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shy-nightmare · 2 months ago

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The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths

Chapter Eighteen: Kill ‘Em with Laughter

Summary: Desperate to rescue Roger and Jessica and save the future of Toontown, our heroic detective trio comes up with a plan to keep the weasels busy. Doom suddenly seems to take an interest in the twins and gives them an offer.

Credit for inspiration goes to @imaginarytoon1, author of “The Birchwood Twins: Toontown Investigators” and @its-metal-mistress, author of “Bendy and the Ink Machine: Learning How to Live”. Please check out their own wonderful content ^^!

Special Guests Tags 😊: @marinerainbow, @slashingdisneypasta, @weaselnerd, @lastofautumn, @spookiifi, @amberfox232, @heartsissopure, @trashogram A.K.A. @mantisandthemoondragon. Please give a shoutout to our new guest, @basiabd! 🥳👏

The twins were forced to stand next to Eddie while Roger and Jessica, who were both bound in escape-proof Toon rope, were tied to a hook to be lifted in the air. A perfect position to be dipped in mid-air, much to the twins’ horror.

Greasy managed to get himself down from the net and dusted off his trench coat. However, when his eyes locked on Twyla’s injured state, he zeroed in on her so fast she nearly jumped. Then he turned to face Tom, who was shielding his baby sister while glaring down at him. “What happened to her?!” he exclaimed, but he didn’t break his gaze from her.

“She tried to push Roger out of the way when you cut the rope,” Tom growled, “You just fuckin’ dropped a pile of bricks on her, you dick!”

The older gangster didn’t seem to react to his insult, and still focused on Twyla, much to her brother’s complete dislike. However, he stopped and whipped his head to deliver Smartass a glare so fiery, the pink bastard would have been burned to a crisp. His face darkened to a terrifying grimace, and chocolate eyes blackened like onyx. "¡¿Por qué diablos no me advertiste sobre esto antes?! ¡Se suponía que iba a ser aprehendida sin ninguna lesión! ¡Teníamos un acuerdo!" he shouted at him.

Twyla flinched from the furious volume of his voice and the intense rage in his eyes. “Uh, what did he say?” she whispered to Tom, but he barely looked at her.

Instead, he watched Greasy with genuine confusion. “What did he mean, they had an agreement?” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

“That ain’t how this woirks, Greasy!” Smartass shouted back, “She’s been ‘frying’ about the rabbit ever since dis case started! For Christ’s sakes, she even tried ta’ kill us twice!”

“¡Eso es porque intentaste matar a su hermano frente a ella para obligarla a hablar!" Greasy roared, his fury echoing off the walls of the warehouse. Twyla’s growing anxiety only increased as she watched the two argue. His face was monstrously skewered with anger, and his eyes flashed like lightning. He took a furious step forward, and the stomp thundered the ground. "¡Ella no necesita ver morir a su hermano! ¡Podemos convencerlos a ambos de que se unan a nuestra causa sin tener que recurrir a la tortura!"

“What?” Tom’s dark eyes shrank into pinprick pupils with great terror, but instinctively pulled his sister closer. Seeing her big brother panic made her nerves tense up, “Tommy, what did he say?”

“Awful ‘confident’ that she kept you distracted long enough ta’ lose focus on our future! Your future!” Smartass yelled and pointed at the demoness in discussion. “Tha’ broad is an enemy, and you need ta’ stop thinking with your dick!”

“His what?!” The twins chorused, though Tom’s reaction was more out of repulse, protective wrath while Twyla’s was from confused panic.

Greasy whipped out his switchblade and ran towards with an enraged cry, then he pounced on Smartass. A massive Toon cloud covered the two whilst in their violent confrontation, but the twins could catch a peek at the Hispanic weasel’s hand around the Brooklyn mobster’s neck while trying to get a direct stab. A loud cacophony of punches, exclamations, and irate bilingual cursing were exchanged between the two.

Doom appeared out of nowhere and separated them. He ordered Smartass to keep the twins and Eddie occupied while Greasy joined the other three to ensure the couple couldn’t escape.

“Time to kill the rabbit!” Psycho giggled, carrying his barber’s razor in his jaws as he climbed up and into his position on the water cannon. Meanwhile, the rest of the weasels, excluding the two leaders, were hard at work on the machine. Wheezy and Stupid worked on the other mechanisms.

“Oh, Roger, you were magnificent,” Jessica told her husband as the hook began to lift them up.

“Was I really?” he asked, smiling hopefully.

“Better than Goofy.”

Twyla couldn’t help but let a small smile pull her lips. Betty was right. Jessica is lucky to have Roger for a husband. Her smile dropped, however, when she noticed the judge was looking at her, then switched his gaze to Tom. His look was cold, but there was a calculating gleam in his unfeeling, soulless eyes that rubbed the dark-haired halfie’s fur the wrong way. Tom noticed it too and stepped closer to his sister.

Greasy noticed too and stepped up to his boss warily. “What are you planning to do with them, Juez?” he asked.

“I think…we can consider your offer,” Doom replied, not taking his eyes off the twins.

“Offer?” The twins exchanged an uneasy glance before Tom glared sharply at the two. “What offer?”

The skeletal monster ignored him, and instead took a step towards the ravenette despite her brother standing so close to her. Then, he answered Twyla as if she was the one who asked. “An offer I think you wouldn’t refuse,” he explained, “I don’t usually do this, but given the circumstances, I’ll consider it. Join us.”

Join you?! Twyla screamed in her head, and Tom’s teeth bared. Smartass, on the other hand, was more vocal about it.

“Join us?!” He whipped his head to the judge while his gun was still pointing at Eddie. “Judge, are you fuckin’ serious—”

“Do not question my authority, Sergeant,” Doom calmly responded, though the murderous warning in his glare was enough to shut his right-hand up. “As I was saying, I’ve been paying a lot of attention to you during this case. From what I’ve seen and what the Lieutenant told me, you’re very powerful…for a hybrid.” He muttered with so much venom in his voice, Twyla felt the insult sting her flesh, but he continued, “While you lack speech, you make up for it with brute strength and strategy. That can be valuable for our goal. Your brother will be spared, but he’s going to become more of a challenge if you’re not able to convince him.”

Smiling maliciously, he extended his hand, “So what do you say? Deal?”

Twyla’s brow arched higher as she crossed her arms, peering at him. She looked at Doom with a bewildered expression, almost as if she was seeing the malicious jurist’s stupidity for the first time. Her eyes moved to Tom’s, whose expression was no different. The silence reached an intense crescendo, so Doom leaned slightly closer.

“Well?”

Twyla looked back at him…and burst into laughter.

Everyone, excluding Tom, flinched in shocked surprise from the booming volume of her laughter. Soon, her brother cracked and cackled at the proposition too. The offer was so absurd, so utterly stupid, they couldn’t help themselves.

“You want me to join you?!” Twyla cackled, pointing at the insane bastard of a human judge. She ignored his look of genuine shock, and asked Tom and her comrades, “Can you guys believe this shit? The…” she struggled to breathe due to her giggling, “The absolute nerve of this skeletal son of a bitch?”

“So you can talk!” Doom exclaimed.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!” The noirette barked, her amused demeanor melting into a grimace of dark, hateful rage. “You honestly think we’d actually want to help you with your shitshow of a freeway, that we’d want to help you destroy my true home and KILL everyone there because we’re a hybrids?!” she growled spitefully, “We may be twisted, but we’re not insane enough to commit genocide for our own ambitions!”

Her brother delivered a jab of his own, giving the inhumane asshole a disgusted glare of his own. “Oh, Jesus Christ, we’re bein’ extorted by a fuckin' fanatic? As if we don't kill shitbags like you for a living!”

Doom just flinched from the insult, like he did not expect that coming from anyone, let alone a hybrid Toon. Even the weasels gaped at him with jaw-dropped disbelief. But the gunslinger ignored them, “You know, I feel bad for callin’ Valiant a racist, because you’re clearly demented as FUCK!”

“So in other words,” Twyla finished with a calm tone of steel rancor, “Hell no.”

The whole warehouse was engulfed in complete silence. Not a single sound was made, nor did a single muscle move. Doom’s unwavering gaze met the twins’ for a long, unbearable moment. But then an insidious smile curled his lips. “Suit yourselves. You’ve only sealed your fates.”

He cast Eddie one last look. “It’s over, Mr. Valiant.”

Then, he just turned away, walking off while whistling a tune. He didn’t watch where he was going and walked over the mess of fake eyeballs. He lost his footing and fell to the ground, peculiarly like how a Toon would slip and fall.

The twins merely smirked, but the five weasels found the sight to be hilarious. From the corner of Twyla’s eyes, she saw Eddie inching slowly towards Smartass. With the leader distracted, she guessed he could try to disarm him and gain the upper hand.

Unfortunately, Doom turned to his side and saw the ploy. He pointed and yelled out, “Look out, you fools!”

Smartass was the first to react, ceasing his laughing and pressed the barrel of his revolver to Eddie’s face. “Not so fast.”

“One of these days, you idiots are gonna laugh yourselves to death!” Doom yelled at them.

She saw the enlightenment on Eddie’s face, and an invisible light bulb lit up her head. Tom had one, too. Die laughing? Of course!

“Shall I ‘repose’ of him right now, Boss?” Smartass asked.

“Let him watch his Toon friends get dipped, then shoot him. We’ll see to the abominations later.” The dark-shrouded skeleton replied, his hand over his right eye as he turned back around to leave the main floor.

“With pleasure.”

The other weasels laughed at the impending doom of the detective's fate. It wasn’t until he left the room that Eddie looked back at the twins, like he was silently telling them he had a plan. And they had a plan of their own.

________

Eddie looked down at the snickering Smartass, “Everything’s funny to you, ain’t it, Needle Nose?”

The hot-tempered mobster snarled, pressing the tip of his revolver at him and backed him up, “You got a problem with dat, Valiant?”

“Nah,” Eddie ‘nervously’ laughed as he stopped in front of a podium. “I just, uh…want ya to know somethin’ about the guy you’re gonna dip!”

He spun around, pushing a lever and slamming his hand on a button marked “Merry-Go-Round Broke Down”. Once pushed, a flash of colorful lights awakened a massive circus band organ instrument, and music burst with life. This caught the weasels’ attention, and even Jessica and Roger were drawn to the unexpected performance.

“🎵Now, Roger is his name, laughter is his game! Come on, you dope, untie his rope and watch’im go insane!🎵” Eddie sang, strutting forward and pretending not to notice he was walking right up to a broom. He stepped right onto it, hitting the handle right in his face.

The weasels looked at him questioningly, especially Smartass. However, the suspicion lifted when Eddie was hit with the broom again, sending him forward in a somersault right in front of the pink-clad mobster. Smartass burst out laughing, and so did the other weasels.

“He’s lost his mind,” Jessica said.

“I don’t think so!” Roger singsonged.

Before Eddie could perform his next stunt, the lights started to dim; a wave of excitement and curiosity washed over the crowd including the detective as a stage appeared out of nowhere from the other far end of the warehouse. In the mouth was the runaway stage podium veiled by dark crimson curtains, tipped by skull-shaped footlights across the edges of the stage. An eerie ocean of fog appeared from the stage and slowly filled the entire floor of the warehouse like a haunted cemetery.

Deep within the fog, Eddie could spot Tom from the left side of the stage. The Rubberhose wolf met his eyes and winked. Realization dawned upon the stocky human, and he grinned while returning the wink. He grabbed a vintage electro microphone from the circus instrument and strutted at the center of the stage while remaining cautious of Smartass’s gun-aimed peripheral vision. Stage lights wielding bright light beams of light illuminated the curtains, giving Eddie the cue.

“And now, ladies and gents, for tonight’s show, I give you a special performance!” he announced, extending his left hand to the stage. “By yours truly, the Twisted Toonz Twins, Twisted Twyla and Gunslinger Tom!”

Thunderous heavy metal music dominated the glory of the circus organ as the curtains were drawn back, and the stage lights unexpectedly darkened in the blink of an eye, just as the fog continued to flow.

“🎶Get ready for a new look, new rhythm and a new Toon crook🎶”

A single spotlight bestowed upon a Twisted Toon beauty, leaving her audience completely bewitched.

Twyla was shrouded in a strapless sweetheart lace dress as dark as the moonless midnight sky, accenting her curves just in the right places. Her sweetheart top was accented by an orchid corset of silver chains glinting off the light and jingling to the sway of her hips. The skirt of the dress was floor-length, regal, and haunting like a moving shadow. A slit, on the left side of her dress, all the way up to her thigh unveiled a svelte leg embellished by a dark variety of tattoos. Running down from her thigh to her ankle was an emblem of inky art consisting of a crescent moon glittering with stars and crystals, spider webs, and a silky ribbon adorned in tiny skulls. Her feet, small and dainty, were clad in strapped velvet black pumps adding height to her stunning statuesque frame. The beautiful crescent pendant accentuated her neck, and fell above the swell of her fluffy breasts, as though it’s always been there and glittered under the light. Both her arms were kissed by tattoos of dark temptation like constellations of gothic darkness and starlight. She kept her hat, and the wide brim cast dark shadows over her soft, angelic face. Her amethyst eyes glowed like two orbs of crystal and starlight as the thick, smoky ocean of fog once again began to manifest the stage, covering the ground beneath her feet entirely in grey, billowy smoke.

Eddie’s dark eyes widened in a trance that was much more powerful than Jessica’s sultry siren stroll. He couldn’t even move a muscle due to the massive effect Twyla’s magic created upon him. Roger and Jessica were not much different, either. It was like a domino effect, both with their mouths open at the sight of the dark goddess.

Her magic did affect the weasels more than she anticipated, even though that was the point. Her eyes trailed to Smartass for a brief moment and she was genuinely surprised by the lack of anger or hostility she had grown accustomed to. No. He was completely captivated by her haunting beauty and macabre magnificence, unable to take his eyes off the magnetic creature before him. Her glittering gray fur had him completely hypnotized when he took in her decadent presence, greedily soaking it all in as the air left his lungs like he couldn’t breathe from watching her. She bewitched him and he wasn’t even mad about it.

Wheezy’s reaction was a little more subtle, but he was affected no less. Her intoxicating presence was far more addicting than the foul-stench cigarettes he poisoned himself with. He could feel the wonderful venom of her dark majesty coursing through his veins, and he wanted more. He didn’t know why, but he craved more. The ice in his glacial eyes melted just a layer, and he had to turn away to “loosen” the collar of his dress shirt, releasing steam bursting out of his chest where his suddenly pounding heart was buried. He hoped she didn’t see that or the pale pink blush painting his face.

Psycho and Stupid were captured by the charms of her cryptic canvas, completely mystified. The swirls in the straitjacket weasels’ kaleidoscopic eyes moved slowly like a calm river stream, but there was no denying the sheer wonder gleaming in his natural blue orbs. His heart craved with a powerful obsession, but it wasn’t fueled by a desire to kill. No. This was different. Ever since he met her, he always felt trapped. Not like the suffocating padded walls of his cell or the tight restraints of his clothing, but trapped like he was tranced by the golden light of fireflies. If only fireflies can turn purple. Stupid’s hazel eyes glinted with childlike wonderment, his face beaming with innocent delight like a child seeing the stars for the first time.

And, of course, Greasy’s reaction was the most apparent. His chocolate eyes popped out of their sockets to the point where they broke the red-tinted, glass window and turned into two pink hearts. He poked his head out from the driver’s seat, and his jaw dropped to the ground with his tongue lolling out. His heart burst out of his chest, beating uncontrollably. He stared at her in her gothic glory, completely enamored and in awe before his face fully morphed into a Toon wolf’s. Comically, he blew a wolf whistle, howling while wildly banging his fists on the wheel like he was banging on a table.

Twyla strolled across the stage like a graceful predator drawn in inky smoke, not a single rigid wobble detected. “🎶Not here to cuddle, more like leave you in a puddle🎶” she swept her hand, creating a splash of ink just as Tom magically appeared behind her, synchronizing her movements, "🎶 Writhin’ in a pool of blood and ink🎶”

“🎶Ha-ha, that’s our link!🎶” Tom leapt and delivered a kick to an unseen foe before he landed with a powerful, thunderous boom that shook the ground beneath the audience. He accented the jacket of his suit with a skull chain brooch lapel pin that glinted like the blade of a dangerous switchblade in the darkness of night, like the glint of his dangerous fangs unveiled from his wicked grin. A great ball of fire burst from the ground the moment his boots made contact, but didn’t affect him. “🎶Feed sin with flames of fury, wrath pourin' fuel to the depths of hellfire and brimestone🎶” the fireball manifested in his hands and swirled like hellish flames glowing up in his onyx orbs.

The crowd watched him with awestruck bewilderment. His voice was like fire forged by molten lava, fueled by a gasoline of raw passion and power compared to his sister’s soft tunes of a haunting melody. There was something dangerously enthralling about the fiery manifestation of his diabolism that fascinated many but also struck fear in their hearts. And for good reason. He was a predator, intellectually and naturally. His silver tongue never failed to charm and lure unsuspecting prey to their demise, concocted by his husky voice and Chicago grit. But beneath the surface of his calculating façade lay a monstrous, frightening beast starving for the smell of fear and taste of blood.

He wasn’t King Tiziano Toonz’s son for nothing.

“🎶Feelin’ hungry for some monster fright

Madness ain’t just happiness, it’s our paradise🎶”

The twins chorused, shrugging their shoulders before they created a spark of magical ink and fire from their palms (Twyla’s right and Tom’s left) and lunged at the ground, releasing a powerful boom. A burst of colorful smoke rose from the stage, veiling the demonic duo from their audience for a short moment. Once the fog cleared, everyone dropped their jaws as they watched the twins float high into the air. Perfectly aligned, they twirled around with such poise and elegance that puts ballerinas to shame.

“🎶Give into temptation

Take your time, I’ll be patient

But watch your step, we ain’t just the new big bad batch🎶”

They quickly spun around, leaving a streak of black ink and blazing flame in their wake. Tom wrapped his right arm around his sister protectively and brought a thin paraffin stick to his lips right where Eddie was standing.

“🎶I’m a Twisted Toon, bitch!🎶”

Tom blew a massive cloud of fire, aiming directly at their fellow performer much to his expected fright. Eddie yelped, pretendedly and genuinely turning around to run from the flaming-hot trick, only to howl in agony when the fire burned him right on his ass. The weasels screamed in guffawing laughter and manic exhilaration at the investigator’s misery as he ran around in circles until he found a bucket of ice-cold water that just magically showed up out of nowhere and literally jumped in it. He let out a sigh of relief as the water instantly soothed his pain, releasing steam.

“Roast ‘im to a crisp!” Smartass cackled, holding onto his stomach tightly while waving his gun around.

“Barbecue his ass!” Wheezy shouted, hacking up a cough from his toxic cigarettes.

"🎶Toontown’s our kingdom, bitch!🎶” The twins rejoiced with terrifying triumph.

“🎶Give me the crown, bitch!🎶”

With one last twirl, their song reached a cryptic crescendo. They rose even higher and gestured with their ears,

“🎶You hear the sound? You’re goin’ down

‘Cause I’m a Twisted Toon, bitch!🎶”

The velvet curtains descended upon them, and a thunderous roar of applause echoed the walls of the whole warehouse. Greasy’s approval of Twyla’s performance was the most apparent as he whistled twice before bonking himself on the head with a large Toon hammer. Poor, silly weasels. They were so ensnared by the twins’ show, they never once heeded the warning of their song. However, despite their very best efforts, that wasn’t enough to kill them. Eddie decided to take it from here and grabbed three bowling balls. Oh, this oughta be good.

“🎵This singin’ ain’t my line, it’s tough to make a rhyme! If I get stuck, I’m…I’m out of luck, uh—🎵”

“I’m running out of time!” Jessica called.

“Thanks!” Eddie threw the balls up, looking like he wanted to juggle them. As they hit him on the head, he slipped on a banana peel and fell into a giant stack of boxes. Tom stepped out the wooden crates in his casual suit and decided to egg him on. He hopped on a unicycle and rolled out while juggling human skulls for bowling pins. He called out, “What the fuck, Valiant?! That’s so pitiful, you couldn’t rhyme if you were drawn in a Dr. Seuss book!”

“HA HA! Dr. Seuss! That’s a good one!” Wheezy wheezed out, cracking with laughter.

From the broken wreckage of the boxes, Eddie came out on a pongo stick with a happy smile. Twyla shook her head, leaning upside down on her trapeze as she flew by him, “Are you serious, man? Leave the bouncin’ to Jiminy Cricket!”

“Jiminy Cricket?!” Smartass laughed, yet somehow keeping a firm grip on his revolver. “Keep goin’, doll! You’re on a ‘toll’!”

Twyla winced as Eddie bounced straight up into a hanging light, convulsing an electric wave of shock as it shocked him. Stupid laughed so hard, he fell off the ladder on the side of the vehicle, his bat clutched in his hand. Her heart broke a little as the tubby weasel convulsed, giving out a final gasp before going rigid, holding a flower in his hands as his soul flew out of his body, looking dopey and clueless as ever. Despite everything that happened, Twyla didn’t hold anything against him, and he didn’t seem so bad. Well, except maybe for laughing at Tom while he was being tortured back at their headquarters. And for assisting Doom.

Wheezy, who was hanging by his feet on the other ladder, panicked as his soul tried to leave his body. He grabbed it, coughing and laughing at the same time as he tried to stuff his soul back in.

“Hey, guys, keep it up! You’re killin’ them! You’re slayin’ them! You’re knockin’ ‘em dead!”

Finally, Wheezy lost the fight and stood rigid on the top of the ladder, his stained paws over his heart as the ladder fell backwards. The ladder fell onto a rope, releasing a fifty-ton block onto a board, which threw metal balls across the room. One of them hit a lever, starting a conveyor belt with a few vases.

“🎵I’m through with takin’ falls! I’m bouncin’ off the walls!🎵” Eddie sang at Smartass, pointing harshly at him, which caused the Sergeant to cease his laughing and point his gun back at him, “🎵 Without that gun, I’d have some fun, I’d kick you in the—🎵"

CRASH!

A vase fell off the conveyer belt, smashing over his head and knocking him to the ground. Roger took that opportunity to finish, “Nose!”

“Nose? That don’t rhyme with ‘walls’!” Smartass yelled.

“No, but this does!” Eddie got up, but before his adversary could even use his revolver, Eddie kicked him right in the balls and sent him flying right towards the Dip tank. He fell in with a splash, and Twyla felt shiver down her spine. His death wasn’t like the Toon clown shoe’s. The little guy’s demise was slow, agonizing, and painful. Smartass’s demise was quick as an arrow, fatal like a bullet.

Tom cackled and flipped him the bird one last time, “Hasta la vista, jackass!”

Psycho and Greasy continued to laugh, completely oblivious of their leader’s sudden death. Psycho wrapped his arms around his torso, pointing at the vat while Greasy cackled wildly. Suddenly, he choked, and his long neck spun around and twisted like a pretzel. Twyla watched her “lover” fall out of the driver’ seat, which also released the brakes on the gigantic vehicle. His soul flew up, playing a halo like he was serenading an unlucky lady. However, his smile dropped the moment his eyes met hers and reality finally sunk into his mind.

“NOOOOO!!!!” he screamed, desperately fighting to stop his wings from taking him out of the warehouse. He struggled between trying to return to his body and trying to reach out to her. “Lupita, help me!”

Twyla didn’t know what to do and just stood there. Why does he want her to help him when she’s been trying to kill him? A golden light shined down upon the Puerto Rican weasel’s ghost, and Twyla was under the impression that the light was going to force Greasy to go to Toon Heaven, whether he wanted to go or not. That seemed to frighten him even more, and he turned back to her one last time.

“Mi amor, te am—” he was suddenly yanked up inches below the ceiling, cutting him off. He screamed out, “TWYLA!!!!”

And then, he was gone.

Twyla could only stare at the ceiling where he once was. What was so important he wanted to tell her?

Psycho was still giggling and dancing over his spot. His sleeved arm triggered a lever, spraying the Dip straight at the brick wall near the couple.

“Yikes!”

“Oh, my goodness!”

The remaining member of the Toon Patrol lost his footing and grabbed onto the lever, making the water cannon turn its direction away from Roger and Jessica. He yelled as he fell into the sweeper, flattening him like a pancake. Twyla’s heart panged a little as she watched his soul leave his crushed body. For a moment there, she liked the little guy.

But before he left for good, he moved the lever back, making the cannon start turning back towards the other two Toons. “Bye-bye. Hehehe!” He giggled and finally joined the others.

“Guys! It’s coming back!” Roger cried, squirming against the ropes.

Twyla took off before her brother could and hopped into the driver’s seat. She figured if she could turn off the vehicle itself, the cannon would cease its fire. But just as she considered tearing the cannon off instead and prowled onto the platform, she heard Tom scream,

“TWYLA, WATCH OUT!”

#The Toonz Twins: Toontown Sleuths #Gunslinger Tom Toonz #Twisted Twyla Toonz #my ocs <3 #my story #Roger Rabbit #Eddie Valiant #Judge Doom #Toon Patrol #Smartass Weasel #Greasy Weasel #Wheezy Weasel #Psycho Weasel #Stupid Weasel #Who Framed Roger Rabbit #WFRR

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lydiadesign · 3 months ago

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Week 1!

Going into this semester knowing that it was going to be my last year doing this degree did not feel real. The person who I was when I started this journey, I do not even recognize anymore. But the world has also changed a lot over the last four years. I do not plan on changing the world. I do not plan to live to work. What I plan on doing though is creating a space where people can feel safe as well as one that separates you from the reality around us. My escape over the last four years has been reading. Last year alone I read 146 books. This is not normal or a goal I set for myself but merely just the number I reached. It was my passion, my safety net. I am writing this because that type of feeling, that type of experience is what I want to create. I do not yet know how I am going to achieve it but I have a reason to keep searching for one. In saying this I do not believe there will be one perfect solution, that just is not how the world works. I am also considering the fact that what I decide to create could be helpful for a range of different ages, genders, disabilities, etc. So it will be very important to find a target audience to design specifically for this assignment/s.

First class

During the first class I brainstormed a lot about anything that was an interest of mine, both good and bad. I then just wrote them all out onto my Ipad. This was my first step to see what my mind could think of something. This is what it turned out like:

I chose a brainstorm method as it was the most freeing to just write down anything that came to mind. I was not looking for connections, thinking about what each subject could lead to. I merely just wanted to have all my thoughts on a page. Another reason why I did it this way is because I have aphantasia, meaning I can't picture anything inside my head. So this was a way for me to visualise my thoughts before breaking them down.

Then using a piece of paper and a pen I categorised the subjects that I found most interesting into two groups, things I love and things that hurt. This was a different take on the template shown in class. This is what it ended up looking like.

I then started writing down my tech demo ideas as seen below. I still have yet to decide which topic I am going to choose. I don't even know if I will be using any of these ideas but it will give me a stepping stone to figure out what it is I want to do for the tech demo.

This first week flew by and has left me feeling like I already have to play catch up. This course I can already tell will push me along with me pushing myself as well. I am not going into this looking to create something perfect nor do I believe that my final idea will be world changing. As stated before I do not believe that any one person would be able to achieve that. But what I do want to achieve is to create something that will make an impact. That is my goal for this class and this year.

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buryustogether · 4 years ago

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too good for me

summary: it seems that sniper has as many secrets as he does bullets. perhaps, just this once, he’ll give one up.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: smut, swearing, scars/past injury talk

author’s note: LISTEN, i pulled this from an old abandoned account of MINE, so i am NOT stealing or plagiarizing. this is my own original work i posted on one account and am posting on this one as well.

Even for New Mexico, this is far too much. Someone must have pissed Mother Nature off to a level most unimaginable, because she was retaliating with a scorching, blazing heat even the toughest mercenary melted beneath. The battle today was shorter than short, what with everyone dying to get back inside in the air conditioning. That was, until Scout accidentally knocked a grenade into the RED base AC unit.

He rightfully earned a black eye and sported it like a badge of shame.

Now, in the sweltering heat of the late evening, you and most of the other mercenaries took shelter in the rec room. A single rotating fan swiveled sluggishly, giving you all a few moments of relief before moving on to your comrades.

“This is,” Demo said as he fanned himself, “a right disaster, it is. Sittin’ ‘round like sacks a’ shit while we melt?”

Spy regarded him coldly from his seat in his armchair. “Do you see anything else around here to do, Irishman?”

You rolled your eyes to the back of your head as you listened to them bicker. Across the room, Scout and Soldier rocked the pinball machine as they tried to hit a particular target; so far, Pyro had held the highscore for three weeks and it was getting under their nerves. Ironically, the pyrotechnition was nowhere to be seen.

Billowing your thin shirt to give your chest some air, you cast a glance to Sniper. He’d only taken his hat off in attempt to battle the near sinful heat; everything else, all his layers, he had left on. “Jesus,” you said, “aren’t you boiling?”

He gave you a glance over the tops of his sunglasses, eyes tinted a gentle orange. “Part of the job, Sheila,” he grunted, then quickly turned his head back to the newspaper he read.

It wasn’t until the quiet reached your ears that you realized Spy and Demo had stopped their bickering to watch you pair rather curiously. They gave you sly expressions when you turned to them. You hurried to look away, hand flying up to support your head and slightly hide your face.

It was unreadable to those who could only be stupid, and even Soldier had picked up on it by now. The tension that had formed between you and Sniper - romantic, sexual, whatever you could call it - had thickened with each day that had gone by. Bets had been placed between the others on when you’d both finally come around. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, the way you often snuck out to the garage to keep him company in his van, how you always had your morning coffee together and never left a seat between you.

You had to admit to yourself, the rifleman had managed to ensnare you in a sort of net you didn’t want to escape escape from. Over the months since you were employed to work here at Mann. Co., you’d grown ever closer to the man who insisted you call him by his real name - Mick. You’d never heard another merc call him that without receiving a sound beating. The way his eyes flitted to you during dinner, the barely-there brushes on your shoulders when he pretended to squeeze past you; they made you trip, and fall hard. How he murmured late at night when you had your midnight chats, the thin lips that adorned his sharp, weathered face.

Oh, how you’d longed so many nights to run your thumbs over those cheekbones, taste the inside of his mouth and hear him say your name.

It was the clearing of a throat that brought you from your thoughts, and you realized Sniper had risen and left the room. You waited a few moments, then attempted to appear nonchalant as you got to your feet and followed him out.

Bare feet padding the floor, you wandered the hallways to the garage, where you found the door slightly ajar. You peeked outside; the lights in his van were on. It was a little hotter out here, especially without the fan cooling you off. Trudging through the thick heat, you closed the door behind you and made for the van. You’d spent so much time in there, there was a small space of his closet that contained the few pieces of clothing you’d left in there - just socks and jackets and extra layers, mind you. You and he had never... well. Not that you hadn’t thought about it, of course. Nearly every night you were in your room and he was in his. You exhaled, blinking, attempting to clear your head.

Without bothering to knock, since you never did, you swung the camper’s door open and stepped inside. “Hey, why did you - ?”

You left the sentence hanging in the air when your eyes landed on him, and he at once took an instinctive step back. He had discarded his shirt and vest, allowing you a full view of his bare front. Scars in the crooked shape of a letter ‘V’ trailed down his chest and stomach, outlines of where a blade dug into his skin visible even after the healing. Knicks and small bruises and scratches adorned them, decorating his front like an art gallery.

“Sheila,” he said, at once looking down at himself. You were able to see his neck and ears turning a barely-noticeable pink. “I didn’t hear ‘ya.”

You cleared your throat and turned away, aware he was obviously embarrassed. You were, too. You’d never seen him like this and it intimidates you slightly, despite having fantasized about it time and time again. “Sorry,” you said, making your way to the kitchenette bench. You waited a few moments, then glanced furtively over your shoulder.

Sniper faced the closet, a white tank top in hand, but he didn’t put it on. He only stared at it. “Don’t you wan’ to know?” he asked.

Though he couldn’t see you, you shrugged your shoulders and picked at the table’s edge. “No,” you admitted. You blinked. “You’re... you’re obviously not comfortable, and it’s not my place to ask.”

As if moved by your words alone, he at last turned to face you again, hair mussed and scars breathing and eyes vulnerable, so, so vulnerable. You realize you’d never seen them like that, either. It made him even more attractive.

After what seemed like a long while, Sniper emitted a quiet chuckle and, instead of pulling the tank top on, kicked his boots off. “You’re too good for me, Sheila.”

You smiled. “As you’ve said before,” you said, because he had. Every time he did, it made your heart flutter and jump.

“Yeah, but...” He shook his head and waved a hand. “S’ gettin’ late. You wan’ to stay here?”

It was a request that caught you completely off guard, as you’d never actually slept here in his van with him, but you rushed to answer. “Sure.” You were already in your pajamas - simply a shirt and a pair of shorts - and you found your heart was leaping clear over the moon. “I can just sleep on the floor.”

“Nah,” he said, pulling the spare pillow from the rack above his bed, “I’ll have it. Can’t have your pretty little back blown out, now, can we?”

You stared at his bare back. Was he... flirting with you? Sure, you’d both playfully hit on one another before, but... there was something not quite the same about this time. You inhaled gently and stood as he tidied the bed up for you. “Oh. Thanks.” Crawling in, you lay down and breathed in his scent like it was the last thing you’d ever do. He smelled of old cologne and a deep, flirtatious musk. The lights switched off and drowned you in darkness, forcing you to stare at nothing as you listened to him lie down. You shifted to your back. What was going on?

Before you could give it much thought, you heard his ground-trembling, husky voice murmur, “...You’re too good for me, Sheila.”

You were both quite. Silent. Still. The tension hanging between you tightened as you both tugged and twisted at it with everything you had. You were pulling, crawling, towards one another. Yet, when you reached him, one of you always pulled away. You wouldn’t. Not this time.

Lips chapped and neck sweating from the swealtering heat, you whispered, “Mick?”

“Hmm?”

“…Come up here.”

There was a pause, it seemed, in reality. Everything stilled. Because when it resumed again, you found Sniper hovering over you and his mouth colliding with yours. It was like a hurricane you’d been holding back for ever crashed down upon you both as you pressed against him, hands grappling for purchase on the sides of his face. Lips moved in a haphazard harmony, teeth clashing and voices rumbling from throats as you kissed.

When he finally pulled away for air, he kept his forehead against yours and arms on either side of your head. “Bloody ‘ell,” he panted, “I’ve been waitin’ for that for near a year.”

“Jesus, me too.” Unable to stand him being apart from you any longer, you hooked your hands at the back of his head and pulled him back down. Your lips mashed against his and you attempted to memorize the feeling of his tongue skipping into your mouth and demanding attention.

Sniper’s knees planted themselves on either side of you for balance as his hands tangled themselves in your hair. Soon, then began to trail away. Down to your face, then your neck, arms, and middle. He thumbed the edge of your shirt up, then looked at you, awaiting your permission. You nodded, connecting your lips once more. In a flash of cloth and heaving breaths in the dark, you found yourself in just your underwear and your mouth open in delight. Scruff scraping against the skin over your rib cage, his lips kissed and mouthed at your breasts and nipples, working wonders you didn’t think were possible.

“Oh, god, Mick,” you whine, breath quickly being snatched from your lungs. Fingers working his short curls, tangled from the slick heat, you felt lead and butterflies mix in the pit of your stomach. A fluttering arousal flickered to life in your lower regions and you gasped as he licked a strip up your sternum and to the base of your neck.

Pausing for just a moment to pull off his own shirt and pants, Sniper returned to your mouth to capture you in a sweet, passionate kiss. “You see what you do to me?” he murmured, rutting his clothed hips against yours. You were able to feel the firm bulge against the top of your thigh, but at the moment you were more attuned to the way his voice had lowered. Eyes a mixture of pure adoration and dark lust, he again licked up your chest. “You sure you want this, Sheila?”

“Yes,” you said, giving him your consent. “God, yes. Please.”

In a blink, he’d wiggled out of his boxers and pulled yours off as well. You’d barely allowed a glance at him before he dropped between your legs and threw one over his shoulder, pressing a kiss against your calf. His scars shone in the dim light from the garage. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Your hands immediately gripped the bedsheets, nearly thrown over the edge by just his nose nudging your core alone. “Fuck,” you said, bucking your hips up against him. He ground his palms against your bare skin, keeping you gently mounted to the bed. Again, he emitted that tummy-churning chuckle.

“Eager, darlin’?”

“Like you’re not?”

He smiled up at you, eyes dark and alight with flame all at once. “Always.” With that, he dipped his head and pressed his tongue flat against your folds, loving the way he felt your toes curl at the action. Gaze staying on your face and the expression he’s able to paint there, he lapped at your core a few times before slipping his tongue inside. His name tumbled from your lips and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You swore you saw stars as he sucked at your clit, your hands tugging at the bedsheets aimlessly. Breaths come out in pants, you felt a knot tighten in your lower stomach, stretching and yanking at your insides. “Mick, oh, Christ!”

It seemed he had a sense for things other than always hitting his target, because just as you were about to come undone, he pulled away and crawled back over you. “Not so fast, Sheila,” he huffed, slowly lowering himself on top of you. His lips parted as you gently kissed a few inches of his scars, at least the ones you could reach, and he was beside himself. The shock was evident upon his face until he was suddenly overwhelmed with love and passion and pushed himself inside you.

“Oh, god!” Nails dug into his back as he filled you up, chest against yours and sweat dripping from both your brows. The heat didn’t even exist anymore. A few moments went by as you became used to his feeling, kisses being pressed against your cheeks, nose, forehead.

Sniper heaved for breath as he slowly moved his hips up, nearly pulling out of you, before pushing back in. Again, and your lips collided once more. His pace quickened and you both moaned in pleasure; it was a few minutes before you even felt the van rocking slightly.

You’d only imagined this for so long, what seemed forever, and now that it was happening, it was flying by like the hurricane around you.

“Ah, shit,” he groaned. You felt him move slightly inside of you, and it only seemed to push you to the end. The knot in your stomach returned like a violent ocean wave and slammed into you, unwinding you from the inside out.

“Mick!” you practically screamed. He stilled as you came, nipping and biting at your neck, until you were finished and he pulled out, pumping his cock before finishing on his own. Skin sheen from sweat, you stared up at the camper’s ceiling and attempted to catch your breath.

Sniper allowed a few minutes to pass before wiping his face and turning to you. He reached out and smiled gently, moving a lock of hair from your forehead. He placed a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “You’re too good for me, Sheila.”

#tf2 #tf2 sniper #sniper x reader #sniper imagine #sniper imagines #team fortress 2 #team fortress #team fortress sniper #team fortress comics

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mythicamagic · 5 years ago

Note

Relax I'm here now

AN: Takes place after canon. Warning: some mild gore

---

Sighing, Kagome wiped the sweat from her brow, suffering under the harsh glare of the sun. Kaede had requested that she deliver some medicine to one of the neighbouring villages, so she'd set out alone.

The old miko had neglected to mention that it was miles away.

Hearing the sound of hoves drawing closer, Kagome stopped on the path, glancing at the road a little ways to her left. From around the corner of greenery, many men on horseback approached, banners swaying in the breeze. Kagome swallowed. That might not be good. I mean this is the warring states era.

Captain Shinrai had been tasked with collecting and returning cargo back to the armies base. He sighed from atop his horse, in a sour mood. Of course, the General was out there fighting the southern scum, gaining all the glory. Meanwhile, he was stuck leading a group of men with horses and carts across the countryside. He'd rather pick up some extra money for the trouble.

One of the soldiers in his band of not so merry men was following the group when he noticed a shock of unusual clothing. He choked, frantically finding his voice.

"Ca-Captain!" He shouted, pointing a shaking spear in Kagome's direction.

Shinrai boredly looked over, before yanking the reins of his horse to stop. "My, my..."

Kagome paused and rose a brow, crossing her arms. "Afternoon, gentlemen."

Shinrai turned his horse in her direction. "Such interesting clothing. Unsurprising for a demoness though," he mused, gesturing in her direction. "Men. Capture the filthy demon, I think I know a good way to earn money from this."

“Wow, could at least buy me dinner first. And you sure don’t waste any time to be completely and utterly wrong,” Kagome sighed, backing away slightly and warily reaching for her bow and arrows. “Look, I'm not a demon. I'm Kagome. Some people have called me the shikon miko, ring any bell- Gah!”

Two of the men rushed at her with their swords drawn as one on horseback galloped around them, taking out a net. Blue eyes widened and Kagome frantically turned tail, sprinting into the trees.

Needless to say, one does not outrun a horse unless they're used to tactical manoeuvres within the forest, which Kagome was not.

A few minutes later, an enraged miko kicked and screamed beneath a net, her wrists and ankles bound, bow and arrows ripped away.

"Let's get her loaded onto a cart. Mind her claws," the Captain instructed, moving his horse into a walk to continue on. Two soldiers grip her arms and lift her. "Ah, Captain, she doesn't have claws." one remarked.

“That's because I'M NOT A DEMON!” She yelled, trying to bite one of the men. “I'm a priestess. Untie me and I'll show you some damn reiki!”

One of the men backhanded her across the face when her teeth get too close to his hand "Mind yourself, filth," he snapped.

They carry her to a cart, placing her with the rest of the cargo. Two of them take up seats next to her as the carts start to move again, Shinrai leading the way.

Kagome fell quiet, panicking. They travel for some time, passing through the very village Kagome had been intending to visit, who eye them warily.

The division is called to halt the moment they notice sunset. They make a camp as Shinrai fiddled with something around his neck. Kagome growled while being dragged off the cart. She cried out upon feeling the impact of the ground, having been thrown unceremoniously before their Captain as he sat on a log between two banners in the ground. The net was peeled off her at least, but her hands remain bound.

Kagome grit her teeth. “Untie me, right now. This isn't going to end well for you,” she muttered, tugging at her hands.

Shinrai chuckled and fiddled with the light green whistle around his neck. "Now, now. You should be thanking me. I'm about to give you to the Lord of the West. I think he'd appreciate a kitsune demon like you. I heard fox demons could transform into beautiful women, but this is my first time seeing it."

That certainly got her attention, and she ceased struggling. "Wait...you're going to give me to Sesshoumaru?"

"Indeed. I should think the reward will be something to behold."

"Oh, definitely," she hummed, entire attitude changing. Folding her legs beneath her, she smiled placidly. "Go ahead then, buddy."

He rose a brow but didn't comment. His men watched with varying levels of confidence as he lifted the green whistle up. "The witch better have given me the real deal," he muttered to himself, raising the whistle to his lips and blowing.

A strange high pitched noise escaped it that no human could hear, spreading out over the camp and carrying over the trees and fields, over the very hills.

Shinrai stopped and looked at the whistle, tsking. "That wench...she must have sold me a fake."

Kagome squirmed, trying to free her hands. A dog whistle? He's going to be pissed.

"C-captain!" One of the soldiers exclaimed.

"Ah? What?" Glancing up, the colour slightly drained from his face.

Mist swept in through the trees worrying fast. It rolled so thick it was as if clouds had been summoned to cover the earth like a blanket. Out of this, a figure clad in white appeared. Long silver hair swayed out, gently teased by a phantom breeze. His clothing bore a red honeycomb design, giving the image of blood spilled on snow. The demon stopped a fair distance from the soldiers, staring at them with intent gold eyes.

Kagome stiffened when they fell on her, and gave an awkward smile. If she could wave, she would.

Shinrai swallowed, trying to find his voice. Clearing his throat, the Captain stepped forward. "I'm glad you came, demon. I take it you're in fact the Lord of these parts? We happen to be passing through. Caught this here kitsune woman and wanted to offer her to you in exchange for a little money, understand?" He asked, trying to be amiable.

The demon's cool gaze remained on him for a moment, smiling slightly to himself and letting winter lashes drift shut.

"That's three," he uttered quietly.

Shinrai blinked. "Eh?"

"That is three times you have insulted this Sesshoumaru." Raising a pale hand up and flexing deadly claws, he purred; "One: You have the gaol to offer me a deal without invitation."

His image blurred and a moment later, two of the soldiers cry out as ribbons of blood fly into the air from their open chests. Kagome finally managed to get a hand free from the restraints and quickly pushed the rest of the rope off the other. Untying her feet, she stood back and winced.

"Two: You offer me a human woman and pass her off as a kitsune," Sesshoumaru sneered and struck out again as yet more men cried out. "Not realising that you have instead captured my mate."

His pale form tore through them like they were little more than paper, blood clinging to his claws. The rest of the camp were slain in a matter of seconds until only Kagome and Shinrai were left. Sesshoumaru flicked the blood from his claws and gripped Bakusaiga, drawing the sword out and raising it. Shinrai hurriedly took out his own sword.

Sesshoumaru regarded his fear with amusement, watching the blade shake. He advanced forward. "Third: You use a...dog whistle, to summon me. Your audacity and disrespect know no bounds," he growled lowly.

Shinrai grit his teeth and blocked a sudden strike from the sword, but was helpless against the demons speed, and wheezed, coughing blood as Sesshoumaru's blade slid through his gut and out of his back, impaling him.

Sesshoumaru then yanked the sword free with a sweep, effectively severing the man in two. A red aura then licks the blood away from the blade. Putting the sword in its scabbard and lifting a hand out- Sesshoumaru let acid rain down from sharp claws onto the whistle.

He then turned silently and looked at Kagome, no emotion on his face.

"Hi honey," she said softly.

He did not answer, fingers trembling slightly, practically vibrating with palpable rage and blood lust.

Kagome's brows drew together and she crossed the distance between them. Heedless of the blood, she took his blood-soaked hand between her own and kissed his neck. "Relax. I'm here now."

His eyes finally lost their hazy sheen, blinking. A hoarse noise escaped him, Sesshoumaru gathering her closer and inhaling the scent of her hair. Crimson claws gingerly touched her bruising cheek.

"That's my line, foolish miko."

#sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Asks #prompts

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rovewritesit · 5 years ago

Text

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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mediabasedlife · 6 years ago

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Initial Impressions 07: West of Dead [Xbox One Beta]

I've been playing numerous games in recent months, but this one is something special. In short, I am head over heels with the newly released beta for UpstreamArcade's West of Dead. For those unfamiliar, as many may be; West of Dead is an in-development Twin Stick Shooter set in 1888, in a wild west themed purgatory somewhere in Wyoming. Players take the role of William Mason, a skeletal bounty hunter/gunslinger who bears a distinct resemblance to a certain Marvel Comics hero, voiced by film and voice star Ron Pearlman. The demo is a brief but wholly satisfying vertical slice, a perfect introduction to what the game will eventually become upon release.

You awaken inside a dusty, shadowy saloon, a lone barkeep polishing a glass at the counter. The saloon is small, simple, but immediately sets the tone for the rest of the beta. Players get to soak up the exquisitely crafted visuals that Purgatory has to offer in a safe, combat-free location. Pitch black shadows clash with a smattering of candles and lanterns, the shifting colors creating a satisfying contrast while also highlighting the aforementioned barkeep. Choosing to speak to him nets players a helping of expository dialogue, before you're sent on your way. Proceeding out of the saloon, William comes to a short hall, just as shadowed as the bar. A flickering lamp hangs from the ceiling, ready to be ignited, ready to reveal the true price of this room; the first two guns William can procure. The weapons you find here are very much random; there could be a simple revolver holding four bullets, a decrepit but powerful flintlock, an old but sturdy shotgun, or a decrepit musket. While there may be more in the full release, these are the four firearms I've come across in all the beta runs I've completed, at least initially. Once you acquire your weapons, it's out the door and onwards into Purgatory.

The beta only holds one floor, but each run will net you a different layout thanks to the procedurally generated nature of the game as a whole. One run could be entirely linear, seeing William run from room to room, gunning down souls until he reaches the end. Other times, you might find branching paths, with one leading to more enemies while the other leads to a cache of currency. While there's no shop in the beta, players still harvest two types of material from defeated enemies and wayward crates; Iron and Souls. How these will be implemented remains to be seen, but my bet's on an Enter the Gungeon style shop system, perhaps adding new weapons or new features to future runs through Purgatory. On the subject of new weapons, players have a chance to find several powerful tools as they progress through the deary yet charming halls, ranging from stronger firearms to sticks of dynamite or a sturdy hand axe. These tools, or William himself, can be further enhanced by randomly spawning upgrade points, which take the form of glowing green totems tucked away in the corners of rooms. While few and far between, interacting with these can net William better gun damage, faster item reloads, or extra health, all of which are quite handy to have despite the brevity of any one run.

Gameplay-wise, West of Dead handles like a dream. The controls are light and snappy with fluid movement and an easy to learn gameplay loop that does not fail to impress. Paired with the competent and well-orchestrated gunplay, William has a certain mobility about him. While the enemies are middling in their movement speed, William is just fast enough to outmaneuver them, but not so fast as to run laps around his competition. Coupled with his normal walk cycle, William comes equipped with an extremely satisfying dodge mechanic. When executed normally, William will do an omnidirectional roll, allowing you to flee a tricky situation or dodge incoming fire. When executed near cover, William will slide towards whichever barrier is closest, ducking into cover and staying low until you return a volley of your own. The dodge can also be used to slide over cover, allowing for quick escapes should your cover be in danger of collapse. Executing a dodge well enough can trigger a brief slowdown, a pseudo bullet time that allows the player to make efficient followup shots or better maneuver into a new point of cover.

Each gun you pick up has a slightly different feel; the shotguns have very short range but are quite lethal, pistols are built to be sturdy and suitable for all encounters, while the musket seems designed to stun enemies and leave them open for a quick, close-range kill. Rather than have limited ammunition, each gun operates with infinite ammo, but a strict reload timer. For example, the starter revolver holds four shots and fires fairly quickly but takes 1.5 seconds to regenerate its bullets. The shotgun, on the other hand, can hold one or two shots but takes two seconds to reload. Dodging or firing pauses this reload timer, forcing players to be economic and mindful in their positioning and availability of ammunition without the need to scrounge for more bullets yourself. To offset this inconvenience, William can carry two firearms at once, plus two extra utility items like the aforementioned dynamite and axe. On controllers, you use one trigger per gun, and one bumper per utility item.

Enemies are not just vulnerable to weaponry, however. Should all else fail, closing the gap between yourself and the enemy has a chance to instead result in a melee, a sturdy kick that breaks an enemy's defense and leaves them stunned, during which another kick will usually put them down as efficiently as a bullet. William's opponents can also be stunned by igniting the lanterns that hang from the ceiling, with the flash of light blinding those trying to attack for a few seconds, usually long enough to pick off one or two enemies before they regain their senses. Players will need to master these mechanics to progress through the mazelike halls, but once they have, William becomes a death-dealing machine, lethal and efficient as he dispatches the damned souls that bar his progression through Purgatory. Should you make it all the way to the end of the beta's lone floor, a tricky but far from impossible boss fight awaits. Here, players will face the powerful and imposing Wendigo. Defeating this beast grants you an in-game trophy; a pair of antlers greet William when he returns to the Saloon, mounted on the wall near the exit to Purgatory's shadowed halls.

To summarize, I've found my time in West of Dead to be nothing short of charming. It has a beautiful visual style, an expertly crafted soundscape, capped off by a competent and easy to follow gameplay loop that still sports a healthy dose of challenge and intrigue. UpstreamArcade has displayed a certain mastery over this genre with not but a small slice of a game that will likely be so much more than the already stellar sum of this beta's parts. For people who are already fans of twin-stick shooters or roguelikes, this game is absolutely worth your time. For newcomers intrigued by the striking visuals or the unique blend of gothic tones and western themes, this game is still a solid recommendation, though it may take some getting used to before you're completely satisfied. Overall, I'm very excited for West of Dead, and eagerly await the full game's release whenever that may be.

For those interested in checking out the Beta, you have until November 25th, 2019 to download it from the Xbox marketplace, while the full game will release across all consoles and PC sometime in 2020.

#Initial Impressions #Game Review #West of Dead #Gaming

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ranger-report · 5 years ago

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Thoughts On: Mortal Shell Open Beta

I want to start this off by stating up front that I am not a fan of Dark Souls in any way, shape, or form. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Dark Souls is bad per se. I actually really like the world the games have built up. I watch videos on the lore, the environments, the bosses, and I find it all thoroughly fascinating, it's just that when I play video games I like to enjoy playing them, and playing Dark Souls is like bashing my head against a wall repeatedly because I'm using my forehead in lieu of a hammer and these goddamn nails just won't go in the wall. Oh, I've tried to get into it; I've put in two separate six-hour runs, along with diving into Bloodborne because I'd heard that game rewards players who are more aggressive vs the measured style of Souls, but no matter what, I just don't have the patience to be punished over and over again by a game that actively hates me. So imagine my surprise when I not only got into Mortal Shell, but actually persisted to play through the entire demo.

Mortal Shell, developed by Cold Symmetry, is a Souls clone and proud of it. Currently, the open beta is available to download via the Epic Game Store. Pre-purchase is up and running for $29.99. The first trailer was released on April 1st of this year, but make no mistake, the game is no joke. Far from it. For those coming in late to the party, Dark Souls's gameplay revolves around slow, methodical combat in which the player has to read enemy patterns in order to know when to strike, parry, dodge, etc. Any enemy in the game can potentially be a bad time, meaning that if the player gets a little too cocky and impatient, a solid run can so south pretty fucking quickly if they're not paying attention to timing. That's literally what the game is: a massive, calculated game of timing, fueled by trial and error. If you die – and you will, frequently – you're sent back to the last checkpoint you camped at or visited or lit up. You'll have one chance to forge your way back to the point where you died, and reclaim all the currency you worked so hard to accumulate, but if you die again before you do, all of it is lost. So essentially we're working with a complex risk and reward system, in which any fight could be your last, any moment could turn ugly, and your character is having the worst fucking day they could imagine.

Mortal Shell takes this formula and puts a bit of a spin on it. Sure, you've got the health bar, the stamina bar – which depletes any time you attack, dodge, or run – the quick items, and the ability to parry and commit heavy attacks if your timing is right. But what it does differently is the character system itself. Most Souls games involve the player creating a character and slowly leveling up as time goes by. You could become a super beast depending on what you choose to invest in. Shell puts you in charge of a Foundling, basically a nameless/faceless lost spirit, who can inhabit the bodies of fallen warriors it comes across. Each warrior – called a Shell – has different attributes which can be leveled up. Some Shells are faster, some are tougher, and each one has their pros and cons to fit your play style. In the beta, we get two, named Harros and Tiel. Harros is a well-rounded fighter, your basic bitch knight class, while Tiel is more of a rogue, which a much higher stamina bar but can be hurt a lot quicker. Regardless of which Shell you choose to inhabit, you're carrying around what has to be one of the most badass swords I've seen in a video game in quite some time. Called the Hallowed Sword, it's two handed and looks like it could ruin pretty much anything if you put your mind to it. It has a secondary attack where it turns into a goddamn spear for massive damage. There's another weapon in the beta, a hammer and chisel, but I somehow missed that in my playthrough. I'm eager to dive back in and find it, but for now we'll focus on the sword. Sweet Jesus, that sword. If a fantasy game had the equivalent of a double-barreled shotgun, it would be the Hallowed Sword.

There's also a catch to hitching a ride in the Shells: if you take too much damage, the Foundling will be knocked out of the Shell, vulnerable and weak. You'll have an opportunity to get back into the Shell, and if you do, it's an instant HP refill and you're back in the fight. Your Shell can die twice, but if you're knocked out of the Shell a second time, it's game over and back to the checkpoint. This is inventive because dying isn't immediately a punishment, and it's also neat because the Foundling can still carry the Hallowed Sword while trying to get back to the Shell. I have a feeling YouTube is going to be full of No Shell Runs in which players go hard as only the Foundling, chopping, parrying, dodging, somehow escaping damage. And make no mistake, the naked Foundling will die in one hit without a Shell. Having a safety net like this automatically makes gameplay more forgiving and also more intense. Say you fuck up and get knocked out of your Shell early on, leaving you with just one more chance to get through to the next checkpoint knowing if you get knocked down again, you're done. That's a rush unlike many I've played in video games. Also the frantic panic of running and dodging as the Foundling, surrounded by enemies, trying to get back to your Shell, desperate to stay alive, is shockingly effective.

However, there's another weapon in the Foundling's arsenal: the ability to Harden. Pressing the left trigger instantly turns the Foundling into a rock solid statue, unable to move, but also unable to take damage for one single hit. Once the hit lands, the Harden goes away and the Foundling starts moving again. What is absolutely wild about this are the potential combat tactics that can arise. Because if the Foundling is moving or attacking when the Harden goes into effect, they will immediately resume what they were doing when the Harden is gone. So say you're going in for a light strike, followed up by a heavy strike, and before you can land the heavy strike the enemy goes into attack animation. You hit the Harden, freezing mid-swing, and the enemy connects – and then your heavy strike animation resumes, smashing into the enemy, staggering them, freeing you up to either dodge away or get in another attack. Some enemies will be staggered just from hitting your Hardened form, so even if you're not mid-swing, you'll have a window of opportunity to get in and sucker punch. But Harden has a cooldown period, so if you use it at the wrong time, you'll have a wait a minute before you can use it again. And come out of it at the wrong time, you could be facing the business end of a bad day.

What initially drew me to Mortal Shell was definitely not the concept of a Souls game, but rather that Cold Symmetry cited old-school first person shooter Quake as one of their influences on the game. By and large this comes across in the aesthetics: browns, grays, armor textures, otherworldly pagan imagery, skulls and bones and dark caverns, it's all over the place, and it's lovely. Grimy industrial atmosphere permeates everything. Enemies range from brutish bandits with swords and pikes, to imp-like creatures that poison you when they strike. And the monster design is a visual chef's kiss, craggy and awful and menacing. My personal favorite is the Pincushion Warrior, which I've dubbed because it looks like a goddamn pincushion. Walking around with an eyeless helmet and multiple fucking swords sticking out of its torso like, well, a meaty pincushion, when it notices you from afar it will pull out one of the swords and throw it you. It'll keep doing so until you get into melee range, at which point it pulls out two swords, one for each hand, and come at you fast and hard. Do enough damage to it and it will attempt a kamikaze maneuver, in which it rips off its fucking head to throw at you and release a poison cloud which does massive damage over time. Seriously one of the most metal things I've seen, and I cursed the fuck out loud when I saw it the first time. But the showstopper, the truly most outstanding beast in the beta, is the Enslaved Grisha, a lumbering monstrosity that looks like a combination between Silent Hill's Pyramid Head and BioShock's Big Daddy. You fight it in an icy cave, and its attacks are so thunderous it will shake loose stalactites from the ceiling which can fall on top of you for damage. It's fast, brutal, mean, and intimidating, and beating it was such a terrific rush that it made me wonder why I've never gotten into this style of game before when it feels this rewarding to win against a tough enemy. Maybe it's because Soulsborne games are vicious and unrelenting in their assault on the player as they slowly attempt to crawl their way through the environment. Here, it seems like there's just enough stacked in the player's graces to save them that it's simultaneously more forgiving and more brutal. With the Harden ability and the different Shells as combat style options, the choices presented to the player are unique enough to offer a deep challenge, but one that players themselves can modify depending on how they want to play.

There's a couple other mechanics that I want to touch on briefly while I'm here: Resolve, and Familiarity. Resolve is essentially a limit break with multiple uses. When you're attacking enemies, you're building Resolve, and can keep track of how much you're gaining via the meter above your health. But while it builds through attacks, it slowly goes away unless you fill a whole bar, and each Shell will have a different number of bars to fill. For example, Harros has four bars, Tiel has only two. Once a bar is filled, you'll be able to use the Resolve in one of two ways. The first is parrying; you can attempt to parry if you don't have resolve, but in my experience it worked better when I had a bar built up. If you've got the Resolve when you parry, you'll do so with greater success, but it'll also open up a window for you to hit the attack button immediately after. Time it right, and you'll do a powerful strike which will regain a large portion of health, which is handy as fuck when you don't have healing items, but also uses up a lot of Resolve. This can hinder you a little bit if you want to use your special strike. Remember how I said the Hallowed Sword has a super strike where it turns into a spear and does a fuckload of damage? Yeah, you need to fill up at least one or two Resolve bars in order to use it. I'm not sure if you need one bar, two bars, or a full load, haven't done as much experimenting with that as I'd like. Some things in the game are still obtuse, relying on trial and error to discover, which brings us around to Familiarity: picking up items in the game world at first gives only a brief guess at what the items will actually do, so you have to use them to figure out what their effect is. This can be positive, or negative, but the more you use said items the more familiar the Foundling becomes with the effect. Each item has a different number of times you need to use it to become completely familiar with it, but once you do, it'll unlock bonus side effects. For example, the weltcap mushrooms restore 40 hit points over the course of 60 seconds (the regen shrooms I mentioned earlier). But use them often enough, and the Foundling will get a bonus effect of being able to dodge once without using any stamina to do so. Meanwhile, using the tarspore mushrooms – which infect poison damage – will eventually make the Foundling immune to poison damage for 120 seconds. For me this is one of the more revolutionary parts of the game, which requires the most amount of trial and error and experimentation. Of course you're not going to want to use the poison mushroom again after it killed you with poison, but if you take it enough, next thing you know you're immune to poison for two minutes? This is wild when confronted with Imps that deal poison damage with each strike they land, or the fucking Pincushion Warriors and their suicide poison bomb. But at the same time, this could be a bit frustrating when the player gets rare items that are hard to come by, which may have huge bonuses, or massively negative effects. I love it, but also kind of hate it, though where Harden and Resolve add complementary aspects to the combat, Familiarity throws in the gamble of figuring out whether a consumable will do you harm, or make your day.

Mortal Shell has already impressed the hell out of me simply by being a Soulsborne game that I can play and not feel vandalized by, but also through sheer innovation and attention to detail. The atmosphere is thick and luscious, the combat is deep and so are the RPG elements, and there's a genuinely terrifying obtuse story being played out. I did have a few issues with my playthrough, notably the two times the game crashed, one of which forced me to force restart my desktop. A few other ragdoll glitches notwithstanding, the beta is a resoundingly solid experience which is promising great things for the full game. Something which, to my unending surprise, I have already pre-purchased based on this demo. May wonders never cease.

#ck burch #rubyranger #thoughts on #mortal shell #cold symmetry #dark souls #bloodborne #quake #soulsborne #soulslike #review #open beta #epic games store #ranger report

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bloody-fists-beating-hearts · 6 years ago

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placide wants to know about the cursed usb that you got, but its the macguffin or whatever so you’re gonna have to play the game to find out

the difference between the cinematic trailer is...noticable. For obvious reasons, but Johnny looks a little off-model here. His nose is too big, I think, and his hair and sunglasses seem kind of flat, but I know he has some kind of shader that makes him slightly blue to stand out from the rest of the game-world so that could be it.

another screenshot - notice the faded-blue tinge he has, and also shadows don’t seem to affect him like they do others.

netpig being slang for NetWatch agent,

yeah you killed the hot cop for NOTHING you monster

Alt in this case is Alt Cunningham, Johnny’s ex. from the wiki

in essence, a weird form of cloning, some might see it as immortality; personally I don’t because I think that from a philosophical point an exact copy of you ceases to be you the moment it is made - at best it would be someone who thinks it’s you running around and living your life, but that’s besides the point. The voodoo boys seem to want soulkiller, or something along those lines. Alt’s ghost is in the Net, and Johnny’s ghost could also be a result of Soulkiller. What the Voodoo boys want with it is anybody’s guess - considering the theme of souls, spirits and black magic in ‘voodoo’ practice they may want it for a cultural/gang related reason, or a more practical one such as interrogation and exploitation. They probably aren’t the only one’s interested in it either.

FINAL THOUGHTS:

There are definite changes from the 48 minute demo, some of them im not really that jazzed about. I have been avoiding most news and hype from this game because I really want to enjoy it, but a sad fact of the industry is that publishers will promise the earth and then consumers will inevitably be disappointing when they can’t deliver something that is impossible to make by current technological capabilities. Still, I pre-ordered the game (only time I ever have) and I am 99% sure I will like it, as long as I don’t have unrealistic expectations. I like cyberpunk genres so I’m gonna enjoy it regardless. Graphics wise its pretty, and with new PC’s coming out I’m sure it can be modded to whatever ultra 8K gold-plated textures in the future.

I’m slightly worried about the story/dialogue elements. Even in the 48 minute demo, there didn’t seem to be much variation in the types of dialogue V could say - just asking questions and then “yes”. Obviously they haven’t revealed much because of spoilers but I’m still gonna keep an eye out, since dialogue and story matters the most to me (others will favour gameplay, though)

I know people go on and on about wanting to romance every swinging dick in the game, but I do kinda want more info on that. Romance options in viddy games are my secret guilty pleasure and this game is absolutely CHOCKERS with future beefcake waifus.

I am worried about jackie and his health, my bro, my esse, is my video game buddy ok? James Vega was my favourite mass effect character, cyber-vega was my favourite part of the demo, I am a sucker for being flirted with in video games ok sue me, its supposed to be escapism. I know that recently some people will complain if there’s sexism or racism in a game because they don’t distinguish narratives from the morals of its creator, but I think CDPR and Mike Pondsmith are sticking firm and not being too swayed by needlessly inflammatory games “””journalists””” which I’m happy about. Cyberpunk as a genre is dark, gritty, and unpleasant at times and it looks like the game is staying faithful to it.

Now onto the dev Q&A!

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk game #text post

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oraculodosbasbaques · 5 years ago

Text

33 coisas para putos em quarentena

Aqui vão algumas ideias para actividades a fazer com os putos lá em casa durante esta Era Corona. São algumas sugestões para crianças de várias idades. Muitas podem não resultar com os vossos filhos em específico ou com o vosso estilo de parentalidade e personalidade porém algumas podem ser boa ideia. Apesar de experiência de 12 anos como Psicólogo, a minha intervenção foi sempre com adolescentes que exigem outro tipo de passatempos (para quem os tem, talvez seja sobretudo apostar na empatia, escuta e sobretudo privacidade, não é nada fácil para eles terem que vos aturar tanto tempo seguido). Também não sou educador infantil nem pai. O que sei sobre animar crianças deve-se sobretudo a gostar eu próprio de jogos e de brincar, a ter vívidas memórias da minha infância e aos largos anos na chefia de Alcateia como Bálu. O melhor talvez seja adaptar estas ideias a vocês e vossos filhos. A maioria são coisas que encontrei na internet, vão encontrá-las em inglês. Eu que ainda não tenho filhos, portanto talvez a pessoa com menos autoridade para dizer o que resulta ou não com essas criaturas que precisam de se entreter durante estes tempos de isolamento e crise. A vossa casa vai estar constantemente suja e desarrumada mas vale a pena. Um dia vai estar vazia.

Assim, 33 coisas para putos em quarentena:

1- Escolher com eles um tema para cada dia de quarentena e as actividades desse dia serem dedicadas a esse tema: por exemplo super-heróis, profissões, o próprio vírus corona ou cuidados de saúde a ter. Ou o dia dedicado a um país do mundo ou o dia das espécies extra-terrestres inventadas por eles (tipo Eucarianos). Isto pode criar uma excitação maior para saber como vai ser o próximo dia (seguindo o princípio universal das “mil e uma noites”).

2- Histórias. Histórias. Histórias. Lidas, inventadas mas contem histórias e façam contar histórias. Escrevam histórias sobre o tema do dia ou quaisquer outras. As histórias são o cimento milenar entre povos e gerações. Peguem nos livros infantis que têm. Ou encomendem: aconselho 3, o da minha amiga Andreia Nunes “Valente Valentina” e os dois meus preferidos “O circo da lua “ e o “Incrível rapaz que comia livros”. Inventem histórias baseadas nas clássicas que já conhecem da literatura.As minhas histórias preferidas para contar são as de terror mas nesta altura essas são para cortar.Histórias com finais felizes pois as crianças precisam de alguma esperança nestes tempos difíceis por isso talvez seja melhor criar um twist no Romeu e Julieta.

3- Role-Play. Mudar de papéis, representar, interpretar. Teatro! Esta é a minha preferida forma de brincar pois era o que eu passava o dia a fazer com os Playmobil e é o que continuo a fazer em palco. Se se acharem ridículos a imitarem um Orangotango então está na hora de tratar desse vosso grave problema. As crianças vão ajudar-vos com sua espontaneidade ainda não falecida. Mais à frente se me lembrar vou dar ideias de cenários e outras actividades que estão relacionadas com fazer de conta.

4 - Cozinhar . Sobretudo bolos, claro. Aproveitem para engordar felizes. Há milhoes de videos no youtube a ensinar crianças a cozinhar. Deixem os putos errar nas quantidades e ser mais ou menos autónomos mas sempre sempre vigilantes. Se quiserem gravem, como se os putos fossem youtubers de culinária a dar explicações. Quando eles forem mais velhos vão agradecer as imagens e serão eles-crianças a ensinar os próprios filhos.

5- Pegar em papéis antigos, cartas, correio, revistas que não usam ou precisem e organizem um momento de destruição de papel, “TIPO A TOTAL ANIQUILAÇÃO DO PAPEL VELHO PELOS MIÚDOS DESTRUIDORES”. As crianças adoram destruir coisas por isso esta será bastante divertida. Podem acompanhar com sorrisos maléficos. E não se esqueçam de reciclar ou de, com os restos, aprender a fazer outra vez papel.

6- Entrevistar os miúdos sobre temas mais sérios, como se fosse um programa de televisão formal, se possível gravar porque os garotos às vezes dizem coisas verdadeiramente poéticas. O que é para eles o Amor, o que é o Casamento, a Vida, os Pais, os Avós, quem é Deus, dicas para se ser feliz ou rico ou arranjar namorada/o, o que acham eles que o governo devia fazer para parar o corona, o que pensam do Donald Trump, quem nasceu primeiro o ovo ou a galinha, como resolver a questão da imigração, do aquecimento do planeta e o conflito israelo-palestiniano. Quem sabe a resposta está neles.

7- Escrever uma carta por dia a cada membro da família ou a um amigo da escola. (não lambam o selo quando forem aos correios)

8- Inventar cantigas para lavar as mãos ou procurar na net vídeos para crianças de sensibilização (por exemplo este vietnamita "Jealous Corona" ) dancem e inventem coreografias. Fazer dessa lavagem de mãos um momento solene do dia como se dele dependesse o futuro da humanidade.Na verdade depende.

9- Fingir que um dos dias é dia de praia mesmo que não tenham quintal. Toalhas, bikini, fatos de banho, creme protector, música de praia, óculos de sol e castelos imaginários.

10- Videoconferência com os avós a contar como foi o dia.

11- Ver filmes de animação novos, que também vos cativem porque à décima vez do Frozen talvez apanhar corona comece a ser uma opção mais desejada.

12- Fazer videos de stopmotion com plasticina.Esta app é das mais usadas: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details…

13- Se a casa for grande ou houver corredor, brincar ao clássico “mamã dá licença” ou organizar corridas com diferentes posturas: de pé coxinho, de cegos, para trás, moonwalk, possuído pelo demo, etc.

14- Andar à porrada. Wrestling. Façam cintos artesanais de campeão. Não sei se isto é muito pedagógico mas andar à porrada a brincar é bastante divertido. Que ninguém se aleije porque acho que os hospitais não precisam de fracturas expostas nesta altura.

15 - Para putos que gostam de Legos, construir coisas relacionadas com o tema do dia.Ou só tentar fazer a torre mais alta ou a maior fila pela casa toda. Meçam para que se batam recordes.

16- Um dos dias ou metade do dia, mascarar as crianças de progenitor/progenitores e o/os progenitor/es de crianças. Durante todo esse tempo a criança tem de imitá-lo/s. Esta actividade é bastante cómica mas também trágica porque vão descobrir que pais estão a ser.

17- Jogar jogos de Tabuleiro. A glória, monópolio, pictionary, party. Se não têm muitos inventem vocês com eles os próprios jogos e cartões de tarefas. Usem os temas do dia, ou sobre particularidades da vossa família. Tudo serve para jogar. Se forem só dois em casa também é divertido.

18- Dedicar boa parte do dia a ensinar coisas, sobretudo que possam não aprender na escola. Aqui cabe tudo e dependendo da idade podemos ir desde as cores em chinês até a valores de cidadania. Se estiverem preocupados com a escola, sites como a Escola Virtual estão neste momento gratuitos mas há videos de youtube a ensinar tudo e mais um par de botas. Se quiserem falar de cidadania aconselho a lerem a Lei do Escuteiro e a pensarem como falar sobre cada artigo (aqui: http://agr658.cne-escutismo.pt/leis-e…/lei-do-escuteiro.html ) .É um bom princípio e serve para toda a gente no mundo, de todas as idades, todos os credos e ideologias políticas.

19- Jardinar. Seja em vasos em casa ou se tiverem essa sorte, no quintal. Ver a vida crescer por nossa causa também entusiasma os putos.

20 - Organizar teatro de fantoches com meias ou se tiverem tempo mais elaborados (aqui tutorial:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfnjJkZNJ4M) Podem usar as histórias que leram ou inventaram durante o dia. Ou com um lençol fazer teatro de sombras chinesas. Podem chamar ao local dessas peças Teatro do Povo Feliz de Whuan.

21- Fazer puzzles. Eu odeio e não tenho paciência nenhuma. Se gostarem, força, passem o dia a olhar para quadradinhos trincados, todos iguais.

22- Escrever uma frase no início de uma folha pautada, deixar só uma palavra na linha de baixo dobrar a primeira linha para que o próximo não veja e continue a história. Perdi alguma matéria teórica da faculdade a jogar a isto.

23- Arte: desenhar, pintar, cortar,colar, respingar, sujar,esculpir, modelar, destruir. Tudo para se expressar plasticamente. Quem sabe há aí um Picasso que pode render mais que um futuro João Félix.

24- Fazer yoga para crianças. Além de ser divertido, quem não quer os filhos relaxados? Aqui videos de como fazer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RfWgMJ6dcw.

25- Fazer experiências científicas simples em casa. Por exemplo aqui: http://www.amaecoruja.com/…/5-experimentos-cientificos-par…/ No dia em que se valorizar mais a Ciência, mais fácil será combater pandemias como esta.

26 - Instalar a app SkyView https://play.google.com/store/apps/details… a melhor ferramenta para identificar com realidade aumentada os astros. À noite observar com as crianças as estrelas e os planetas. Ganhar consciência que somos uma migalha neste Universo pode ser fascinante para algumas.

27- Pegar num mapa e num globo e explorar diferentes terras e culturas. Usar o google earth e street view para visitar essas terras. Podem fingir que estão a ir de férias e que vocês são o guia turístico dos miúdos.

28- Construir casas de bonecas com caixas de cartões. Dá para fazer mega apartamentos ou mega mansão para todas as bonecas e bonecos. Decorar com marcadores.

29 - Organizar com as crianças fotografias, álbuns, relembrar momentos em família, fazer novas molduras. Uma espécie de instagram 3D!

30 - Preparar uma caça ao tesouro. As crianças ficam numa parte da casa enquanto vocês escondem pistas pela casa toda . Cada pista decifrada indica onde está a próxima. Uma espécie de escape game para putos. Arranjem um tema, por exemplo da Disney, Indiana Jones, Mulher Maravilha, etc. No fim o tesouro pode ser um baú gigante de gomas.

31- Ensinar os putos a codificar. Porque o futuro vai ser sobretudo de quem sabe programar, seja robots, seja apps, seja um anti-vírus cibernético. Aqui vídeos para ensinar crianças do 1º Ciclo: https://www.youtube.com/playlist…

32 - Fazer tendas com o sofá, cadeiras e lençóis velhos. Levar mochila, lanterna, cantil, tudo. Apagar as luzes.Fingir que se está na selva. o youtube e spotify tem montes de sons do mato e selva que podem pôr nas vossas colunas. Contem histórias da vossa infância e cantem canções que podem não ser só as infantis, as crianças vão se lembrar também das outras para sempre. A tenda também pode ser uma nave espacial. Aí podem usar a banda sonora do Star Wars.

33-Ir à janela com segurança e gritar aos vizinhos ou cantar ou bater palmas e mostrar que nenhum humano precisa de se sentir sozinho.

Se encontrar e me lembrar de mais alguma, acrescento. O mais importante é as crianças estarem entretidas e animadas enquanto este tempo atípico passa. Não precisam de estar sempre com elas até porque essa exploração também tem que ser independente de vós, mas vigiem-nas: nas férias os acidentes domésticos com crianças aumentam exponencialmente e é primeira vez na história da humanidade que tantas crianças estão fechadas em casa durante tanto tempo por isso vigiem os putos. Não vou entrar por questões pedagógicas, sistema de recompensas e punições ou questões do foro psicológico porque isso é todo um outro mundo complexo e eu não sou grande especialista. Se estiverem interessados por exemplo o livro “A Psicóloga dos Míudos da minha colega e amiga Rita Alves é muito bom. Boa sorte com as vossas actividades, partilhem e ajudem outros pais sem soluções. Não há desculpas para deixar os garotos o dia inteiro no tablet. Façam outras coisas, sejam pais. Deve ser cansativo mas há métodos contraceptivos quase 100% eficazes desde 1960.

Gonçalo Fontes

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insideoutstory · 6 years ago

Photo

Inside Out → Chapter Eighteen

summary: Christine and the others rush to find the party before the Bad Men do. word count: 4.4k warnings: Feelings™, me accidentally changing POV b/c I love Hopper

[ masterlist ] [ FF.net ]

“So this is the Demogorgon.”

They were all squeezed into Jonathan’s car, Hopper and Mrs. Byers up front while Christine, Nancy and Jonathan sat in the back. They were mostly sitting, anyway. Christine had half her butt on the door, and Nancy’s hips were angled so she wouldn’t have to be in Jonathan’s lap. It was a tight fit, but they were trying to make it work.

Christine was more focused on the photo in her hands. It was mostly black, looking more like a distortion than anything concrete. But Nancy had traced out the figure with her finger—arms, legs, broad torso, a head that didn’t seem to have a face. It loomed nearly seven feet tall, illuminated underneath by the eerie light of Steve’s pool. It was right at the end of the diving board, right behind where Barb had been sitting… She was relieved Barb had been cropped out of this copy. Christine wasn’t sure if she could handle seeing it right now.

“The demo-what?” Nancy asked.

“It’s uh…that’s what me and the boys have been calling it,” Christine said sheepishly. “I think it’s from Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Seriously?” Jonathan snorted from the other side of the car. “You’re using a kids’ game to name a bloodthirsty monster?”

“So what? It’s so much more elegant to keep calling it ‘that thing’? Besides, this whole thing—monsters and alternate dimensions and superpowers—kinda feels like Dungeons and Dragons to me.”

“Do not say ‘alternate dimensions’,” Hopper instructed flatly from the drivers’ seat. “I don’t know what we’re up against, but I don’t want to hear you talking about ‘alternate dimensions’ ever again.”

Christine raised a hand in surrender. He hadn’t taken well to her explanation of the multiverse. Government conspiracies were fine, but apparently theoretical physics was right out.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been with my brother this whole time,” Nancy said. “That’s…so weird.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been fighting demons,” Christine offered, handing her the picture once more. “Cause that’s not insane.”

Nancy laughed weakly. “Yeah, well…I guess neither of our weeks went that great.”

Christine nodded. She’d only gotten the short version on Jonathan and Nancy’s side of things. They’d glossed over the pictures, but it seemed like Nancy was overlooking the creepiness since it’d helped her figure out what happened to Barb. They’d gone looking for the Demogorgon after the funeral, running around in the same woods where Christine had been looking for Eleven. But while Christine was avoiding trouble, Nancy had run right into it—and into the Upside Down, from the sounds of it.

Nancy’s description had been short. It was darker, but familiar. Cold and wet and slimy. She’d nearly gotten lost trying to escape the Demogorgon. That she hardly described at all. She just handed Christine the photo and let the picture do the talking.

Jonathan had managed to pull her out, and stayed the night so Nancy would feel safer. But they hadn’t slept together. Nancy hadn’t even slept at all. So Steve had seen them comforting each other—but it had Jonathan helping Nancy, and not the other way around.

Christine didn’t have any words of comfort. She couldn’t think of any that matched the gravity of the whole thing. They’d each been alone, thinking the other one didn’t care, thinking their friend had ditched them over some boy when they were just trying not to die. She couldn’t imagine what Nancy had been through in the Upside Down. And she didn’t have any adequate way to apologize. As Hopper sped through the suburban streets, Christine slipped her hand into Nancy’s and squeezed. She had no idea when they’d get a real chance to talk. But at least they wouldn’t go through the rest of it alone.

The car swerved to a quick stop, forcing everyone to jolt forward in their seats.

“Tell me that’s not your house,” said Hopper darkly.

Christine leaned around him to peer out the windshield. They’d pulled over on the side of the street, at least ten houses down from her own. She couldn’t see what the big deal was at first. But then she noticed the large white van parked next door. The side read Hawkins Power and Light. There was a man in a suit standing at the front door, talking to a confused looking Claudia.

“Okay,” said Christine. “That’s not my house. It’s Dustin’s. How the hell do they know about Dustin?”

“They’re the government. They know about everyone.”

“Well, could she still be inside?” asked Mrs. Byers. “Just because they know about the boys doesn’t mean they know about Christine.”

“Yeah, I think they know about Christine,” said Hopper, and he nodded out the window again.

Everyone looked out, closer this time. It was faint, but Christine could see the shadows moving inside her house, shadows that were too big to be anyone in the party. Though she knew Eleven wouldn’t be inside, her stomach clenched. This was not good.

“Are they allowed to be in there?” asked Nancy. “Isn’t that like…breaking and entering?”

“Not if you’re the government,” said Hopper. “All they need to say is that they had probable cause and an unlocked door.”

“They did have an unlocked door.”

Hopper turned around in his seat to stare at Christine. “You keep the doors unlocked?”

“What?” she said defensively. “I wanted to make sure Eleven could get in if she came home.”

“The girl has superpowers, and you thought a locked door was going to stop her?”

“What does it matter? They were just gonna break my door down anyway!”

“Jesus…” He shook his head, and looked back to the house. “Okay, if the safe house is out, where else might the kids go to hide?”

“Well, she was living with the Wheelers for a few days.”

“What?” gasped Nancy.

“Yeah,” said Christine. “She was living in your basement. I think Mike took some of your clothes, by the way, so don’t be surprised if your laundry’s a little light.”

“She’s not at the Wheelers,” Hopper interrupted. “If they know about one kid, they know about all of them.”

“Then we have to go back,” Nancy said stoutly. “My mom, my dad—what if they hurt my little sister?”

“We are not going back. The last thing your parents need is for these guys to find out you’re involved in this too.”

“But what if they have Mike?” she demanded. “What if he comes back and…?”

“If your brother came back to the house, he’d be smart enough to leave,” Hopper assured her. “If they’ve made it this long, they know the drill. Besides. The lab doesn’t have your brother.”

“How can you know that?”

Hopper pointed out the window over Mrs. Byers’ shoulder. The whole car creaked as everyone turned to see what he was looking at this time. Christine couldn’t quite see it between Nancy, Jonathan and the houses outside, but in the bated silence she could hear it. Somewhere outside there was a heavy mechanical whirring. It sounded like helicopter blades.

“Seriously?” Worried as Nancy was, she still managed to sound annoyed. “For Mike?”

“For Eleven,” Christine corrected with worry. “If they get Mike, it’ll just be a bonus.”

“Which is why we need to find them before they do,” Hopper agreed. He twisted around in the seat to look at Christine. “I need you to think. Is there anywhere else they might have gone?”

“Not that I know of,” Christine sighed.

“Then think harder!”

“Look, I told you everything I know, okay? She’s been at Mike’s house, my house, and briefly the middle school. Besides that it’s just been the woods, and they could be anywhere in there. She knows them better than anyone else would. You’d have to ask her.”

“So why don’t we?”

Everyone turned to look at Jonathan, who was staring a hole into the back of his mother’s seat.

“Why don’t we what?” she asked.

“Ask her. I don’t know where they are, but I think I know how to get in contact with them.”

“The supercomms,” Christine realized, turning to him. “But I don’t have one. Do you?”

“No, but…”

“But Will does,” Mrs. Byers finished. She smacked Hopper on the arm, making him flinch. “My house. Go, Hop! We have to get back to my house!”

Hopper grumbled as she continued to berate him into turning the car around. They couldn’t go too fast. They didn’t want to draw the attention of the several government agents who were currently dissecting Christine’s house top to bottom. But as soon as they rounded the corner and were out of sight, Hopper slammed on the gas. They went racing down the roads, whipping past Mirkwood and heading for the edge of town.

They all jolted forward again when Hopper slammed on the brakes, skidding into the Byers’ driveway and sending gravel in every direction. Everyone piled out of the car, and Mrs. Byers led the way into the house without hesitation.

Christine marched behind her, but quickly trailed to a stop in the living room.

“Holy shit…”

The Byers’ entire house had been done up for Christmas early. String lights hung like a net around the ceiling, creating a maze of wires. For some reason, all the bulbs had been removed and were rolling around the floor. Furniture had been upended and ripped open, papers covered the floor. There were several boards hap-hazardously nailed up in one corner, and over the couch someone had painted the alphabet in lopsided black letters. It looked like one bulb had been nailed over each letter, like some sort of creepy, festive keyboard.

“Whoa…” Nancy was standing next to her, looking equally as stunned. “Uh…Jonathan said that…she was talking to Will…through the lights…”

“Right,” said Christine. Her eyes trailed back to the alphabet. “That…makes sense…”

They proceeded down the hall without saying anything else on the subject.

Will’s room was at the opposite end of the house. It had also been strung up with Christmas lights, with a couple of open lamps here and there for variation. Christine felt weird about diving in and rifling through Will’s stuff. Jonathan and his mom ended up doing most of the searching, while Christine, Nancy and Hopper waited anxiously by the door.

“I got it!” Mrs. Byers announced after a few minutes of looking. She resurfaced from under the bed, raising the walkie over her head. “Oh. How do I…?”

Jonathan took the radio from her hand, checking the battery before powering it on and tuning the station. His finger hovered over the call button, and he paused.

“Actually, it’s—it’s probably better if you do it.”

He held the radio out to Christine. She nodded, and took a deep breath before she grabbed it from him. Mrs. Byers ushered her to sit on the end of the bed, and everyone gathered around to listen.

“Hello?” Christine called into the radio. “Mike? Dustin? Lucas? This is Christine. Anyone copy?”

Silence.

“Hello? Anybody? This is Christine. I need you to pick up. It’s an emergency. I said do you copy?”

Silence.

“I know at least one of you idiots has a radio on you. I’m serious, it’s Christine. Hello, hello, hello, hello, helloooo?”

And again, silence.

Hopper grabbed the radio out of her hands, ignoring her noise of protest.

“Listen, kid, this is the chief. If you’re there pick up.”

“Chief, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Christine warned, which he also ignored.

“We know you’re in trouble, and we know about the girl.”

“Great,” she huffed. “Well that’s definitely not a good idea.”

“We can protect you, we can help you, but you gotta pick up. Are you there? Do you copy? Over!”

Christine stood up, grabbing the walkie back from him. Seeing as he was a lot taller and stronger than she was, it was a challenge. But she managed it with a hearty glare.

“You’re gonna scare the shit out of them,” she snapped at him. “Every authority figure she’s ever known has tortured her, and you wanna announce that you’re a cop? I made a promise not to go to the police because she was too scared. Just let me talk to them.”

Hopper glowered at her, but did not reach for the walkie. Christine leaned back on the doorframe. She closed her eyes, and pressed the radio against her forehead.

“Come on, guys. It’s Christine. I know you’re worried about the bad men, but I’m here with reinforcements. I’ve got Chief Hopper and Mrs. Byers and Jonathan and…hell, even Nancy. You know I wouldn’t have told anyone unless it was for a really good reason. But the bad men know who you are, so we have to find you guys if you want our help. Please…please pick up. Do you copy?”

More silence. She was ready to give up when the radio crackled to life.

“What are the first fifteen digits of pi?”

Christine actually laughed with relief.

“What?” Nancy asked, staring down at the radio. “What is it?”

“It’s Dustin,” Christine explained. “It’s a defense thing.”

“Defense?” Mrs. Byers repeated in confusion. “What, does—are they in trouble?”

“No, he wants to know if I am. It’s a code we have. If you say it right, everything’s okay, but if you say it wrong it means you’re in distress.”

“You memorized the first fifteen digits of pi?” Hopper asked, looking mildly disgusted.

“Christine? Hello? I asked for the first fifteen digits of pi. Do you copy? Over!”

“Yeah, I copy, Dust,” she said, turning back to the radio. “3.14159265358979.”

“Thank God. And say over when you’re done, geez. This is basic stuff. Over.”

“My apologies. Are you all alive? Over.”

“Yeah, we’re okay. Had a close call, but we’re all good on the fifteen digits of pi here. Over.”

“Great. Now where the hell are you? Over.”

“We can’t tell you. Signal might be intercepted. Over.”

“Fine,” Christine sighed, knowing he had a point. “Can you…describe it to me? Give me a hint? Gimme something here. Over.”

There was silence as the boys discussed the best way to proceed. It was minute or two before she got an answer.

“Christine, we are in Cloud City. Do you copy? Over.”

“Cloud City?” Hopper echoed. “What is that, a place?”

“Yeah, but not a real one,” said Christine. “It’s from Star Wars.”

The explanation only seemed to make him more exasperated.

“What is it with these kids and the made up places?”

“It’s code,” Jonathan urged. “We’re supposed to figure it out. So what’s so special about Cloud City?”

“Well it’s in the sky, for one,” Christine sighed. “It’s a gas mining colony. It was under Imperial control.”

“You don’t think they’re in the Lab, do you?” Joyce asked.

“No, no. That would definitely be the Death Star. But Cloud City is…” Christine chewed on her lip, and after a few more seconds, lit up with recognition. She held the radio up again, asking, “Dustin, you said Cloud City? You are in the ruins of Cloud City, is that right? Over.”

“Christine! Just say Cloud City! It’s a damn code! Over!”

“Whatever! Fine. Yes, I copy. Just stay where you are. We’re coming for you. Over.”

“Okay. But be careful! And remember Ackbar’s advice! Over!”

“Ten-four. Over and out.”

“Where are they?” Mrs. Byers asked, as Christine put down the radio. “They’re okay?”

“They’re fine, for now. They’re hiding in a junkyard on the edge of town.”

“How’d you get that from Cloud City?” Nancy asked in bewilderment.

“Traitors,” Christine explained. “We were at the junkyard yesterday after the funeral. It’s where we were when Lucas realized El was messing with the compasses so we couldn’t get to the gate. In Empire Strikes Back, it’s where Han and Leia meet up with Lando, who turns out to…”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hopper interrupted. “You know how to get there?”

Christine frowned, admittedly a little annoyed. “Yeah.”

“Good. Get in the car. No, not you!” Hopper held up a hand as everyone in the room made for the door. “Blondie comes for navigation. The rest of you stay here.”

“Hopper,” Joyce pleaded. “If the kids are…”

“You just heard the kids are fine. This is not up for discussion. Stay here, keep your heads down, and wait.”

He did not allow room for argument as he walked out of the room.

Christine hesitated. After so long split up from Nancy, she suddenly didn’t want to leave her again.

“I should go,” she said awkwardly.

Nancy nodded. “Just be careful, okay? And…remember Ackbar’s advice. Whatever that means.”

They smiled at each other, and Christine rushed out the door. Chief Hopper was waiting not all that patiently in the car. It was already running when she got in, and he was pulling out before she got her seatbelt on.

“It’s a junkyard on the west end of town,” she started to explain as he drove. “We got there by following the train tracks and cutting through the forest, but I think if you went up through Randolph Way…”

“One thing at a time,” said Hopper, shutting her down. “First thing’s first. We’re going back to the station.”

“What? Why?”

“So I can get my damn car. You see me driving five kids around in this piece of junk? I don’t think so.”

“What, you’re worried we’re gonna cramp your style?” Christine glared at him. “There are government agents out hunting them down! We don’t have time to…”

“We have time to do whatever I say we do! We are getting. The police van. Besides, it gets us more clearance and less attention. They could’ve seen this car when we went to your house.”

“Right,” Christine said moodily. “Cause the Chief’s car is so much more inconspicuous. Especially if they know you’re onto them.”

Hopper did not seem to appreciate her clear logic. He didn’t yell at her, but he did take the next turn hard enough to slam her into the door. She grunted, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Just please do me a favor, kid,” he said slowly, “and do not speak unless I ask you for directions. Please.”

“…Christine.”

“What?”

“My name is Christine Walcott,” she repeated. “Not kid. And not Blondie.”

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the drive.

Once they got to the station, Hopper disappeared inside for a few minutes for “supplies.” Christine twitched anxiously in the car while she waited, checking the clock obsessively as more and more time slipped by. She was annoyed to find when he returned that “supplies” had meant some more bullets for his gun, a pack of cigarettes, and a cup of coffee. It was one of the reasons she didn’t object when he handed her Jonathan’s keys and went to his own car. He would follow her up to the junkyard, but she needed to stop at least a hundred yards away, just in case.

Regardless, there was already a pattern emerging. Hopper must have sensed it too. That was why he was out of his car with a hand on Christine’s door before she could so much as turn the engine off.

“You are staying here,” he instructed clearly. “Do you understand?”

“But…”

“They have guns, and you do not. I have a gun, and you do not. If things go south, I am going to tell the kids to run this way, and you will drive like hell to get them out of here. Nod if you understand.”

Christine huffed, but nodded.

It made her tremblingly nauseous to watch Hopper pull out his gun. He checked his bullets, clicked off the safety, and secured the brimmed hat on his head. He nodded to her once, and then disappeared up over the hill. Her eyes stayed locked on the empty grass.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

She counted slowly, probably slower than real seconds lasted. Christine wasn’t sure why she was timing him. She wasn’t even sure she was. She restarted every time she go to ten, and had forgotten how many times she’d started over. More than anything, it was to make sure she kept breathing. If she held her breath as long as her worries wanted her to, the kids wouldn’t have a conscious getaway driver to help them.

Hopper’s hat broke the surface of the horizon. He walked briskly back down the slope, caught her eye, and nodded once. Christine’s heart jumped into her throat. A moment later, the kids began to spill over the hilltop.

Christine nearly tumbled out of the car in her rush to get to them. Dustin hit her first, breaking into a sprint and slamming his body into her arms. She rocked back and hugged him tight. He didn’t seem to care that his hat had fallen off any more than she cared that his headset was jabbing her in the ribs. She was just relieved he was okay.

“Thank God,” she said, trying to conceal the weight of her worry. “Your mom would’ve killed me if I let you get kidnapped by the government.”

“Don’t be stupid, Chrissy,” he replied, the words muffled by her shirt. “They wouldn’t have kidnapped us. We’d be dead.”

“Thanks, Dust.” She laughed, and her voice broke. “That’s really comforting.”

“Don’t worry. Eleven wouldn’t let that happen. There was this huge car chase, right? And we had four of those big vans after us! Three from the back, one from the front. And just when it looked like we were gonna be a double decker van-bike sandwich, Eleven flips the whole van over our heads! It was crazy! Aw, you shoulda been there!”

“Yeah…Yeah, I should’ve.”

Dustin pulled back, rubbing his face where the buttons of her work uniform had left circles in his cheek. “It’s okay. You came back.”

Christine smiled and kissed him on top of the head. She did the same for Mike and Lucas as they came running up next. Mike wrinkled his nose and batted her away, while Lucas stammered and blushed.

“You guys okay?” she asked.

“Uh, y-yeah,” said Lucas, nodding frantically. “We’re cool. We’re—We’re good.”

“Is Nancy okay?” Mike asked nervously.

“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s waiting back at the house.”

“Who’s house? And how does she know about this anyway?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Where’s…?”

“Chrissy?”

Eleven was finally standing at the bottom of the hill. She was still wearing her tube socks, her blue jacket, her pink dress—only now they were dingy and covered with dirt. It was covered her face too, clumsily washed off but still leaving her ashen. Her wig was long gone, but the same big, brown eyes stared up at her, overflowing with relief.

“Oh, thank God.”

Christine pushed right past Dustin. She rushed over to Eleven and dropped down to her knees, pulling her into a fierce hug. It took Eleven a few seconds to respond. But slowly her arms came up, and she wrapped them around Christine just as tightly. Christine ran a hand over Eleven’s head, and pressed her face into her dress. One of them was shaking, but she couldn’t be sure which one. So she was extra careful to keep her eyes dry when she pulled back.

“Are you okay?” she asked Eleven. “Are you hurt?”

Eleven shook her head, wiping her eyes.

“I was so worried. When you didn’t come back, I… Why did you run?”

“I…hurt Lucas,” she said haltingly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, El,” Christine assured her. She held Eleven’s face in her hands, and ran a thumb over her cheek. “It was an accident. And if half of what Dustin says is true, it sounds like you’ve more than made up for it. I’m…I’m glad you’re back.”

She smiled, and Eleven mirrored the action. “Me too.”

Hopper cleared his throat behind them, looking awkward.

“Not to break up the reunion speeches, but I had to knock out three agents in the junkyard, so. Can we maybe get a move on before they wake up?”

“Yeah,” Christine agreed, standing once more. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Thanks.” Hopper headed back to his van, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Everyone jump in. Wheeler in shotgun, the rest of you in the back. And all of you keep your heads down. The last thing we need is for one of you to be seen.”

He swung the back door open, and turned around to find he was talking to empty air. The children had all piled into the crappy Ford, their babysitter ringleader in the front. She started the car up and pulled into a U-turn. Pulling up alongside him, she rolled down her window.

“Coming, Chief?”

She smiled, which was annoying. What was worse was the way every kid in the car grinned with her, the girl in the passenger seat and the three boys stuffed in the back. He knew there wasn’t enough time on the clock to argue, but he sure would’ve liked to.

“Just keep your heads down,” he grumbled. “And don’t get shot.”

The curly haired one gave him a salute, and they all slid down in their seats as Christine pulled onto the road. Hopper slammed the back door shut and climbed into the driver seat. He preferred a hangover to kids these days.

#ocappreciation #fyeahstrangerthingsocs #stranger things oc #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #chapters #chapter 18

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insideyourdream · 5 years ago

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missoneminute · 6 years ago

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Les Inrockuptibles Interview with Peter Doherty

May 2019-05-15

Transcribed by @theoriginalcollectorglitter12 Thank you!

Rescued by a fortnight of excess, Peter Doherty has just celebrated his 40 years and, health flickering but inspiration intact, reveals a peaceful album. meeting with a lucid rock-star for whom composing is life itself.

The day before our meeting, Peter Doherty celebrated his 40th birthday in Margate, a small seaside resort in the south-east of England where he now lives. Looking at the photos and videos of his evening with Carl barat on Instagram, we must admit that we had some doubts about his ability to tele-transfer to Paris the next morning. He is however at the rendezvous, to charm a whole team photo with his sparkling banter, to seize his acoustic guitar very often for improvised serenades, to tell his incredible journey to get here in full strike customs.

This unpredictable side, which has always been part of his personality, is as much a strength as a weakness. His fans have learned to accept that anything is possible with him: he can decide on a whim, to play in the intimate setting of La Maroquinerie early April, announcing just a week in advance. a month later, he may be forced to cancel a concert in Belfast by invoking the most far-fetched (but truthful) excuse that has ever been heard: he was struck down by a hedgehog sting he was trying to remove from the mouth of his dog. To love the music of Peter Doherty has long been to defend an underrated singer, portrayed as a cartoon character by the tabloids, better known for his legal troubles and his excesses of narcotics than for what he does best: write songs. When he sits by our side, in a baste deserted room, the agitation that accompanies him usually disappears. "I do not understand how a song is born, I do not really have the technique to write, all I know is that it's essential for me to have these songs," he says. Songs in my life, I'm hoping it'll be okay as soon as I make new songs, that's all that matters, if I can still compose, it'll be okay. " We ask him if his creativity had already abandoned him. He whispered, "I do not even dare to whisper it, it would be my death sentence, it's a permanent threat, I do not even want to think about it, it'll break my heart, and I'll be done." All those who did not pay dearly for the skin of Peter Doherty, predicting that he would join the club of 27, were wrong, fortunately. We find his troubadour quickdraw on the cover of his new album, signed Peter Doherty and the puta madres. "It's a picture of the wall of my room, where I drew my figure, on the peeling paint. The final visual was supposed to be seen from the front, with the title along the right side, but the result has been rotated for a reason that escapes me. "

When the Englishman lets things escape, it can also give moments of grace, as evidenced by the opening of the album, All at sea, a jewel of tenderness and regret. This piece is one of the treasures that had been dormant in her drawers for years - this is also the case for two other songs here in the credits, A fool there was and Narcissistic teen makes first XI, sometimes heard in concert or on acoustic sessions. For the record, this sensitive storyteller was used, in the early 2000s, to put online demos he had just recorded, a taste of sharing that reached its peak in 2006 when the entire file "my music "from his computer appears on the internet. We ask him how these three songs came back to him, which we thought were lost forever in the limbo of his memory: "they never left me, just to find the right moment and the right people with whom I could to play them, people who would not hurt me by talking or changing rooms while I'm making them listen to what I believe are some of the most beautiful things I've ever done. A fool there was very important to me, All at sea too, the Puta Madres understand them. "

We are curious to know if it happens to him to listen again all these old sessions which are still available on the net; "For a long time, no, but recently, I've reviewed them all during an emotional night, I've read everything on youtube and read all the comments - I do not understand why these songs had evaporated while I'm so proud of it, not that I'm desperate for commercial success, or even fortune, maybe they're even more valuable if not many people know them on stage, I never prepare a setlist. Song just calls another, like a memory that goes back to the surface. "

After playing with libertines, babyshambles and various ephemeral collaborators (Wolfman, littl'ans, Graham Coxon, the streets, dot allison ...), Peter Doherty surrounds himself today with a mixed and cosmopolitan group named The puta madres, after the favorite expression of their Spanish drummer Rafa Rueda. This troupe also includes a Welsh guitarist, 2 French, and the prodigious American violinist Miki Beavis. By crossing their fingers so that the brexit never materializes, they carry this album towards folk lands and relaxed atmospheres. This reflects the relaxing setting in which they have recorded : in a family house on the heights of Etretat with a view overlooking the sea and wild cliffs for 4 days last summer. Far from the sloppy draft of Hamburg Demonstration, his last solo album in 2016, the songwriter has regained his superb and his voice on these touching ballads, in turn intense and patraques, imperfect and overwhelming. his season in hell seems behind him.

Change of scenery has obviously made him feel good. For 2 years Peter Doherty lives in Margate, a small town in Kent, by the sea : "lately, I spent a lot of time alone with my 2 dogs, a husky and a malamute, they need freedom, open spaces and attention, so I walk them on the beach or on the beach. It’s a very peaceful place, Margate has a special water, a special light, people like Keats, TS Eliot, Stephen Spender, Coleridge and Dickens lived in the area. Albion Rooms, the Libertines studio-hotel, Carl even has a license to sell liquor, so we have a bar in the basement, The Wasteland, we're going to put a scene for small local concerts, sessions It is still a small town, but it is booming, sometimes there is a strange smell that comes from the sea: the gentrification will never pass by! We have space to breathe calm and think about what you want to do is the last stop of several train lines, if you are in London, lost or broken aye, you jump on a train to get away from it all and find yourself in Margate. Terminus. You wake up with a start because someone shakes you saying, "Hey, you can not stay here, get off the train!" you leave the station that leads directly to the beach, and here you are in Margate. if we can see beyond its dangerous side and its gangs, chances are there will be a way out, loneliness, peace. "

It is there that the Libertines have planned to record their new album, still under construction, just like the hotel they want to open in the coming months. These vast projects, this serenity, have not, however, completely softened the rocker with the airs of a cursed poet, who continues to flirt with danger. We can not help but notice that people are constantly coming and going around and asked if it is a way for him to escape the routine. he takes the time to think before making an implacable and distressing statement : "I would love to have a boring, predictable routine that would make me work all the time with the same people I love and respect, but People are disappearing from my life: I think they need to protect themselves, I have no structure, no discipline, many people with whom I have collaborated, like Carl or Graham, need to relate to landmarks and protect themselves from self-destruction, they do not want to risk falling into the precipice. "

His palpable passion for music obsesses him. on his new album, he pays a vivid tribute to two of his heroes on Someone else to be, taking up passages from Velvet Underground's Ride into the Sun and Oasis's Do not look back in anger. In full interview, he sings us the beginning of a piece that haunts him at the moment, Signed D.C de Love, that he will play at La Maroquinerie three weeks later. When asked how he discovered the power of music, he responds that the click occurred when he heard Smiths' I started something I could not finish, and immediately he played a good half of the music. The song in decorticating why each verse resonated so well in him : "all I want is to write a song that touches people, which makes them exclaim: 'but what is it? ? how dare you?' I try to find a way to express who I am and what I feel, what I look for in music is to find myself there.” A powerful impact but a shaky beauty, this new album reflects wonderfully its author, both fragile and indestructible.

#peter doherty

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wenorawade · 6 years ago

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rubytx33-blog · 6 years ago

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