyes are petty. 38. Want any piercings: No because i got the second earrings done when I was a kid and they got mad infected.  39. Blood type: my mum is a positive, idk about me. 40. Nicknames: My brother calls me Chaz 7, why? Because of that simpsons ep in Australia where the australians call cane toads “chazwazzas” so he used to call me that aka toad and somehow it evolved to chaz 7. The more you know. 41. Relationship status: The most single. 42. Sign: Capricorn. 43. Pronouns: she/her 44. Fave tv show: Veronica Mars/Sunny/Orphan Black 45. Tattoos: 0 46. Right or left handed: right 47. Ever had surgery: nope. 48. Piercings: just ears 49. Sport: nope 50. Vacation: anywhere new. 51. Trainers: ? — More General 52. Eating: Nothing but I want chips and gravy. 53. Drinking: nothing 54. I’m about watch: Nothing. 55. Waiting for: My brothers friend to leave. 

 57. Get married: Sure, I’m free all week.  58. Career: No clue but i'm a hs dropout so.... — Which is better 59. Hugs or kisses: both 60. Lips or eyes: eyes 61. Taller or shorter: taller 62. Older or younger: my age 63. Nice arms or stomach: both 64. Hookups or relationships: relationship 65. Troublemaker or hesitant: troublemaker — Have you ever 66. Kissed a stranger: no 67. Drank hard liquor: yes 68. Turned someone down: Ya 70. Broken someone’s heart: my preschool classmate lol 71. Had your heart broken: no 72. Been arrested: Not arrested but police did get me in trouble and take me home.  73. Cried when someone died: Yes 74. Fallen for a friend: no — Do you believe in 75. Yourself: lol 76. Miracles: I’d like too 77. Love at first sight: no 78. Santa Claus: no 79. Angels: no — Misc 80. Eye colour: Blue 81. Best friend’s name: No bff ;( 82. Favourite movie: idk, Twilight lol  83. Favourite actor: Kaitlin rn 84. Favourite cartoon: I d k. 85. Favourite teacher’s name: Mrs Masters I love you

Anyone who wishes too

[psycholophycrap]

Black Museum — Black Mirror (Ep. 6, S: 04)

Before I start giving my opinion about this episode, I need to specify that this is one of my favorite episodes in the whole serie. Well, in the first place, this serie has changed the way I see things now, because it is so critic, so intense, so direct that I think I needed that kind of approach to understand better the world I am living in and the impact that technology has had in the way we act or the way that things are managed.

One of the main reasons why I like this episode so much is because I really like it when people tell short interesting stories, one after another and that’s what happens in this episode. 

The first story is about a man who became addicted to pain due to his job, making him lose it, his girlfriend and his purpose in life. The way I see it, even though at first sight it doesn’t seem like it, it’s pretty easy that this happen to anyone, not just the ones with a technological device inserted in their brains. And the reason why I see it like this is that sometimes we can be so attached to something, to someone that we forget everything that came before that. That thing occupies all our thoughts, time, wishes, desire, and it comes to a point where, if you lose it, it’s like you’ve lost your entire life, because you want more of it all the time. You need it, you can’t live without it so you crave for more and more, and it is never enough. You forget how everything was before that and it is really hard to be the person that you used to be. You’re never the same. The sad thing about all of this is that it’s really hard to prevent. You don’t even notice when it does. But how can you know that the thing you’ve lost is indeed your purpose in life? Why does it feel like that? And what happens if it’s not? 

The last question is really easy to respond: you just have to look for the true reason why you’re here, but as easy as it sounds, trying to find something that makes you feel complete, happy, satisfied and that you are passionate enough to not think in anything else is really difficult. So what do you do, then? I believe that life is about try and failure, to explore and to never, never, say “no” to something you don’t really know. With a few exceptions, of course. That way you can get a little closer, perhaps, to your life purpose. 

The second story is about another new technological device. It was created in order to help people who were, for example, in comma, to help them express themselves (because, as it is known, the people in this situations have consciousness) and, in some way, participate in their love ones’ lives. The problem here was that first, the device put the consciousness inside of someone else’s brain. This made possible that they could see, hear, taste and even feel what the other one was experiencing. The problem here was that they couldn’t do anything else but talk.

This, obviously, caused problems immediately and the reason was pretty obvious: the fact that you can’t do what you wanna do the moment you want to because there’s someone watching you and probably judging your actions as you do them can be pretty tired. It’s like living again what your parents told you when you were little: “God is watching you, so be careful with what you say and do; He might punish you”. And the inmediat solution was to put the consciousness inside of a plushie. But what kind of life is the one that forces you to watch all the time and never participate in what you are indirectly living? Can it really be called “life”? According to the episode, no, it wasn’t life. The reason that the episode gives is that, in order to be human, it has to be capable to express at least five emotions. But even with those emotions, is it life? Can we really summarize life in five simple emotions that are expressed always in the same way? What about communicating in other ways? What about contact (physical and emotional)? What about all of the other things that we do daily and with which we couldn’t live without? And, to finish, what are those things that we need? If we had to make a list, what things should be indispensable to make a human being live in proper conditions? 

The last story is, the way I see it, the deepest one and that plays more with your feelings and emotions. 

There comes to a point where people stop acting with humans with moral and do whatever they can to “survive”, and this usually means being better that the rest, no matter what. This story was not the exception. 

The ambitious and longing for money and power made the owner of the museum, create an hologram of a dead convict’s consciousness in order to make him suffer over and over again the same way he had done when he died at the chair. It was corruption that drove him to death, and it was ambitious that made him live it forever. 

After you’ve lived your whole life in pain, suffering, you come to think in a lot of things: there’s no God, there’s no hope, there’s no salvation or miracles, the only one capable of saving you is you. And when you’re trapped, hopeless there are hardly ways to getting off it. 

Can you imagine forgetting who you are not because you’ve lost something that meant the world to you, but because there’s no reason to remember it? You don’t have a life purpose anymore, you can’t see the light after the tunnel, you just settle with what you have, but are so tired of the pain that you just disconnect and never know about the real world again. You lose your humanity, partly because someone force you to, partly because you weren’t strong enough to take it. How come there’s no guilt in this? How come we can still living knowing that there are people suffering all around us, even if they don’t say anything? How come we’ve become a society in which we don’t matter, and the only thing that does are the likes and the comments in every publication that we do? In what moment our lives in social media became more “real” that the truly real ones? And why do we let it? In a world like this, it is easy to summarize everything in just one phrase: 

Our main purpose in life is to succeed online.

As a conclusion, there are probably more than one purpose in our lives, and for that reason we shouldn’t ever stop looking for it. We change, our surroundings change, the people around us change, so our purposes change too. And we should never lose our humanity, our moral. Even if humanity is subjective (and so is moral), and even if we can’t define yet what makes us human, and what do we need to live properly in a more trascendental way, if we forget, even for a second, that what we have next to us is another human being that feels, thinks, moves, needs, loves... the same we do, there’s no way to go back. We’ve lost our humanity and our purpose in life.