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marlasomething · 2 years

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(my) Mag a Week: The Brothers Non-Slayer

Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened. This week I am publishing late...I have a hell of a week, sorry.

For today I rolled Archivist!Tim (FINALLY A NORMAL ONE) and The Web (Eps. 58-65).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: THIS IS A HEAVY ONE --> Domestic abuse, murder, explicit violence, child neglet, manipulation, police brutality, trauma of varios kinds, corruption of the "soul", paranoia

Also on AO3!

Statement of Ashley Giles, regarding how he believes he has managed to sell his soul to his lawyer (more or less).

Recorded by Timothy Stoker, Headless Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Sometimes I wish I was actually guilty of the charges I was being accused of. At least, that way, I could…I don’t know; feel less guilty about the crimes I am committing now? You know, since I would already be a “felon in soul” or something on that style.

That is not the case, though: I am completely innocent. I didn’t kill my brother. That cop did, that bloody cop did kill him and all because…all because he was delusional and thought he had found an actual vampire and, er, murdered him.

Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds: in less than ten lines I have already told you that I am currently involved in multiple criminal activities, that I was accused of murdering my very own brother and that he himself had killed someone believing he was a Hammer’s classical bloodsucker. Oh, yes, and don’t forget there is a cop in this story, which that makes it a bit more terrible.

However, this is not a Goncharov type of story. There is no tragedy larger than life taking place, neither a lot of mafia-esque characters going around. It is just the story of two brothers, one sick in the head and other sick in the leg, and how the system just managed to push them aside until working to be paid by the hour in the most shameful of positions was all they had left.

It all began when my father died and we were left alone with our mother. I have not mistaken the words: the man that died was just my biological father, for my older brother (Iago) was the son of our mother’s first husband, who hung himself when he was barely a baby. However, we both went by her maiden’s surname because…I actually don’t know why, sorry about the side-note.

My father was a complete asshole that drunk himself to the tomb and that, one evening he was feeling especially outraged by how dumb and useless and lacking of any remarkable future I was, came to me as if he was possessed by some evil deadly spirit and started hitting me until I was left unconscious.

Iago did nothing; he was too scared to even move. My mother locked herself in the bathroom and pretended nothing was happening, almost as if we were no longer her family, just people that happened to look just a lot like her. My father went out, probably to try to cheat on his wife just to realise he couldn’t get it up even if he took a full box of Viagra (which I hoped he would have done, being the chances of giving him a heart attack quite a delightful thing to look forward).

Meanwhile I…I crawled to the kitchen, since there was a framed picture of the four of us in my room and I couldn’t even begin to handle the thought of facing it for the time being.

Maybe, if Mister Sinclair had appeared back them; I would be able to even remember him with something ever so slightly reminiscent to kindness. But he didn’t, and I was just there, alone, crying in the kitchen while trying not to look at my mangled leg.

My leg started to go black and, since my parents would do nothing to put a remedy to it and I was…rather afraid of hospitals as a concept, I took it upon me to find how to get it back without dying in the process.

As the teenager with zero to none medical knowledge that I was, I couldn’t; so I ended up cutting it off with the help of my brother.

That is exactly how we found out my brother was sick in the head. In some manner at least, though it isn’t as if doctors ever diagnosed him properly and, as you likely can imagine, we didn’t have the kind of money to get an expert opinion.

He blanked out. Not in shock because of the blood, not because he felt asleep due to tiredness, not because he was high or wasted. No, he just spaced out. He sometimes did, I just hadn’t realised until then.

What a brother I was…

Anyways, I was about to bleed out when he came back to his senses and, in spite of my prejudices, in spite of the more than certain repercussions from our parents…he called an ambulance.

I, obviously, didn’t die and we both silently formalised the fact that Iago wasn’t ok either. Our mother stayed home and…my dad got infected. After cutting himself in the doctors’ bathroom, where he entered without permission, feeling somehow entitled to use “the best facilities” due to, well, I don’t know: most resistant liver ever to have been born on this wrecked Earth?

Anyways, it is not important. My father died of a hospital infection before I was even released and, since both Social Services and The Police believed this was all related to the jerk that had just become a corpse; they released us to go to our mom.

To find she had flown away, never to be seen by either of us again.

I can’t say I blame her. At that moment, I was fifteen and Iago, seventeen; in her old-fashioned mind, we were likely old enough to survive on our own, and she had had enough of a life she had never asked for.

I am not saying I forgive her either, nor that what she did is ok by any means. Just that I understand how she came to be so broken and willing to make such a harsh decision.

The both of us, being the brainless teenagers we were, refused to call anyone and chose to fight for ourselves.

Oh my god we were so stupid, so bloody stupid…

Flash-forward to almost ten years later; when my brother decided that vampires were, obviously, a real thing.

Now, my brother became extremely superstitious the moment we started living on our own, almost as if he hoped that, if he deposited part of his soul on growing a faith, the World would give something back to him for his…devotion? Patience? Open- eyed mind?

Among all those things he began to take a liking to investigate monsters, the sooner they had begun being spoken around humans, the better. I considered this a waste of time, especially since he had less free time than me as I could work less hours since got extremely tired much easier due to the whole, well, only-one-leg thing (and that my hand-made fake one wasn’t exactly the epitome of comfort).

He wouldn’t listen, though, and he should have! He should, and, then, he would still be alive.

And I would still have the whole of my soul with me.

It all happened one day I left him alone to have a date because, yes, even in the life of barely-above-misery that we were living I refused not to have fun. Not to, basically, Live . So I kissed my brother goodbye in the cheek as he complained we were both far too manly for those gestures and headed back to the Soho.

Meanwhile, my brother got one of his attacks and, when he came back to himself, there was a rail thin person with their mouth disproportionally opened right next to him. Layers and layers of shark-like-teeth were about to close around his neck while a tubular tongue of an unnatural purple colour twirled with anticipation from the back of their vocal cavity. It could barely be seen, but, the moment you did, there was not mistake possible to be made.

On an act born out of pure reflexes, he pushed the creature to the window and threw our only remaining candle to hit It, just in case.

It burned to the ground.

Yes, I know, if your brother with, very likely, medical mental-health problems, clear traumas and a life-time of being worn out had told you this…you would probably have not believed him but, here is the thing: I know my brother, he would have never, ever, lied about any of this.

If he told me so, this was what had happened. At least, from his perspective point of view.

This doesn’t mean, of course, that I condemned his behaviour or encouraged it in any way imaginable, but I couldn’t change it. He had found a mission and started to dedicate more and more time to find and take down vampires (and, apparently, werewolves and insect-like-people too? I am not certain about that point, sorry), occupying this hobby of his more and more time while real-life occupations mattered to him less and less by the hour.

I tried not be mad at him for it, I had also screwed up a few too many times before and he had always been exemplar until that point, but I couldn’t help but letting an animosity as nothing I have ever felt before come into me and fill my entire soul. Everyone around us noticed, too, and the whispers about us began to grow; the rumours about how the two brothers that had always had their backs were about to stab each other.

All nonsense, that much I knew. Or, at least, I think I did.

One day, as I was wondering around the market, I saw a knife with an intricate cobweb design on sale and, somehow, I knew I had to buy it. After all, I was a disabled person living on a very dangerous city; it was a cautious measure to be

taken. As I bought it, I was told that my brother and another customer had bought its

twin , but I didn’t truly process the actual words, just getting the idea that

my brother had a fucking knife as a shiver run all through my back.

What if my brother thought I was a vampire too?

So, I made up my mind: that very night I was going to go and find my brother dear and begged him to come to his senses.

Little did I know, he was bringing his knife too, and he wasn’t the only one with one of them. By the time I arrived, he was bleeding out, his knife fallen next to him and a figure standing nearby. There were a sandy-blonde haired female-presenting person, in their mid-thirties, muscular and with a face of not being messed up with.

They were holding a knife, just like ours and, when they realised I was in that very same position (if you could equiparate my utter harmless pose to their deadly one) to her clear murderous aspect), they shrugged, muffled a “you are likely not much better” and knocked me down.

I woke up already at the station, handcuffed and with a concussion that could only be rivalled by the one thanks to which I lost my leg. The first thing I did was, obviously, asking whether my brother was ok or not. By the cops’ reactions I could already tell the whole story: he had been found dead and I was the main and only suspect.

I even have the murder weapon with me! What an easy win at the trial; or that is what they thought.

They didn’t count with Ronald Sinclair.

Ronald Sinclair is a private lawyer whose usual fee I couldn’t have payed even with all the money I had earned in my entire life. However, from time to time, his firm takes in some free cases, usually in exchange of recruiting whoever they chose to represent. This might sound cynical and harsh, but I was almost certain he had chosen me because they were lacking on a corporative image including someone with a visible physical disability.

I wouldn’t complain, though. A stable job! Well-payed! And the only thing I would have to endure would be condescending looks from time to time was perfectly fine with me.

Oh, and the whole not-being-declared guilty of murder, of course.

Since the first moment we had a proper lawyer-client meeting, I sensed something was off. First of all, the contract I signed said that I bounded myself to work with Mother & Co. Associates as long as my thread remained intact. It made no sense to me, and it was rather ominous, but I wanted to get out of there and I wasn’t getting a better change, so I signed it and, as I did, I swear

something was guiding my hand.

I’ve haven’t had such a good calligraphy never before (and never after that signature).

The trial went as smoothly as possibly imaginable and, still, I didn’t feel comfortable for a single second.

Yes, Ronald allowed me to talk and let me explain everything to him before each session so he could defend me and teach me how to answer every possible question those answers based on what had really went down; but somehow…each time, he just, he just managed to convince me things were to be understood in a particular manner, usually not the same I was coming from beforehand, and that, actually, this was what I meant in a much more succinct and clear way.

And I believed it, somehow, it wasn’t until I was alone that I started to point out the moment in which I could have said something, in which I have thought

something and just…let it go. And, here is a very funny thing, when a version of reality is only in your head, completely incorporeal and the other one is being spoken, real sound waves sending the message across space and time…no matter how strong your convictions, one is clearly going to bury the other in the mud.

I won the case, he even found the cop who was the actual killed, whose name was Alice Tonner, and she got convicted for it (to what he smiled a bit to widely and said, without further explanation, she works for the competence ).

Then, I started working for Mother & Co.

It was all paralegal at first; they paid for a speed education so I had the the basicest and I am rather proud of being able to say that, from working at housewares, I learned pretty quickly and handle my way around better than much of the people with fancy degrees that worked alongside me.

Then, more morally dubious stuff started to come in right to me desk and…I don’t want to keep writing for much longer (my hand starts to hurt and, with the leg thing is more than enough, thank you very much), so I will just tell you about the very first time all red flags started to show up in my head.

And, as the fucking coward I am, I did nothing against it.

What is even worse, I am not even sure if I wanted…if I

want to do something about it.

There was this kid; Wesley, he was called, that had got into trouble with his step-mother, claiming she had been substituted and was no longer the woman his biological mother had married thirteen years before.

He was making charger and with everything he had in his entire persona (both practical and metaphysical ) to take her down and we, well, we defended the mother. Also known as the scariest woman I have ever faced while being also the most vanilla person in all of Creation.

You know what is the worst part? This Wes kid…he was a lot like Iago had been. He was cunning, hot-heated, a bit of a nerd even if it was of the things usual nerds would mock him for, too naïve while being too mature…Shit! They even dressed a bit alike!

I have always been instinctively good with technology so, the moment I had access to a proper education on the subject, I wasn’t just good, I excelled. So, what I had to do was simple: play with Wes, twist his little world up-side-down via the Big Net so by the time the trial began, he is the least believable person in the history of trials.

Not only that: while I made conversation with the boy letting the precise words to rise his curiosity in the most troublesome spaces, to generate nonsense questions that had no answer so he believed he had found The Holy Grail of information. By the end of this process, if I did well my job, his behaviour would belong to us as it truly never belonged to him in the first place.

I was... am amazing at my job, so I didn’t do well . I did

AMAZING !

I was conscious that what I was doing was bad. I knew deep down the boy was right, even if the pictures of his step-mother clearly matched the ones of our client. And I wanted to do something, I wanted, I don’t know, go full American movie and renounce my freedom sentence.

However, every time I felt as acting, something else happened. Usually, small

events where to be blamed: a text message, a person in the office suffering from some health issue, a casual meeting in the elevator (and, you know, I cannot simply take the stairs), a song sounding in the background…just the exact thing to trigger in me a thought that, sooner or later, made me realised I should act.

So I didn’t, though until the very last moment I thought that, in the end, I would be the hero. I would defeat the bad guys. Like Iago would.

That is what heroes do, right? And what wasn’t I except the hero of my own

story?

Well, apparently, I was the villain for, the moment the trial began, my boss came into my office and told me I had to tewak a little bit the online presence of Wesley. Not only the one that I had affected directly, but the previous one too. Not to change, steal, erase or manipulate anything on itself, just alter the order they were presented, the elements external to Wes’ presence around which each file appeared.

I am ashamed to admit I actually enjoyed the challenge and put an extra effort to it.

When, in the trial, they tried to prove that the recent mental and sentimental state of Wesley was not representative of who he had been when he had begun this whole

Hamlet-esque fight; his very own lawyers almost dropped death at the stage when they started to realise the information they had wasn’t exactly accurate…once again, as I began to feel bad, I wanted to do something but…the ambiance (we were watching on video the trial as it happened, I still don’t understand how they have access to basically all cameras; the only explanation I received “the pathetic old man owes us” ), the interactions…before I could realise it I felt fitting in this web of people I hadn’t actually choose, behaving that someone that wasn’t who I truly was.

Though I might be becoming him piece by piece.

The alleged fake step-mother won the trial, delighted us with her presence one more time and, in a very Ofelia manner, Wesley drowned himself. I even went to the funeral. I was devastated, I felt hopeless, for Wes but also for myself; especially because part of me was, still is, proud of me being there, of my actions having such a determinant impact on someone’s life.

It scares me, it scares me that I am losing myself in this other me that is still me and yet…sorry, I am rambling. Please, take this statement and, I don’t know what kind of influence you handle but, if you can destroy them (I am not even to pretend I am in too deep now), do it.

For me, for Wes, for my brother, for so many other (except all the cops they have ruined, there had to be something good about Mother & Co. ).

Statement ends.

Wow, Ash; that is…wow (since you opened so much to me, I hope you don’t mind I call you Ash). Good calligraphy, by the way.

I remember Ronald Sinclair; he was the only survivor of Hill Top Road, after the fire that burned it to the ground. Apparently, he was hidden in the basement… He always wanted to go to that…sorry, I was digressing.

About the statement on itself: everything can be verified (well, except for the morally deplorable practices of a successful lawyer firm, but that is so blatantly true I guess there is no problem with believing that).

On a sad note, I looked upon what had happened with Ash and…quite recently, Ashley Giles got a promotion in Mother & Co. He seemed completely at home in the picture.

Embracing being a worst version of yourself…I wish I could say I cannot relate.

End recording.

SUPPLEMENTAL : Melanie King came by the other day and, when Jon went to talk to her, she started screaming. Not regular screaming, crazy-mad-out-of-your-mind-horror-movie-death kind of screaming. She kept saying that wasn’t Jonathan Sims and even texted Georgie Barker (who, apparently, used to know Jon…I want the full story there…) a picture for her just to say…that he was clearly Jon.

Sad, I thought I might count with an ally in Melanie, since I don’t feel comfortable about no one around here…

…I am royally screwed.

End recording.

#a mag a day #a mag a week #mag horror #statement #original statement #au #the magnus archives #fanfic #tma #magnuspod #timothy stoker #ronald sinclair #fic #the web #the hunt #mag #melanie king

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wonderfultoweird · 2 years

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MAG 59: Recluse

HILLTOP ROAD???

Raymond and Agnes let's go let's go

Kid's a little scrappy I can dig it

*says a bunch of nice things abt raymond* anyway I hated him

it's Raymond's dreamy eyes that made him docile

what's up with the sound waves in the backround

'somewhat of a recluse' no shit

Are you Fucking kidding me, its the fucking table

Oh it's Church Sunday! time for Church and Hypnotizing

AGNES CAME YES YES YES YES YES YES AHHAAHAHAH

awww thats so cute she was shyyy

so... The Spider was AFRAID of AGNES??? interesting interesting

aww she gave him a kiss and it didn't burn

I had always assumed it was ray who killed all of this children but-

JUST KIDDING JUST KIDDING HE'S LITERALLY CONTROLLING HIM AND LURING HIM AND HE'S GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM

oh my fucking god they're fucking dead

he went to the fucking TABLE ARE YOU SERIOUS

THE APPLE IN THE TREE THE TEETH THEY WERE THE CHILDRENS TEETH

AGNES SHE SAVED HIM OH MY FUCKING GOD it did burn damn

LMAO NOT JON GETTING SPOOKED

💔💔💔💔 i will cry poor jon

#MAG 59 #year: 2005 #Hill Top Road #Ronald Sinclair #Raymond Fielding #the Table #agnes montague #The Web #NotThem #tma lb #tma liveblog #drafts ed.#the desolation

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ubomag-blog1 · 2 years

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Get Your Board and Card Games at The Game Getaway in Folsom, CA

Owner Ronald Petersen owns Game Getaway where he features some nostalgic games such as Monopoly, Chess and Scrabble, just in time for the holidays. He also has some new and unique games like Tokaido and Catan available for purchase.

By Aaris A. SchroederEditor-In-ChiefWelcome to The Game Getaway, located in the heart of Old Folsom, CA where you can pick up some of your favorite games!Owner Ronald Petersen owns Game Getaway where he features some nostalgic games such as Monopoly, Chess and Scrabble, just in time for the holidays. He also has some new and unique games like Tokaido and Catan available for purchase.Monday…

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#aaris a. schroeder #Board Games #Christmas Gifts #holidays #modern strategy #party games #Ronald Petersen #The Fat Rabbit #The Game Getaway #ubo mag #ubo magazine #ubomag

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zabala0z · 2 months

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Welcome to “New Fan consistently listens to TMA S2 while playing Minecraft and dying by a skeleton” I’m your host: the new fan. Or I dunno if I’m considered a new fan since I’m listening to s2 but I guess the podcast was made in 2016 and I finally got to it circa 2024. Anyways! Gotta get to it! Post too long already!

MAG 57: Personal Space

Eughhh this one is like top 5 TMA EPS of creeping me out. Lot of stuff here so I’m gonna talk a while. For example, Conrad Lukas was in charge of the project and the Lukas family was shown in Alone and Boatswain Call. Speaking of the latter, Nathaniel Lukas gave an investment to the project. He was the captain of that ship in MAG 33. Pinnacle Aerospsce is majority owned by the Fairchild family WHO CANNOT STAY OUT OF PEOPLES BUSINESS 💀

Carter, the guy who did the project, also had that feeling of being utterly alone in this damn void. He said the line between reality and dreaming was blurred, finding himself in space, a graveyard or an empty ocean. The latter two I think are a reference to Alone and High Pressure respectively which all have the theme of “loneliness, stranded, etc” in common.

The whole “being alone in a large empty space” has been a pattern. The Fairchild family features in that theme and even the Lukas family in Alone. Optic Solutions Limited is based in Norway but the only connection I can figure out is that Jurgen Leitner was from Norway but maybe there was something I missed. Anyways that’s it. God 😭

Nothing much on MAG 58: Rations. Another kind of emphasis on meat. I felt so bad for the unknown lady :( (EDIT 9/2: Benjamin Carlisle shares the same last name as Toby Carlisle and both have very prominent meat themes. God.)

MAG 59: Recluse

Oh boy Raymond Fielding. From what I heard before, I thought he was a good guy since like y’know he took in troubled kids but noooo. He seems to be like the same thing as that woman from Children of the Night. Creepy spider thing. Also; that damn table. Now we finally know what happened to the middle of the table, like the square. Also the apple; Same apple Evo found in burned out. Even described the same. Agnes also, in my theory, a good person because she kissed Ronald’s cheek before he left and then was persuaded to go down to the study where his cheek started burning and snapped him out of it. I think she’s good. I dunno what her deal is but still.

Also, again, the table. It’s definitely the same table. How did Graham find it? He said he bought it in a second hand shop in MAG 3. Did Ray donate it after the events? Did the house burn down but the table still survived? Like god. How did the middle part of the table end up under the tree? With the apple? I have so many questions.

MAG 60: The Observer Effect

Another eye theme. Not many connections but I’m assuming she wanted to blow up the Magnus institute with those barrels of petrol. Maybe she found out something her brother was involved in which she blamed the institute for. I think he didn’t die of a stroke because no one ever dies of natural causes, I mean come on.

Also. Jon getting an intervention is the funniest thing ever. Like he was like before “they’re avoiding me and giving me fruitful glances, they’re up to something” like my dude, they are worried about you 💀

“Yeah sorry if I’ve been distant”

“You literally watch my house”

“You rummaged through my desk”

“You said I was lying about a murder”

I’m literally cackling. They’re not even wrong, Jon is going a little cray cray from all this. He needs an emotional support cat I think.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma podcast #Zabala0z thoughts #I hate the Fairchild family already #also I don’t like the Lukas family #clearly the two families know each other and wanna inflict psychological trauma on everyone #ALSO I see the next episode has Basiras fellow officer #I’ve seen her name thrown around when I quickly skip over TMA posts to avoid spoilers in the tags #guessing she’s important #how is her nickname Daisy #how do you get that from Alice #sorry not important

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ihatebrainstorm · 8 months

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*cough*

Firestorm (Ronald) from Justice League Action is literally Rodimus and Professor Stein is either Megs or Mags you cannot change my mind

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bellewintersroe · 5 months

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Ron Speirs x ArmyNurse! OC

Margaret ‘Maggie’ Emerson, an army nurse attached to the 506th parachute infantry regiment, finds herself growing closer to her company’s captain, Ronald Speirs. With war drawing to an end, a side to the mystery that is Captain Speirs is revealed. Both Maggie and Ron have a difficult time resisting their attraction to one another.

This is the third part to this mini-series, here’s the link to part 2 where you can find the first piece also linked. This chapter is gonna be a cliche nurse has to do a physical exam of the soldier she has the hots for lmao- no warnings, just some swearing and mild sexual tension.

“More, switch lines with me.” Speirs head was tilted, looking towards the door ahead of him.

“Sorry, sir?” More frowned. Speirs held out a pack of cigarettes and More gladly accepted, swapping places with him in the line with no further questions asked. The Captain smirked to himself proudly as the door opened, revealing Sergeant Alley walking out with Maggie swiftly behind.

“Thanks, Mag’s.” Alley teased causing some of the men to jeer and tease. Maggie rolled her eyes, giving Alley a playful kick to the back of his leg before calling out a polite, “next.”

Ron stepped forwards and her lips immediately tugged up in a smile she couldn’t quite bite back. “Captain Speirs, sir, how are you?” The door closed behind them both. From the outside, Luz watched on, mouth hanging open in surprise.

“What the fuck?” He muttered to himself, stunned at the exchange. “Hey, Babe, you see that? Speirs swapping lines with More to get into Maggie’s?” George nudged at the man beside him.

“Oh yeah? Didnt think we’d see the day Captain Speirs was chasin’ a broad…” Babe snickered.

On the inside, Maggie double checked the door was shut before heading towards the check board to write down Speirs’ name and tick him off the checklist. She’s been doing physical exams all morning, blood tests, checking their skin, weight, height. Maggie thought she was growing bored until Captain Speirs walked in.

“Would you take your shirt off for me, real quick?” She muttered, without thinking too much. Ron sat in the chair, removing his tie and moving his hands to unbutton the shirt. “I gotta just get a few measurements from you before I do the blood test and X-ray, that alright?” Maggie turned around, digging her pen a little too hard into the paper when she saw him unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yeah.” He casually nodded, as she pursed her lips, averting her eyes, before remembering she had to take his blood pressure. Spinning around again she retreated the device, stethoscope also around her neck. Her face was flustered and she dared to look up to him when his shirt was completely discarded. Maggie had been around shirtless men all day, it didn’t discompose her until now.

Ron’s gazed followed her tensely, swallowing and tensing his jaw when she took a seat in front of him. Her hair was longer than Ron realised, blonder than the other nurses, curls that weren’t pinned back hanging loosely. He didn’t even care that she was probably breaking every uniform rule, he was too enthralled by her.

“I’ll take your blood pressure first, sir.” He held out an arm as she shuffled a little closer, wrapping the material around his bicep. His muscles were protruding, as were his veins. If Maggie felt like melting just from the sight of his arm then she was curious as to how she reacted from seeing the rest of his seemingly, very toned, body.

“Get the boring stuff out of the way.” She giggled, glancing up to him. “Taking bloods fun?!” Her head snapped up again, pausing her actions. “It is when they faint.” Shrugging, she continued wrapping the strap around his arm before pumping to tighten the machine and read his blood pressure.

“Who fainted?” He questioned, a slight smirk covering his face. “You wanna know?!” Her smile turned into a devious grin as his teeth dug into his bottom lip, nodding. “Well it’s confidential.” She borderline teased, Speirs felt his stomach tighten as he unconsciously leant a bit closer. Maggie noticed and stole another glance over his face. He was even more handsome close up…

“Secrets safe with me.” He played along, eyelids heavy as they met hers. For a second her lips were parted and straight, captivated in the way he was looking at her, the way he spoke- and that was totally unprofessional. Maggie sat up straighter before her lips stretched into a smile again, shaking off the urge to lean closer into him. Ron wondered if all her exams were like this, or if it was just for him.

“I’ll let you guess, sir.” Ron cleared his throat, pursing his lips and looking around to distract himself elsewhere. Maggie scribbled down his blood pressure, “blood pressures good.” She then commented as he quickly snapped back to her, remembering what she’d said before.

“Liebgott. Acts tough but screams at the sight of needles.” He quickly commented, resulting in her laughing a little harder now. “No not Liebgott, stand up for me, Ron.” The name slipped as he smiled to himself. Maggie pulled the stethoscope into her ears and stepped around him so she was directly ahead of him. God, he was muscular. Trim from the physical demand of war, but he was undeniably attractive. Maggie’s tongue pushed to the inside of her cheek, tilting her chin up to look up to him before she pressed the devise up to the left of his chest.

“Sorry it’s cold.” She whispered as Ron felt his breath hitch, heart rate immediately speeding. “Talbert then.”

“Didnt faint, but he nearly threw up.” Maggie muttered, listening to his heart. Ron chuckled as they shared a smile. “Your hearts going so fast.” It fell out of her mouth as he took a deep breath. “I wonder why?” His eyes gazed over her, causing her own pulse to accelerate. The tension was too much, they were so both openly showing their attraction to one another, Maggie thought she might faint if she swooned any harder.

“Take a deep breath for me, sir.” She then instructed, listening carefully. Everything sounded perfect as she listened once on his chest and again on his back- that was also incredibly muscular.

She stood on a literal stool chair in order to reach and measure his height perfectly, Ron’s head tilted up in amusement before she nudged his jaw so he was looking straight. “I’ve been doing this all day.” She reminded, scribbling some more notes down, taking his weight and then doing an x-Ray, hands adjusting his arms in the right position.

“What time do you get off later?” Ron questioned, whilst he was stood in the machine. “You have to ask me that now when I need you to be still?” She gazed up to him. “Would you rather me ask when I’m taking your blood?”

“Preferably not, no.” She smiled to herself, heading over and pushing his arms a little further back so she could get a better view of everything to send to the surgeons to check everything was okay.

“Keep your back straight, alright?” Her warm hands touched slightly the mid of his back nudging him a little more upright. “Alright.” Ron spared her another glance.

“Hold still a second.” A moment later the X-ray was taken. “4.” She then answered, Ron looked at her in a little confusion.

“You can take a seat again- and 4. You asked me what time I get off at?” Again, she felt a little shy, fumbling for the tourniquet and slowly dragging over the tray with everything laid out on. Ron smiled, feeling the words ready to spill off his lips. He knew he shouldn’t, but he so desperately wanted to completely break professionalism and ask her out. He saw how happy all those other men looked to be in her line, he could bet they’d try anything on with her now the war in Europe was over.

“Oh yeah.” Ron muttered to himself as she tightened it over his bicep. “Clench your fist for me.” She muttered, wondering what the question was for. His veins were already popping, she slapped on his skin slightly before returning to get a clear pair of gloves.

It was silent for a minute or so. Not awkward, just a little tense, the unspoken words making the two of them nervous. “Sharp scratch, you okay with needles?” She muttered. Ron gulped, tense at her presence, not the needle. “Okay.” Her whispered tone made him shiver as he watched her prick the inside of his vein, never being one to bother about injections or needles. Ron inhaled, looking up and her head snapped up, making sure he was okay.

“You okay?”

“Go out with me later.” The words on his lips were finally spoken, he blinked back to her, seeing her breath catch in her throat before she turned back to the vial and needle with a slight amusement.

“You’re asking me whilst I’m taking your blood?” She watched it fill up, looking like a freak as she smiled to herself uncontrollably. “Yeah.” His voice cracked, raspy from overuse.

“Okay.” She nodded, not really having to think twice about it. Ron had to tense his jaw to avoid smiling too much. “Great, I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Where are we going?” She removed the needle gently, dealing with that before disposing of everything she didn’t need and scribbling down everything she needed to, trying her hardest to focus on everything but the fact Captain Speirs had just asked her out.

“There’s a bar in town- don’t ask me to pronounce it.” Now she looked back to him, a smile reaching her eyes and nodding. “8 is good, I’ll see you then.”

“Good.” He gently spoke, looking back to her with a smile. Maggie hadn’t seen Speirs smile this much before. “You can put your shirt back on now, Ron.”

“Oh, right.” God, Ron had Maggie smiling like a lovesick teenager, even when he’d left and the next person, Malarkey had come in, Maggie was grinning like a goddamn child.

“Captain Speirs got you smilin’ like that?!”

#band of brothers x reader #ron speirs x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagines #captain speirs x reader #Speirs x reader

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aspookycrow · 9 months

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Why Hill Top Road is most certainly not the only portal:

A theory I didn’t type out because I had thought to eventually write a fanfic about it, but here you go because it’s the last possible day for me to post a called shot with my tma theory without tmp lore being involved.

Section 1 - The Tree

When we’re first introduced to Hill Top road in MAG 08, the statement giver provides us with his gut-check instinct about the tree on the premises, which cast odd shadows and “creeped him the hell out”, culminating with him feeling the need to destroy it.

This tree, as we all understand by the end of MAG 196 - This Old House, is a symptom of the crack in reality seeping out from underground, but let me draw your attention to MAG 127 - Remains to be Seen, where Jonah hires Doctor Jonathan Fanshawe to visit Albrecht von Closen in the Schwartzwald, otherwise known as the Black Forest in Germany. When his carriage arrives, what does he see but some absolutely heinous tree that absolutely must be killed:

and then, later on:

A single tree so inexplicably foul, it inspires the urge to kill it dead. Section 2 - Underground In MAG 59 - Recluse, the orphan Ronald Sinclair wanders into the basement of Hill Top Road, and recounts his observations of the room:

Compare this with Anya Villette’s description in 114 of the unlisted HTR basement, involving unfinished masonry and damp earth

As a curious parallel, in Albrecht Von Closen’s experience descending down the strange, isolated mausoleum in the Schwartzwald, the tree-punctured, decaying stone stairway yields to a room with books touching walls so weather exposed, the statement giver is unable to tell if the books are truly touching walls at all, or are in fact bordered in with bare soil.

And what item did Albrecht find conspicuously on the floor of Johann von Württemberg’s mausoleum, the subtler mystery detail hidden by the much thematically larger mystery of the books? Section 3 -The coin anomaly Inside this strangely placed, isolated mausoleum in the Scwartzwald, Albrecht von Closen found a coin, dated the year the count Ulrich II of Württemberg passed away.

Interestingly, in both our universe and the in-fiction one, Eberhard I succeeded Ulrich II, and not any bastard named Johann. Our dear Archivist comments on this in the same breath as dismissing it as coincidence, which historically means it definitely isn’t.

Preposterously familiar for anyone who’s spent any amount of time thinking about the obvious HTR-based disappearance/reappearance/time skipping of Anya Villette (MAG 114) and Anne Kasuma nee Willette (MAG 08). Kind of curious how this absolutely cursed book collection shows up in proximity of a cursed tree that people are urged to kill, in a weird mausoleum nobody has any record of, alongside a coin of a man who may not have existed and definitely wasn’t a lord or any sort of royalty and yet there’s currency commemorating him? This is not the end of the Scwartzwald anomalies, though. You see, this coin…went missing. Section 4 - Profound violence, and an eyeless man It’s unclear the circumstances of how Albrecht lost this coin, though given that he wrote his statement in 1816, I suspect it fell out from a pocket during Albrecht’s very next encounter which causes him to flee the Black Forest entirely. The encounter where the guy who keeps creeping around the outside of the mausoleum, issuing vaguely intimidating warnings, decides to accost Albrecht and reveals himself to have empty eye sockets, and the ability to “see” regardless.

The identity of the Eyeless man remains unknown definitively, as he runs off as if he was startled by some sort of predator, but in some Absolute Hunt Bullshit that seems to follow pretty much immediately, there was a murder that same year that investigators briefly thought was committed by Albrecht’s host and nephew, Wilhelm.

An eyeless man, a cursed tree, the profound violence of a hunt, the man who doesn’t belong with a history that couldn’t be true. And that’s not to mention the incredibly cursed vibes of both locations. To wit, in MAG 196 regarding the nature of these cracks in the universe:

Compare this to Albrecht’s description of the Schwartzwald:

AND ALL THIS IS TO SAY, in my heart I know it’s true that there are more portals, because as a patreon subscriber I got to submit a question for the Q&A And do you know what they did? Do you know what happened to my question? They reworded it beyond recognition, to a thing that was NOT what I was on about at all. I asked about the potential for other Cracks in reality to exist currently, like the hints for Schwartzwald or The Eschatology Door in Paris, and do you know what they rewrote the question to be about (but still put my name on so I KNOW it was supposed to be mine) (also please dont go find it, it’s embarrassing how they butchered my ask and also it has my human name on it and I don’t know yall like that tbh, so just take my word for it)? The question they answered was if different places and countries had their own regionally specific fear domains, like Paris for example. Which like, obviously?? I forget how exactly they rephrased it, I was on a walk listening and my ears went hot and my eyes went wide and I KNEW I HAD SOMETHING WITH A MELTY HOT CORE OF TRUTH TO IT. Pure adrenaline, sign me up for the Fucked Up Red String Tower where People Judge Marble Domain I guess, but I feel it in my GUTS now. And you know, maybe the question was rewritten by a staff member before they ever saw it, any number of things could have happened along the pipeline. It seems bizarre to me that they’d even leave it in after choosing to rework it that hard, though. But I’ll tell you what, the question posed was about cracks in reality, not fear domains. And I feel CLOSE to something. In Annabelle’s own words,

Indeed, few have ever thought much of it at all. Perhaps there are many such places across the Earth. Perhaps it is unique. Certainly, no-one has known either way.

(PS don’t get me started on MAG 134 - Time of Revelation, DON’T GET ME STARTED ON IT)

Transcripts lovingly taken from https://snarp.github.io/magnus_archives_transcripts/ All the screenshots have alt texts with the contents in plain text. Mainly, the goal I set here was to get it out there before TMP, so I can feel very very clever if they ever address it. Also, this is my first effortpost using this editor and BOY YA'LL WEREN'T KIDDING.

#tma theory #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #mag 114 #mag 127 #mag 23 #mag 08 #tma #mag 196

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sherryaptx4869 · 2 years

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"Tinanggap kita."

Uttered by Klay's biological father when she went to his mansion to ask for money to pay for her mom's debt. Tinanggap daw siya nito kahit na hindi naman nito mahal si Narsing, nanay ni Klay, at produkto siya ng isang gabing pagkalasing. Implying na kahit hindi siya sinuportahan sa paglaki niya ay sapat nang tinanggap siya nito.

I can't remember if this was verbatim na sinabi ng stepdad nya. Basta this was when she confronted him nung na-witness niyang sinasaktan nito yung nanay niya. Ipinamukha ng tito Ronald niya na nung iniwan sila ng papa niya, ay tinanggap nito silang mag-ina at pinakain pa nga daw.

Both father figures ang nagsabi nito kay Klay. Male figures na dapat ay pumoprotekta sa kanya at binibigyan siya ng pagmamahal. Pero parehong a$sh0les and $hitty persons. Parang sinasabi nila na kailangang ikatuwa pa ni Klay na tinanggap nila siya 😒

Then came Fidel's love confession. Tinanggap daw niya nang buo si Klay kahit na may mga katangian siyang nakakayamot at maaaring magpahamak kay Fidel. But still, despite knowing these quirks of Klay, iniibig daw niya ito (excuse me while i swoon 😍).

Same phrase, but different meanings - (1) her dad, (2) her stepdad, (3) Fidel na laging ka-barda niya.

My takeaway, sana yung phrase na "Tinanggap kita" has a more positive connotation for Klay because it's coming from a place of love *ehem Fidel ehem.*

Images (c) GMA Network

#maria clara at ibarra #filay #filay thoughts #fidel x klay #fide reyes y maglipol #maria clara infantes #mcai #barbie forteza #david licauco

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jordankennedy · 11 months

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elias is one of those people who i cannot imagine existing outside the workplace. it's like how students cannot comprehend teachers have lives of their own. once the office hours are over he collapses comically onto his desk and enters a deep slumber he can only come out of at eight o'clock the next morning. and he can only watch ghost hunt uk during office hours. because what else should he do.

you know how in mag 59 ronald sinclair is describing hill top road and he says raymond fielding’s study is in the basement and he expects it to have like a desk and bookshelves and shit and then he goes down there and it’s actually a fucked up spider monster dungeon full of dead kids? okay. elias is the exact opposite of this to me. i bet he lives somewhere insanely creepy looking from the outside but inside it’s super weirdly corporate like the whole house is an extension of his office at the institute

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themagnustournament · 1 year

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Redemption Round 3 - Match 9

Meat has earned 133 Redemption votes, and is up against Recluse with 112 votes from RR2!

MAG 130 - Meat | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Lucia Wright, regarding a hole filled with meat.

MAG - 059 - Recluse | Spotify - Acast - YT | Wiki | Transcript

Statement of Ronald Sinclair regarding his years spent in a teenage half way house on Hill Top Road, Oxford.

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nawtponchoesquire · 1 year

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Oh god, this manga is about me: Dead Dead Demon's Dedede Destruction

On December 2nd, 2022, a YouTube livestream broadcasted the rollout of Northrop Grumman’s latest technological marvel to thousands of people. Countless hours of R&D, cutting edge engineering, and assembly all lead to this moment. Northrop Grumman CEO Kathy Warden spoke from a podium about “the next generation of capability” and “defining what this nation is capable of when we work together” while the livestream chat gawked and called her Mommy.

After Warden’s speech, the hangar door behind her slowly opened. Blue stage lights cast a powerful aura over a hulking monolith draped in a white cloth. Cinematic orchestra music blared and the lights pulsed with the music. The chat screamed “TRUMP 2024”, “METAL GEAR”, and “MOMMY” still, if you can believe it. The music reached its explosive crescendo, and the curtains dropped: the B21 stealth bomber was introduced to the world in all its glory.

Admiral Christopher W. Grady called it an “Airborne Extended Deterrent”. In his speech after the reveal, Grady waffled a bit about national security, and about how this plane REALLY matters and was, like, TOTALLY worth the tax dollars, guys. “This isn’t just another airplane. It’s not just another acquisition. It’s a symbol and a source of the fighting spirit that President Reagan spoke of” he said.

Livestreams and marketing of this nature aren’t uncommon in today’s late capitalist dystopia. Gun manufacturer Heckler and Koch shows off flashy trailers of their submachine guns, edited with a slow-mo Booj and the musical timing of a Battlefield trailer. At the time of writing, there’s even an extremely late sale on their website for “MARCH MAG-NESS”, with a toggle at the top for civilian and law enforcement of course.

When looking at these pieces as part of my research for this post, I’m left with a sinking feeling that’s hard to describe. I feel swallowed by a culture and a system so determined to casualize warfare, to justify violence against a perceived, sometimes invisible threat. As the planet warms, the rich elude responsibility, and I whittle away my days at an office job, precisely one thought bounces around in my brain: “I can't wait to go home and play videogames”.

This exact feeling is captured in amber by Inio Asano’s latest finished work, Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction! (henceforth referred to as Dead Dead Demon’s). Set 3 years after a UFO appeared above Tokyo, Dead Dead Demon’s follows two high school grads just living their life while the literal and figurative “end of the world” looms overhead. What starts off as an unassuming pre-apocalyptic slice-of-life unravels into a deeply fascinating vivisection of our current geopolitical climate and how its effects trickle down to the youngest generations like countless streams of Ronald Reagan’s piss.

It’s impossible not to see the political implications of Dead Dead Demon’s. After the giant UFO suddenly appeared above Tokyo, The Japanese military panicked. They shot down the countless smaller UFO’s that poured out of the main craft, raining debris down on Tokyo’s denizens. Thousands were killed, including Kadode Koyama’s father. Kadode’s mother, left traumatized and paranoid after this tragedy, becomes the manga’s version of a conspiracy truther. 3 years after 8/31, Kadode’s mother leaves Tokyo and her daughter behind to live in a commune with her new boyfriend.

In the midst of her high school graduation and early college career, Kadode is left alone. Or, she would be, if not for Ouran Nakagawa, her childhood best friend. Ouran is Kadode’s rock-solid foundation. As the manga comes back to time and time again, they are absolute; an unwavering, unconditional love connects the two in a way that’s rarely portrayed in manga. A running theme throughout the manga is that the people you love can pull you through anything, not through fixing your problems, but simply by being by your side. Or at least, it would be. More on that later.

The duality of Kadode and Ouran is explored throughout the manga in such a way that it builds the two protagonists to be distinct but codependent. Kadode, a victim of bullying in elementary school, developed a discomfort with how easily society labels its ingroups and outgroups. Her only respite from relentless bullying was Isobeyan, an ongoing gag manga that her father worked on.

The titular Isobeyan and his incredible technological gadgets allow a neurotic teenage girl named Debeko to find wacky solutions to her problems. Debeko, unable to escape her own cycles of narcissism and self-loathing, constantly relies on Isobeyan’s gadgets to get her way. Kadode sees her own destructive tendencies in Debeko, and fantasizes about using Isobeyan’s gadgets to fix her own life; it’s a potent fantasy to give someone who is marginalized. Full-color snippets of the fictional manga bookend each volume of Dead Dead Demon’s, serving as a clear visual and structural metaphor for the invaders and how their advanced technology would seem to be able to fix anything.

While Kadode Koyama is cynical but reserved, Ouran Nakagawa is a firehose of sparkly anticapitalist rage. She’s brash and completely unfiltered, swinging from scathing cynicism about the future of Japan to raucous joy about the latest patch for her favorite FPS within literal seconds. Ouran is the candle that burns twice as bright and twice as long, loudly proclaiming herself to exist in equal parts joyous laugh and viscous battle cry.

However, that’s not the whole story. Beneath the mask is a deeply empathetic high school girl who really just loves the people she surrounds herself with. She may tease her friends after a bad date, but she’s there to hug them while they cry. Although she talks a lot of shit, she clings to her friends like they are the most important people in the universe to her. Ouran embodies both the hopeless circle-jerk of being at the bottom rung of late-stage capitalism and the boundless love that powers us through the worst of times within that system. And yet, further beneath that, something stirs within her. More on that later.

The alien invasion is a clear allegory for (INSERT HOT-BUTTON GEOPOLITICAL TOPIC HERE). It’s equal parts climate change, refugee crisis, and 9/11. The so-called invaders don’t exactly live up to their name, being about the height of a grade-schooler and waddling around with cute old-fashioned submarine helmets on. They are about as unassuming as an extraterrestrial threat could possibly be, and we even get some chapters with the invaders from their perspective as they try to survive in Tokyo’s quarantine zones. To them, Earth is a hellscape they did not intend to die on. And oh my god, do they die.

This is the part of Dead Dead Demon’s that pulls on some horrible discomfort deep within me. The genocide of the invaders is sponsored by tech industry giants like Samsung and Google, literally mowing down crowds of child-sized invaders with machine guns, while Kadode and Koyama go about their daily lives just a few blocks away. The dissonance between high school antics and the screams of what look like dying children hits close to home. It’s impossible not to see the parallels between how we, as consumers in a post-industrial society, often live willfully ignorant to the cruelties our lifestyles enable.

I’ve grappled with the question, “what is Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction about?” ever since I first sat down and read it. After a third re-read, I’m not sure that I could boil it down to one specific, sexy thematic clause, and that seems intentional. Inio Asano, the manga’s author, is notorious for creating stories that revel in complexity. Dead Dead Demon’s welcomes, interrogates, and explores a whole host of questions about life in the modern era. And then… the big reveal happens at the midway point; the truth of what this story was really, always about.

Spoilers from here on out, folks. The manga takes a pretty significant turn, one that I actually really like, but it will give you whiplash if you aren’t ready for it.

Okay. So. Time Travel.

The Ouran we’ve seen throughout the first half of the story is without a doubt eccentric. The glimpses of her that we see in flashbacks, however, look like a totally different person. As a child, Ouran is shy and quiet and rolls with the punches. She even stands idly by as Kadode is bullied by her awful classmates. For lack of a better term, she’s perfectly normal. Somewhere along the way, something seriously changed for her.

When Ouran and Kadode were young, they barely spoke. The story goes that they grew close over a summer cram school stuck together, but the secret that brought them together builds out the world and history of Dead Dead Demon’s in a pretty surprising way: Kadode and Ouran found an invader 8 years before the invasion of Tokyo.

Kadode and Ouran go full ET mode and keep the invader disguised in Ouran’s bedroom. After some debate on what to do, the invader finally speaks up for themselves using a small alien device as a translation tool. The invader’s purpose for coming to earth is clear; they are a scout sent by “the home country” to see if Earth is a good place to finally come and colonize.

The interaction here between the scout and these two schoolchildren is fascinating. The scout speaks in vague terms, but they make it clear that humanity exists on earth to create a breathable atmosphere for the invaders, much like how trees create a breathable atmosphere for us. Invaders are beings that aren’t so strongly tethered to a body or physical form; compared to humans, the invaders are actually much more spiritual and transitory. Their child-like bodies only exist as a vessel through which they interact with the world around them.

Kadode and Ouran are bestowed with an impossible burden. They believe that they must prove themselves, and by extension humanity, as welcoming and friendly to this alien civilization. The scout is content to watch this with scientific, unobtrusive collectedness. If they can get a clear read on humanity and its potential threat to the home country anyways, the scout might as well entertain these two girls’ efforts.

Through actively volunteering to do good, the girls feel like they are painting a good picture of humanity for the invader to see. However, it soon becomes clear that the system they are a part of is too big for two small girls to change. Kadode and Ouran can’t do anything about the scandalized politicians, con artists, and criminals. Kadode, fully grasping the situation and its implications, decides that she can do more. No, she needs to do more.

Kadode manages to steal a few powerful tools from the Invader. A small device that sends a devastating force out from its tip, enough to send a car tumbling sideways. An invisible cloak that perfectly obscures its wearer. A device worn on the head that allows one to fly. When these technological marvels are put together, Kadode goes from being an unassuming grade schooler to something else entirely: a vigilante dead-set on purging the horrible people from this world.

Before long, news started to break of a train wreck, and of a politician turning up dead after a hospital stay for a minor medical issue ended with a bullet-shaped wound. Ouran’s favorite pop band member quit, and suddenly the concert was canceled thanks to a technical accident. Over the course of a few days, Kadode has been tracking down horrible people, nearly killing them, and asking them one simple question, “Tell me the worst person you know.”

Ouran finds out that Kadode has been doing this vigilante work, and for the first and only time in the manga, they fight. Kadode, grappling with the sheer weight of trying to fix our world, is left cold, distant, and apathetic. Ouran finds this new side of Kadode to be frightening and alien, like she doesn’t even know who she is talking to. After an argument and a brief physical confrontation, Ouran is left alone for the first time. She is devastated.

Kadode doesn’t show up to class for a few weeks. Then she moves away. In one last ditch effort, Ouran goes to Kadode’s new home and asks to speak with her. Kadode is disheveled, but seems somewhat happy to see Ouran. Therapy has convinced her that Kadode hallucinated or dreamed up her vigilante spree, but talking to Ouran reminds her all too well that what she did was real. The people she killed, the burden of proving humanity to be good, and the destruction of her relationship with her best friend, all push her beyond her limits. She can’t do this anymore.

In the middle of their brief conversation, Kadode jumps from the fourth story of her apartment building.

This series of events, observed by the invader, force them to come to one conclusion: Earth cannot be trusted and should not be visited by the Home Country. Hopeless and devastated, Ouran asks the invader if there’s anything they can do to bring Kadode back. While the invader can’t bring back Kadode, he can do something else: transplant Ouran’s consciousness to a different timeline. This would come with all sorts of risks, such as mental deterioration, but it would allow Ouran to relive her summer school cram days to do things right. Ouran could direct the timeline so that the two never encounter the invader all those years ago. Ouran ultimately accepts the invader’s offer.

I’m kind of obsessed with this decision because it underscores the tragedy and beauty of Ouran as a character. The crazy, chaotic Ouran we’ve been with for the entire story is actually a time traveler from another timeline. Since she never met with the invader, the Home Country was not notified that Earth was dangerous, and thus they appeared above Tokyo, killing Kadode’s father among thousands of other people as collateral damage. When given the choice between inadvertently destroying humanity and losing the one person that gives her life meaning, Ouran chose for herself. I really can’t blame her for that. What good is humanity anyway?

There’s more to this story, entire twists and plotlines I’ve glossed over and cut out of this post, but this moment speaks to the core of what this manga is about. Dead Dead Demon’s is about aliens, time travel, and corporate espionage, but it’s also about the people that need to live beneath those exact colossal forces battling overhead. When the system is this fundamentally broken, filled with flashy ads for the newest line of submachine guns, giant alien-destroying mechs sponsored by pop stars, and live streams where the CEO of a death machine company is called Mommy, it’s impossible not to feel weighed down by it all. The sheer scope of capitalism has never been more visible and more damaging to its denizens.

I often feel like my life is a rollercoaster. Right now, I feel like I’m at the part of the rollercoaster after the big buildup, where an amazing view beckons to me. I’m at the top, but I can feel gravity subtly pulling me down. In our current moment, the system is buckling under the weight of problems created generations prior. The rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poorer, and basic hopes like owning a house or even a new car are well out of reach for many, many people. Without sweeping change, we’re fucked.

I can’t wait to go home and play videogames.

#manga #essay writing #dead dead demon's dededededestruction #inio asano #essay

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