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yxstxrdrxxm · 11 months

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SYNOPSIS: The wanderer never knew what it feels to finally have a forever home till he met you.

TW/S: Yandere behavior/tendencies, major character death/s, Wan finally learns something but its not the way you'd expect, hurt/no comfort, delusional thinking/mindset, denial is a river in Egypt and he is drowning in it, creative/abstract rep. of Wan's story + traveler! reader is more platonic than a romantic interest with him as a yandere.

NOTE: After college kicked my ass, I am finally back to writing fics. I'm not going to open requests just yet because my schedule is a little (read: very) wack. Also, I'm not used to writing Wanderer's personality/character so forgive me for any errors in advance. I also wanted to try my hand on writing platonic Wanderer, so I hope this is up to everyone's tastes (even if I wanted to NOT make him a platonic Wan and more like unrequited lol).

Wanderer was not a man that can be easily tamed or found.

No one knows how a man like himself can coexist in the world, but to some that knew him, they can summarize it to him being alive to spite the archons known to man. To others, though, it was more of fate playing with his already torn heart.

But to Wanderer himself? His answer is simple.

He's learned the horrors of Teyvat in the worst time possible.

He never held any fondness of those that toyed with his heart, and even more of how he felt with his thirst of bloodlust and anger. He recalled how his 'Mother' had left him— cutting the strings connecting him to her, and letting him suffer the effects without her guidance.

He remembered how his 'home' was her, and how he was simply banished from it. He was too fragile, thus, he never deserved her care; that was what he would tell himself every night, when his sleep is disrupted from the nightmares that plagued him.

In the second time he had a 'home', it was with Niwa and the clan. He considered it his forever home, for those who took him in treated him like he deserved it. He learned how things worked back then, and he understood just how nice it was to have people care.

He learned his second emotion after fear, the first he learned from his mother.

He learned satisfaction.

But things will never last, not when his second home had been ruined by Dottore. He could only watch as the chaos unfolded, with many of his companions dying. It was when he fled, seeking refuge by himself— for he thought that it was because of him that their lives had all been snuffed away.

The fear gnawed at him, its claws sinking into the puppet's fragile psyche and conscience. He found himself having worse nightmares after such an event, plagued with it to the point that he can hardly sleep a wink.

He was a puppet, so sleep wasn't really essential for him, just like breathing. But to him, it was his only comfort.

His solace to the cruel world.

His third home had been with the sickly child. He had never learned from his lesson with Niwa, but it didn't mean he gave up on hope back then. And with such a child that needed his attention, he vowed to protect him with his life if need be.

He still felt that comfort when he was with Niwa back then, but since it was with the kid, he dreaded losing him. He's lost so much, and he didn't want to think about losing the last person he cared for so soon.

Alas, fate was a cruel mistress. She did not spare him a glance, just like his Mother, for when he returned after getting those lavender melons in one winter night...

... The puppet wept at the sight of his lost companion, who died by the sickness.

He never recovered. But maybe it was a good thing, for he can no longer blame it on someone else but himself, or the circumstances he was in.

Because of this, he began to descend to a cruel rabbit hole. All he could think was how much he failed to care and nurture the people he was with, and how cruel they could be to leave him when they took everything from his sleeved heart.

He had given everything to them, all that made the weeping puppet... Himself.

But it seems like fate never wanted him to have an easy life. No, not when he was 'born'.

Losing his third home, he learned the bitter taste of anger. He learned how it felt so hot, so bitter, and he needed to quell it. Immediately.

Although the flames consumed the weeping puppet, in his heart of void, he could feel the pieces being mend with stitches. Being sewn up bit by bit with hatred, he made it his mission to never show his broken heart to anyone.

If he will be left by his companions for being too 'open', then he shall close it. He needn't endure the pain of losing his own home till the day he died.

The fourth home he had was within Snezhnaya's borders, back when he was taken in by Zandik— alias Il Dottore.

He has grown to be cruel to those that tried to get to him, and for the Doctor, he found it intriguing. A puppet made by the Archon of Electro, and yet... He was casted aside like he was nothing. Was there a reason for his existence, if not to be a waste?

Zandik sought to find the answer to it, but he was amused with how the puppet tried to act like he was the boss of him. That a harbinger with a higher position must fear the one who is lower than him— how laughable.

The first few months, the Tsaritsa had kept him as a way to keep the grunts in line. She had a vision, but seeing just how useful the vengeful puppet could be, she sought to tie him in her strings.

But she forgot that the puppet she's taking care of is a feisty one. One that has seen the horrors of the world, and his heart had been torn and mended with hatred.

So, she decided to let Zandik take care of him— make him easier to mend and break, should he find it to be necessary. It was her personal assignment to the Doctor, and one that he took without a single moment of hesitation.

And so, the change began.

The small, single tap of the rock disturbed the tranquil waters, and lightning seem to follow suit. It traveled across the bodies of the liquid, much like how the pain traveled to his limbs, making him cry and grit his teeth in agony.

The sparks of one man can only be alive for so long till it was snuffed, but to Zandik, he saw him as an everlasting, combusting fire. One made of lightning and snow, and sculpted to be of her likeness but riddled with flaws.

The Tsaritsa wanted a puppet, and so did the Shogun. The difference, however, is that one exploits a puppet's weakness for their mistaken strength, while the other abandons them should they lack the qualities needed for perfection.

As more of those changes began to take effect on him, so did those ripples in the tranquil waves grew stronger. Each one of those ripples served as a scar, one that he couldn't forget so easily, no matter how much he tampered with Irminsul.

Each time he felt that lightning strike him, pain would follow him, electrifying him and letting him adapt to the strikes as normal. Every time frost would gnaw deeper into the trenches, all he can do is hold himself steady while it ate at him.

The man made of tranquil waters, of waves that disturb them when it became too intense, had nothing been more than dust. In its wake was the culmination of lightning, of sparks flying and encased in a thick sheet of snow.

When Zandik showed the puppet's state, she found it amusing... And essential. To her, he now became a tool, and not a liability.

His original venture to find himself had long since been forgotten, only leaving with the thirst to seek answers of the world and do the goals that the Tsaritsa wants him to do.

He became the 6th Harbinger that day, and she was the second to bestow him the name he took by heart.

Scaramouche.

As the identity of the Balladeer slips into his fingertips, he wore it like it was made for him. At the time, it felt like... It was. It fits him better than those light robes of Kunikuzushi, the name that was bestowed by Niwa and his clan.

...

The name that held far too bitter thoughts and memories, and that was tied to karma that followed him.

Abandoning the robes and donning the skin of a Fatuu, the wandering man found himself another home: one that he himself knew— in his heart, at least— that wasn't for him.

It was more of a stationary, but truly, he wasn't going to complain.

In his service of the Balladeer, he has done many crimes that can put him under the radar of the court: he had the pleasure to commit mass murder should he find it necessary with his lackeys, manipulate them to do his bidding, and even punish them with the use of his Delusion if he felt that they were going too far.

Back then, all he had as a goal was to learn the truth behind his mere existence. However, what he received at the end was not that, but of the world.

It was, surprisingly enough, when he met... You.

He never found you as pleasant to be around. Just like those he's seen, he saw you as a nuisance— a bumbling buffoon, seeking for answers that will never come your way.

Alas, for the sake of his mission, he must treat you with regard. So, he began to feed your head with lies and false kindness, but your companion, that astrologist, knew what he was up to when she saw him.

Was it because of how he acted? Or was it because of her power?

Still, whatever it could've been, it was pointless for him to dig into. He only saw you and your companions as annoying, and even your goals were nothing but a bitter, laughable reminder of his ignorance as Kunikuzushi.

Truly, you are quite ignorant of the truth. Too ignorant for him to tolerate for even a single moment!

Although, in some part of him, he found it bitter to see your face twist in expressions best regarded to be... Saddening. Perhaps of agony, to be more precise. In some sense, he still cared, but it was difficult to tell why.

... Why did he cared, still? For even a stranger he'd never see again?

...

He didn't knew.

But for the time being, he made it his only vow to never see you. He never wished to see you in his waking lifetime, especially if you were to stop him in his main goal.

To achieve Godhood.

Being a God made by humans is not easy. In actuality, he would much rather not have to go through such a thing again in hindsight.

Still, in the height of his trainwreck of a journey, he decided to give it a try. He wanted to achieve what he had been working for, especially now that he had wrecked his own 'home' that she gave him.

The home she made for him was too fragile, and the body he was in was enough. For the puppet, he wanted nothing more than to ruin those that thought of using him— and what better way than to achieve it by playing the role of God?

Still, in the midst of trying to reach the impossible, he had to sacrifice everything.

He had to endure the worst of the worst: the pain of ice hitting him and causing splinters to his case, the claps of thunder sending him high sparks of agony, and even the fluids used to taint his once peaceful waters, making him into a bomb set to explode should one mishandle him.

It was the Doctor who had managed to get to him and mold him to how he likes it. This, he is also responsible of fixing him to fit the role he wants— a God.

The ones that worked under him, the scribes, all worshipped and revered him. They fed him all the knowledge one needed and more, causing him to develop a complex as big as the world in its entirety.

With the knowledge in his mind and power from the Gnosis, he could confidently say that he reached what any foolish, puny mortal couldn't: he became the archon of the nation of knowledge, snuffing out the two Archons's names and those that opposed him.

However, much like before, his heart remained the state that it was. Amidst the sudden surge of authority, it still felt empty. Hollow. Like a huge part of it is missing.

He thought the Gnosis will take care of that need, that it would be enough for him as he's got the means to an end. Whatever he desires, he will get it without much of a fuss.

... Right?

Well, he found out to be wrong. Very wrong.

To him, being a God isn't enough. He still had things he wanted to achieve as one, and he didn't like how some of them are impossible to attain.

Like removing an existing archon.

Though, maybe he shouldn't have his hopes up, especially when his time is limited when Buer entered the room with you.

Ah, right. He forgot about you— the traveler, who he met time and time again. First in the lands of freedom, then in the land of contracts, and even in the buildings of his first 'home'...

... And now you, who he contacted back when he was in his last stage to become a full fledged archon. One where he is prepared to commence another archon war among them.

Of course, you were not happy to see him. Buer must've told you what was going on, but he wasn't expecting to hear you cry out and try to reason with him.

...

How pathetic. Do you honestly think he'd listen? He'd rather have you killed by his own hands if you weren't so— so interesting to him.

And so the battle commenced.

You were the first to take the stand, and he noticed how quick you were to jump to conclusions. You spouted nonsense at how he couldn't do what he's doing right now, for (in your eyes), it is 'immoral' and 'killing a God to become one is impossible'.

Honestly, what do you even see to think of such a conclusion? He wondered if you ever truly saw the mask underneath their facades, with how you seem to defend the smallest immortal being without a single moment to think of her power.

Still, he couldn't help but humor you, so he let you do as you wished. He let you fight him even if it was pointless, thriving at the idea that you will wear yourself out by the end of it.

You'll lose your footing at some point with how pointless this battle is— that's something he's sure of.

However, as you two fought, he couldn't help but realize with how you two were two different people. Had you two met back then, back where he wasn't tainted by the sights of the world and retained his innocence... Would you two get along?

Would you ever see him the way you do now: with resentment, judgement, and maybe a hint of pity?

He didn't knew the answer to that. If anything, he could hardly know the answer to a possibility that wouldn't happen, and especially with the roads you two took that negated such a thing.

You took the road to the light— as blinding as it may be, you chose that for yourself to achieve your goals of searching for your kin.

He, however, took the road to the abyss— for the roads he took before forsook him, and he couldn't help but shut his eyes from the truth.

That was one thing that separated you both. And for him, it felt like a weight rested on his shoulders.

However, as you two fought for the right to take down the opposition, he could feel the weight rest on him. The longer that you two spent together, he could see flashes of his past memories—

—his time back then with his 'mother,

—the time he spent with Niwa and the clan,

—and even how he spent the rest of his few years with the kid.

Those memories were all but locked in the recesses of his heart, and for him, he couldn't help but recoil at each sight. It made him remember that he, too, is flawed.

It made him realize that he was, and always is, alone in his fight.

The last clang of metal hit steel, and for once, the unthinkable had happened.

He... Lost.

The body of his began to shut down, months and years spent on creating the perfect and ideal vessel laid nothing to waste. The battlefield had long been wasted and ruined, but he couldn't help but ignore it.

For his eyes rest upon you; the one who took him down, who made him remember who he was back then.

And the one aiding him to be rid of his 'heart'.

Looking back at that moment, he never understood your decision to let him go.

Did you knew what his past life had been? Or did you see him as a man that can still be salvaged, no matter the consequences it may bring?

Wanderer never understood that from you, and he knew that maybe, he never will.

Standing before your body before him, he could feel blood drip from his hands. You were too easy to use and manipulate sometimes, but maybe, just maybe... He had felt pity for you.

Was he rash to simply repeat his first mistake? Maybe. But then again, he has done much more atrocities than the world could ever remember.

You asked him what he saw home to be once, but what he answered was it being akin of a house of cards.

It is always meant to be taken down, no matter how strong it is.

Still, he couldn't help but sigh. He's learned so much from you, and yet all he gave you was pain. How pitiful of him, as he simply toyed with your hopes to have him change for the better.

Raising your head by the hair, his lips simply curved itself to a smile.

But maybe, just maybe, he could accept one last lesson from you. You helped him realize one thing, after all.

That he is able to grant you salvation, even when he is nothing but a sham.

Cradling your body, he let the touch of crimson taint the poisoned waters, his previous face and identity all but melted away by your touch. He was sick in the head, but you gave him a new skin to wear.

Yours will do, he thinks. So pretty yet so tainted because of him, one that he had no shame of using for his selfish desires.

He was a man undeserving of a place he called home. He's destined to be alone, especially due to his crimes that deserved it's death row.

But with you in his arms, even if you two were never lovers... He can wear your skin as his new identity. You did chose it for him, did you not?

It's only right for a 'friend' to honor one's memory by using their skin and blood, after all.

And Wanderer will do what it takes to honor your memory in the way he knew best.

"Even now, we're all alone. Just like what we're destined to be."

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2023

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transingthoseformers · 9 months

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I wanted to tell someone else about this, and I feel like I haven't poked your ask box in a while. Hi Riot!

I am currently gnawing on a very juicy idea of Pharma as a Scavenger. Though it is unofficial at first.

Basically, his storyline has similar beats but changed. Still the opening with Tarn starting to blackmail him and the slow growth of demands he can at first meet with general stock and natural death. But Tarn escalates the numbers, and his terrible behavior and Pharma is caged in.

On the terrible day he is thinking of letting a patient slip away he hears his staff talking about black market organ market and Ambulon admitting yes, Swindle partook sometimes but Decepticons mainly got theirs from Scavenger teams and command turned the other way if the sold extra.

So Pharma goes looking and finds the Scavengers.

He starts paying them to provide tcogs, and they figure way not. Life is expensive, and they aren't being used. It takes them a while to realize their best client is an Autobot when Pharma is forced to meet in person and is very aggressive with them. But even if he is an ass and an Autobot, he pays good.

The first meeting is basically that meme of have a good day/fuck you/damn actually hope your day gets worse.

Pharma keeps meeting them coming more and more unhinged because Tarn is pushing in different ways when his stressball isn't breaking as expected and Pharma is having to adjust. Misfire makes the mistake of touching him at the wrong moment, and Pharma proceeds to have a very messy breakdown in the WAP because he feels scrubbed raw inside from secrets and having had a "house call" from Tarn the day before. Krok talks him down, and they Scavengers, who'd kind of assumed he was a transmute addict get the whole story out of him in between Pharma, throwing them hateful barbs.

Misfire, with perfect tact, says, "damn that's fragged up" which makes Pharma laugh wetly.

Krok, meanwhile, is furious at the "extracurricular entertainment," a phrase Tarn used, and Pharma spat out. Blackmailing someone to get supplies is one thing, but the more Pharma tells him about the interworkings of the DJD, which were a semi myth until now, the more disgusted Krok is.

The Scavengers make a point to be nicer to their doctor and check in on him during their deals, and Pharma softens a bit as they get to know him and offer comfort and a place he can share the burden. They are essentially saving his patients each time and Spinister gets very good at tcog extraction.

But this is hanging on by a thread, and all know something has to give. Crankcase is the one who finally says, "How would you kill him?" The Scavengers and Pharma start plotting to murder the DJD even if it half in jest because as they point out, Misfire gives them a target on their back.

Pharma has Red Rust ready as a late night musing with Spinister that leads Misfire to asking, "So, uh, are we going to kill the DJD...?" and no one knows what to say.

Eventually, though, they get delayed calling Pharma to tell him Misfire was taken by the Galactic Council. He uses his connections to assist so they find him faster, but they are still delayed. Pharma needs one more tcog. Pharma, after seven years of careful control, lets a patient slip away, and it breaks him.

He desperately uses the plague to escape and leave a trap for Tarn if he comes calling. Things go down the same-ish with him disassociated half the time. The only difference is while he is weeping rust he messages the Scavengers to warn them to not come he's dying and the plague is active. Spinister of course already made it too and innoculated them one day going through and stabbing everyone with no explanation so they book it. They get there in time to see Pharma get abducted and follow Tyrest back to the moon.

They proceed to stalk it out and get Fulcrum to sneak in as a spy joining Lockdown's gang to get info and learn about Pharma being used as a lab rat and the Kill Switch and plot save the CCs. Then, of course, the Lost Light shows up to ruin it. Krok activates the plan early, which makes things more chaotic as he smuggle Misfire and Spinister in to talk to Pharma, who is having a breakdown over Ratchet. They have a very emotional reunion, and Misfire hugs him and tells him he they've got new hands for him. Pharma has a breakdown crying because someone remembered him and came for him, and Misfire calls him their Autobot while Ratchet, who is a spine, watches confused. Pharma is considerably more stable and reluctantly tells Spinister to fix Ratchet. He does and keeps Pharma's hands and leaves Ratchet handless until he finds Ratchet’s hands in the Lost Light's medivay–for some reason I think Iremember the initial confrontation there and then them moving to the Luna-1 maybe I'm wrong–and casually fixes them before reattaching Ratchet's good as new hands and giving Pharma his back.

They go to destroy the Kill Switch, but Misfire has initiated hug protocol, so Pharma is being switched off from Scavenger to Scavenger seriously, so he's never not being hugged.

They find Krok and Rodimus arguing. Misfire shoves Pharma into Fulcrum's arms introducing him as the new guy, and Fulcrum awkwardly hugs him, which makes Pharma laugh as they make small talk. Pharma helps them disarm it without Rodimus dying refusing to make eye contact with the medics while Fulcrum awkwardly hold one hand as a compromise.

The Scavengers inform Pharma he is coming with them because he's one of them and he starts crying.

The Scavengers have a big group hug with Pharma crying into his–his–hands in the middle of a Decepticon plus Grimlock group hug. Minimus tries to make something of it, but the Scavengers all pull guns for their Autobot, and Rodimus makes the executive decision to let it go since they just saved the day together. Minimus and First Aid grumble and Pharma throws his Autobrand at them saying they can take this as his formal defection before Crankcase picks him up in a bear hig to prevent violence.

Ambulon insists on a goodbye and says he's sorry and thank you for Pharma trying to protect them. Misfire finally remembers his name which is the one before he was called Ambulon and goes "Wait, Thunderclash?!" Ambulon dies a littke because there was a reason he changed it. And the Scavengers exit stage left. Though Misfire shows that he might have pocketed something and it's half the Matrix which he presents to Pharma as compensation. Pharma laughs.

Oooooo???

Makes sense in another verse he'd resort to outside sources for his t-cogs, and ooo that they don't know he's an autobot until they finally meet him, which has gotta create crunchy first reactions

Makes sense the Scavs would be seeing Pharma's mental state worsen because Tarn being a bastard, and i like to think they have severe opinions on that (especially since it's the D-J-fucking-D we're talking about here)

Aaand yep they do, nice to see Krok kinda cares

"Are we going to kill the DJD?" One hell of a question because that's not easy to do

"Spinister no" "Spinister yes"

"Oh scrap, he's got our guy!" I feel like we as a fandom do not dwell on Pharma's time with Tyrest enough, like. Yes, Tarn & Delphi traumatized him pretty good. But so did Tyrest, and we as a fandom need to chew on the Tyrest arc more.

The LL and the WAP meeting a lot earlier than in canon has gotta have funny moments

Spinister would totally be able to fix Ratchet's hands

shsggd that's sooo sweet

He issss he isss a Scavenger now

Misfire pocketed what

#maccadam #transformers #mtmte scavengers #mtmte pharma #mtmte rodimus #decepticon justice division #mtmte minimus ambus #mtmte ambulon #mtmte tarn #mtmte first aid

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voltstone · 9 months

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LYCOS | tacet anima mea | (wenclair)

Wednesday is waning. In her dreams, or by touch, she has been locked to one moment. Her visions know no peace. There is Enid, beneath moonlight, skin a dying shade. Then there’s herself, between the trees, drenched in blood, with the knife at hand… Her true nature writhes. This is just what happens when someone like herself snaps. It’s happened before, will happen again. Because Enid and Ajax have been together through several moons. And he knows his way around her heats. And Enid seems…happy, until she isn’t, and Wednesday has to put her back together. Enid has been stuck in a heat for a while now. And she smells good. She smells really, really good, and Wednesday will kill for it.

or, wednesday still doesn’t know what to do about enid, and enid’s biology really doesn’t help matters. she is going insane. (there will be bodies.)

— — —

hi wenclair fandom. im a shit updater. my last account bonked itself to death i guess. so i'm trying to rebuild on this one. this be the fic i'm working on now.

anyway uh. yeah. um. don’t be scared of omegaverse. i write it not how it’s done typically, if that's…a comfort. anyway. there’s angst and hurt/comfort and aro!wednesday and alexithymia to explore. :D

and m u r d e r.

Okay, I am actually going to be genuine here. This is an explicit story, and I don’t just mean like, oh it has some smut. It does, but that’s not really why. This is a darker fic, with a lot of the focus being on (and through) Wednesday’s perspective.

Because Wednesday is fucked in the head. Which, like, no shit. But it is beyond what the show has for us since I’ve removed a lot of the sanitization.

Which explains this tag in particular.

Yeah. Dead Dove solely because of Wednesday. Dark, angsty, and everything in between. But also just bizarre. It gets weird because Wednesday is a freak, and Enid becomes a consenting one. Sorry, but also not really. I find these kind of stories cathartic to write. Lol.

(The rest of the tags from AO3 will be with the first scene down below. The first “chapter” of the fic is an A/N that also reiterates this, and kinda explains more as well.)

Also, this will be available on only AO3 because this story is very much designed to be read using a skin I made consistently throughout. (Essentially, it’s supposed to emulate Wednesday’s typewriter.) The catch is, I also utilize the default in some instances for specific reasons.

ah well.

hope you enjoy!

— — —

(read more for the first scene, and the AO3 tags.)

AO3

SCALDING | moon | Pt.1

“…you’re not doing this to, like, try and mate with her, are you?”

enid is in heat. ajax tends to her. not well. not good enough. wednesday can do better, and when the boyfriend slips one too many times, she does just that.

— — —

She bleeds wine. You expected something lighter — rose, or ruby. Like the hue to her lips, or what has bloomed across her face, then her ears, to a moment’s obscure discretion. Yet, perhaps it’s the wolf which dwells beneath her moonlit skin, and the nectar of its hide merely dreams to serve the full moon its bounty.

As wine — the godly, goat’s blood incarnate.

Her hand reaches for a shadow between the trees. She’s broken. She’s weeping. Nevermore’s breath is a cold, dismal fog. It sticks to her as dew. The moon, ever the melodic sun, steams what life escapes her. Scalding moonlight, waning before her very eyes.

With the shadow, there’s a glint. Stained by red. Like blurry agony.

She screams of day.

Reaches for the shadow.

For you.

And you’re calloused. A face like the Devil. Eyes as lit oil.

And you’re painted by Enid’s godly incarnate. Leeched to your clothes, down your hands. As for your lips, smeared across.

You bleed too — the Addams’ velvet. Though with each step forward, you can’t tell where velvet ends, and wine flourishes.

“Will it hurt?”

You don’t answer. Your eyes, lit, crack to glass, and the glass within them force a cruel swallow.

“W-Will it hurt…?!”

Again, you don’t answer.

Across your blade…

Wine gleams melodic sun instead.

continue: AO3

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the-californicationist · 8 months

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We can't have you bored. Or lonely. It will not do! <3

So, since you prompted to ask you stuff, I'd like to know what your least favourite book was, that you read? I remember reading 'catcher in the rye' in english classes in school and I never got the hype about it. There are a few german authors that I despise, but I'd assume you don't know them.

Hope you day (or night?) improved! *muah*

LEAST favorite?? That's a tough one. There are plenty that didn't make it past the first thirty pages (I'm picky as heck). But, I think the one that stands out in my mind is The Grapes of Wrath. However, I do think everyone should still read it - especially the bit at the end of Chapter 25 - as it is relevant (perhaps even moreso) today.

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth. There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

Look, this is just my opinion. I don't really do politics a lot, and I barely can run two thoughts together these days without getting winded, so take this with a grain of salt, but... since you asked...

I mean... it's the most beautiful, gut-wrenching, straightforward two paragraphs I've ever seen in my whole life. I'll never be able to write something half as good nor half as important. It's too damn bad it's stuck in the most boring novel known to man that no teenager has read or ever will read (sarcasm, but kinda not). The message is essential! That's what we need to be talking about. It's all right there.

We never lost Eden! We're in it, right now. Oranges do grow on trees. Deer and fish live in our forests and rivers, and for all of the PIlgrims' complaints that they couldn't hunt game on the Royal lands, all they did was come over here and create exclusivity where there was relative freedom.

In no way am I saying that the indigenous peoples of America pre-colonialism lived in relative peace, nor am I suggesting that there was ever a possibility for peaceful colonization; colonization should always be contested and constantly so. But, what I am saying is that we have created a consumer market so profoundly broken that we are now purchasing things that are not, have not, and will never be real.

And I find that to be the last nail in the coffin of humanity, really.

Those "gems" on your cell phone game are nothing. They'll never be anything. You are paying for happiness, which you still did not receive. You received, perhaps, a simulacra of it. Some sort of mannequin where there should have been a real person. But, they have made you want it.

When you are force fed ads of people with Body Type A or Body Type B and yours appears in reality as neither, and theirs ALSO appears in reality as neither because they have altered it before selling it to you, they have now made you want to buy a whole industry's worth of products because they have sold you on a lie. A picture of an orange where there was none to begin with.

When Character A or Superstar A or Popstar A wears Tee Shirt A and its matching handbag, we are meant to want to emulate her because we are SUPPOSED to equate her wealth with resources. Oranges, perhaps. Real oranges. We know that, out of all of us, Taylor Swift can have the most oranges, if she so chose to have them. That is what freedom is. Freedom is not needing to guard or gather resources to survive. Resource guarding perpetuates racism, poverty, violence, and fuels the fire of an economy of non-fungible oranges.

Download my orange app today and get 500 orange gems totally free! Is your time free? No. In fact, in America (almost), we have decided that your time must be paid for (unless you are incarcerated (wrongfully or not!)), no matter what. As an employee at Target, every hour that belongs to you that you give to them is worth $15 (except half of that is the government's for, I guess, allowing you to breathe its air).

So, now, I want you to add up all of the 5 minute adds you've watched on YouTube this year and multiply 30 of those by $15. At any rate, I bet the amount you end up with isn't fucking $0. But, guess who got that time for free!? Every company who decided to take your most valuable resource from you and not once did they pay YOU for it. That money went to someone else. And no transactions were made. And you are still never going to get your five minutes, or the orange you could have bought for it, back.

And so, now, of all times, I think Steinbeck should probably be in everyone's hands. You know that the oranges (or minutes of your time) are being destroyed (or stolen) in order to further fuel a profit in a certain direction, and while there are plenty of things that you (I'm using a general "you" here) could do to stop it, there are very few things that you are willing to do. Are you gonna get a stick? Who do you plan to beat? Do you even know the name of the person who took your minutes from you? They have made damn sure that you don't.

So, yeah. For that reason, I hate The Grapes of Wrath. Way to couch the most important two paragraphs in the history of fucking literature in that boring manifesto, dude. ffs. lol.

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just-a-carrot · 1 year

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Genzzzyyyy I am obsessed with them!!! u know that one post that’s like “how to drive a guy crazy: die in front of him over and over no matter how many times he tries to save you” or something? that’s genzy. the fact that genzous route has so many bad ends drives me insane (positively). no wonder he essentially sacrificed himself at the end of his route, bc even if he doesn’t fully remember it Iggy has died in front of him countless times. sorry for the insane message I am just losing it (in a good way)

KDJFLAKDJFLADK I AM GLAD YOU LIKE THEM SO MUCH????

Th-there are a lot of deaths in Arc 2 LMAO I don't know that post but that feels painfully accurate HELPPPPPP Sometimes I think about it and it makes me want to weep 😭💦 Just thinking about them... over and over again trying to Not Die but always Dying Anyway and Genzou just like slowly breaking down,,,,,,,, it's maybe no wonder Genzou has such a hard time when everyone gets their memories back. Not only has he suffered most of the worst (and most) deaths, but he also had to see Iggy die so many times, too,,,,,,,

HELP NOW MY HEART IS HURTING I'M NOT SURE I'D EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE 😭😭😭😭

#ow: asks #ow: genzy

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vinceleemiller · 2 months

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Stop Living Two Lives & Kill The Oxen

Do you feel torn between two different callings?

Welcome to the Daily Devo. I am Vince Miller.

This week, we are in 1 Samuel 11. I've titled this chapter "The First Test of Saul’s Leadership."

To set up the moment. Saul has just been appointed king, and everyone was sent to their home. We are not sure how much time has transpired, but Nahash, an Ammonite enemy, has besieged Jabesh-Gilead. And now the word is going to get back to Saul. Here are verses 5-7:

Now, behold, Saul was coming from the field behind the oxen. And Saul said, “What is wrong with the people, that they are weeping?” So they told him the news of the men of Jabesh. And the Spirit of God rushed upon Saul when he heard these words, and his anger was greatly kindled. He took a yoke of oxen and cut them in pieces and sent them throughout all the territory of Israel by the hand of the messengers, saying, “Whoever does not come out after Saul and Samuel, so shall it be done to his oxen!” Then the dread of the Lord fell upon the people, and they came out as one man. — 1 Samuel 11:5-7

There are numerous details in this text: First, the word about the capture of Jabesh-Gilead finally gets back to Saul. Second, when it does, the Spirit of God rushes back upon him for the second time. Third, Saul experiences what we call "righteous anger" because he is rightly angered at what has happened with God's people. Fourth, we learn that this all happens as Saul is farming and doing his family's job. Fifth, in his anger, Saul takes two of his oxen (a.k.a. drafting animals) and cuts them into pieces, essentially killing his career and livelihood. Draft animals were important and expensive assets in farming, and Saul used them to send a message to all the tribes of Israel. Fifth, Saul seizes this defining moment to step into his role and use it to unify the people of Israel.

In life, we all have defining moments. For Saul, this was one of those moments. While he was anointed and appointed the first king of Israel, he had yet to take hold of his kingship and become the warrior that God intended him to be. But here, the opportunity presents itself. Notice what he does. He kills his drafting oxen. He slaughtered his former way of life and used the slaughtered oxen to issue a call to all of Israel. By the way this is not the only time something like this happened in the Bible. Look up the story of Elijah and Elisha in 1 Kings 19:19-21.

In my own life, I have had moments like this.

One of these moments happened when I was 20. My grandfather was dying of cancer, and I watched him painfully die for hours in a hospital bed. In the silence of that room, listening to his gasp for air, I knew that God was calling me to do for other men what my grandfather had done for me — disciple men. That was 34 years ago. That moment was a defining moment for me. A week later, I returned to college, and I "killed the oxen." I changed my field of study from business to the bible, and I began studying the Bible like crazy in hopes of one day being able to disciple other men like my grandfather had done for me, which is what we are doing right here. Daily discipleship provided to those who want to grow in their faith.

But to live out this calling, I learned one very valuable lesson. You have to kill the oxen, burn the ships, break the chains, and cut the lifeline. There has to be a point of no return where you decide to go all in and live out the calling God has given you. You cannot live in two callings. They will always compete for your time, attention, energy, and resources.

So I have only one question for you today. What oxen do you need to kill?

#FaithfulLiving, #DivineCalling, #BiblicalLeadership

Ask This:

What "oxen" in your life are holding you back from fully embracing the calling God has placed on your heart, and how can you take steps to "kill" them and move forward?

Reflect on a defining moment in your life when you felt God's calling. How did you respond, and what changes did you make to align yourself with His purpose for you?

Do This:

Kill the oxen in your life.

Pray This:

Father, give me the courage to let go of anything that holds me back from fully embracing Your calling for my life. Help me to trust in Your plan and step forward with faith and determination. Amen.

Play This:

Burn The Ships.

Check out this episode!

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facelessoldgargoyle · 3 years

Text

So, I‘ve officially lost my voice and I have several observations

1. Our household is very much an overlapping conversation culture. No one waits for other people to finish their sentences and I cannot get a rasp in edgewise

2. Instead, Homeboy and Robin have essentially started playing me in the conversation?? Homeboy goes “yeah I can’t grow a real beard 😢” I go *flips the bird, mimes sucking a cock* [haha suck it little pissboy] He says, “well i wanna see YOU grow a beard, that’s right, now who’s a little pissboy??” I mime weeping, Robin looks at me and goes, “Theyre gonna start injecting testosterone so they can grow a bigger and better beard than yours,” and Homeboy goes, “Well I will also start injecting testosterone then, and we’ll have a testosterone contest and my beard will still be bigger than yours.” I am dying, laughing silently. “So…don’t do that and my balls will thank you.”

3. I tried to indicate how many gallons of milk homegirl bought today and couldn’t figure out how to indicate 1.5 before Robin got impatient and told me to text them. Would you use a fist to indicate the point?

4. Fucking ouch

#household <3

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caliphoria17 · 5 years

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Supergirl 5x07

Kara: Why do you have Myriad?

Lena: Well, you caught me. I have Myriad because I’m using you. Like you used me.

Kara: I never used you.

Lena: Do you remember when you finally told me that you were Supergirl? You were weeping big, crocodile tears. Well, I wept real tears. Bitter tears over you weeks before.

Kara: What? I-I thought... How long had you known?

Lena: I found out the day I killed my brother.

Kara: Lena, you didn’t kill Lex. That was me. I watched him, I saw him fall.

Lena: You saw him fall, but did you see him land? Did you see him die? I did, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.

Kara: That’s impossible.

Lena: Anything’s possible when you’re a Luthor. Lex used his transmatter portal watch. I knew exactly where’d he go—the cabin we loved when we were children. So, I was there waiting for him. Had the gun ready. Loaded. I could feel the weight of it in my hands. Every fiber in my being rebelled, but I didn’t wanna do it, but I knew I had to because if Lex lived, the world wouldn’t be safe. My friends wouldn’t be safe. So, I forced myself to pull the trigger. I shot my own brother in the chest. His final words to me were that I was a fool. That my best friend, that every friend I had was lying to me. With his dying breath, he told me that you were Supergirl.

Kara: Lena, you have to believe me. I never meant to humiliate you—

Lena: No, when I came to this city, I promised myself that I would never trust anyone again and... then I met you. You chipped away at my armor with your warmth and your earnestness and you convinced me to trust in people and friendship again, and against my better judgment, I did. All the while telling you about my Achilles heel: betrayal. I confided in you that everyone in my past had betrayed me. And that how much it hurt to have someone you love lie to you and betray you, and I spelled it out to you OVER and OVER again, essentially begging you not to violate my trust, BEGGING you not to prove that, once again, that I was a fool! You reassured me ad nauseum you would never lie to me and you’d never hurt me. And all the while, there wasn’t a single, HONEST moment in our friendship.

Kara: No, no, that is NOT tru—

Lena: No, I killed my brother for you, for our friends! Don’t you understand what you’ve done?

Kara: When you found out, why didn’t you come to me right away, so I could explain—

Lena: Explain? Yeah?

Kara: If you hate me so much, why not out me at the Pulitzer party? Why pretend to still be my friend this long?

Lena: ‘Cause I wanted you to experience what you did to me. Feel what I felt.

Kara: I understand your pain and your fury, and... and you’re right! I made a big mistake, maybe the BIGGEST mistake of my life, but please, Lena, please don’t leave the Fortress with Myriad. Please don’t let my mistake push you to do something terrible! You are a GOOD person!

Lena: NO! No, you don’t ever get to tell me who or what I am again!

Kara: Did you reprogram Fortress’ defenses to attack me?

Lena: Yes. I rigged it to answer to this little button I have in my hand.

Kara: Are you gonna try to kill me?

Lena: No, Supergirl, I’m not gonna kill you. I’m not a villain. You shouldn’t have treated me like one.

#Supercorp #Supergirl #Kara Danvers #Lena Luthor #Melissa Benoist #Katie McGrath #Supergirl 5x07 #Man oh man #They killed this scene #I’m still processing everything #😭😭😭#My edit #SG edit

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 3

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy religion, death mention

Morgan's golem eventually warned him of people approaching. He didn't need to look to guess it would be Blaise and Icharion. It had not been an especially dignified departure. Blaise would have questions, and would have dragged him along with her to satisfy the sentry. Morgan took a steadying breath and raised his head. This conversation might as well happen now. He made a cursory effort to wipe the tears from his cheeks, not that it would make it any less obvious that he'd been weeping.

Icharion was the first to speak once they had rounded the corner and spotted him. "It was cruel of Master Ordan to lie to you as he did," he said stiffly. That didn't sound right at all. Morgan hadn't known Icharion especially well, but he hadn't been one for that sort of reflection. It was the sort of sentiment he would expect from Blaise, though. He glanced over and saw her watching him intently.

"We both know that cruelty was not the Master's intention," he said, addressing Icharion. "And we both know he was in the right."

Icharion exhaled. "I told you," he said to Blaise. She elbowed him.

"There's nothing right about what he did. Don't sell yourself short," she said to Morgan. "You've gotten so much stronger since we met. Just look at everything we've done together."

"That has nothing to do with it," Morgan replied.

"I told her, she wouldn't listen-" Icharion was silenced by another elbow to the ribs.

"Explain it to me, then," Blaise said, crouching in front of Morgan to look him in the face. "Because it sounds like this Ordan just sent you out to die without even telling you what you did to deserve it, and I really don't understand how the two of you seem to think that's justified."

"You know we don't perceive death the same way you do," Morgan reminded her. She nodded grudgingly. "Master Ordan's primary concern is the maintenance of our Order. Our numbers are few enough, but even a small tree can benefit from pruning its weakest branches." That had been one of the master's favourite metaphors. He'd usually used it in the context of seeking out weakness within oneself, but it seemed apt enough here too.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what he said, but you aren't weak." Her voice was rising, the frustration clear on her face.

"I am weak in the ways that matter to the Order," Morgan explained. The heat of shame prickled at his neck. He had no desire to enumerate his failings to her here, in front of someone who could verify the precise degree of his inadequacy. But Blaise was a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't let her focus her anger on the Order. They were important, even if he was not, so he tried to explain. He started reluctantly with the most fundamental issue, the lowest bar he'd failed to surpass.

"In order to uphold the Balance, we must be objective in our judgment. And we cannot do that if we are beholden to emotions. It's some of our most basic and essential training, and I have never been able to master it properly." He could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice, feel the familiar weight curling in his gut. Even now he was failing.

"So, let me get this straight. You have feelings, like a regular person, and for some reason you think that's so bad you deserve to die for it." Blaise cocked an eyebrow at him. "It's not like that's something you can just turn off."

"I should be able to. It's one of our central tenets. We must be able to separate ourselves from our emotions so we can remain clear-headed. I truly thought I had myself under control when I set out, but... oh." He trailed off as the pieces finally clicked into place, tracing an unmistakable pattern back to its origin. It had felt like it had finally started getting easier by the time he'd left on his quest. The doubt he'd had in himself had been erased by the Master's assurance that he was ready. And he had found it to be possible, if not exactly easy, right up to a very specific point.

Proper control had been impossible ever since the fight against Andariel. Whose venom had caused a lasting change in his sense of pain, lingering even after all physical traces of the wound were gone. Permanent, Jamella had said. And Cain had also mentioned that Andariel could cause emotional sensitivity. So this, too, would be permanent. A heavy feeling settled over Morgan, coming to rest behind his ribs. The rest of his shortcomings were insignificant in comparison to this. There was no hope of redemption. It would take years more dedicated training to overcome this weakness, if it was even possible. And he had nowhere to train, no mentor to correct him when he inevitably strayed. He couldn't return to the Order, not after the story Ordan had woven. Icharion's reaction would be amplified a hundredfold. Why had he-

"Speak, Morgan. You're inside your own head." Icharion's voice was not unkind, but Blaise shot him a dirty look.

"I was clearly mistaken. I just don't understand why Master Ordan lied about the request," Morgan said, voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "He only had to ask. I would have gone willingly." If the goal had simply been to remove him, that could have easily been accomplished in a number of simpler ways. Everything else made sense. Morgan looked up at Icharion, half hoping to find an answer, half dreading what it might be.

"Politics, most likely. Any expulsion from within the Necropolis must be approved by the council, and Jostan is too troubled by our numbers to let anyone go, no matter the reason. No one would have believed you decided to go of your own volition, and Ordan has too many eyes on him to stage a convincing accident."

"Ah." Morgan looked back down. That explanation made sense enough, he supposed. He had simply been so intolerable, so far from adequate that it had forced the Master's hand. The man was fiercely loyal to the brotherhood, if rather unyielding in his views. His decisions were unswayable, and clearly he'd decided - he'd seen - that there could be no place for someone as weak as Morgan in the priesthood, no matter how earnest his devotion.

"Hang on," Blaise said, "when you talk about 'going', do you actually mean-"

"Dying, yes," Icharion interrupted. "It is an honour to lay down one's life in service to the Order." It was an honour he would never know, Morgan realized suddenly. That twisted like a knife.

"You're really not convincing me that any of this is okay," Blaise said.

"You don't need to believe the truth," Icharion replied. "It will be true all the same, with or without your approval."

"Blaise," Morgan said quickly, "wait." She looked ready to explode, glaring murderously at Icharion. Morgan tried to find the right words, ones she might take heed of. "Master Ordan was right. I cannot serve the Order of Rathma. I am not capable of meeting their standards. He saw that and acted in their best interest because that is his duty. The only fault here is mine. I should have seen it too." Should have recognized the truth and gone long ago, saved them all the trouble.

"That's stupid. The whole time I've known you, everything you've done has been in the name of the Balance. I've watched you work yourself nearly to death for it, and you're telling me that's not good enough? Bullshit."

"I've no doubt his intentions are pure," Icharion said with surprising gentleness, "but effort alone cannot overcome inability. Not all people are capable of all things. Few are suited to our work, fewer still are able to carry it out."

"Bullshit," Blaise repeated, but it was quieter this time. "That's not fair."

"It is important work," Morgan said. "It cannot be entrusted to those unfit to do it."

"And you really believe that includes you? Even after all the shit you've been through for it? After how hard you've worked?"

"I do." Morgan closed his eyes against the surge of emotions that swelled up at the finality of that admission. He had no choice but to accept the truth. It was nothing new, after all. Hardly the first time his best efforts had proven to be insufficient. That didn't do much to soften the blow. At least his ineptitude was likely to have prevented him from doing any real damage to anything in his efforts, he thought dully.

"I could witness your departure," Icharion offered after a time, breaking the silence. "We are far from home. The rules would allow it." It was an unexpected gesture, permitted but not necessary by the laws of the Order. Morgan studied his face for a moment. He found nothing; of course Icharion could make himself unreadable, like a priest ought to be able to do. There was an undeniable thread of kindness in the offer, though. At least it could be done properly. That would be a small comfort.

"I would appreciate that very much," Morgan said, getting to his feet. Blaise sprang up as well as Icharion drew his sword.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second here. Somebody tell me what's happening. I'm not going to let-"

"It's not that kind of departure," Icharion interrupted her. "Sit back down." Blaise bristled.

"It's just a ceremony," Morgan reassured her. "An oath. Nobody dies." She seemed slightly mollified but did not sit down, instead crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She would let them proceed, then.

Morgan fished out a vial of oil from his chest pocket. Uncorking it, he pinched the tip of Icharion's proffered blade with his thumb and forefinger and squeezed several drops of blood in to mingle with the oil. Then he poured out the contents in a rough circle around himself. The circle glowed faintly as he imbued it with intent. He had never seen this particular ceremony, but the steps were as familiar as all the others he'd ever committed to memory.

"On my heart's blood I swear I shall never again interfere in the Order of Rathma, nor in the affairs of the dead." The words left a heavy feeling in his chest, but it was a little better than the jagged hurt that already sat there.

"On your heart's blood it is witnessed," Icharion replied, "and so are you bound." He traced a line under the circle with the bloodied tip of his blade. It drew in the light from the circle, which faded to nothing as he dismissed the magic with his free hand. Morgan wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt.

"Thank you for that," he said quietly. Icharion nodded an acknowledgement as Morgan handed over the rest of his ceremonial oils. He no longer had a use for them. A thick, protective numbness was starting to settle in, blunting the world's edges.

"So that's it? You're just... done?" Blaise hadn't moved, still regarding them suspiciously.

"It is a very straightforward oath," Icharion pointed out as he wiped his blade clean and returned it to its sheath.

"Oh, fuck off."

"I will continue to do my part in the effort against Baal," Morgan clarified, the words feeling far away and hazy. "But on my own behalf, now. I think I'd like to join you in battle tomorrow." He could still work toward a purpose, still make himself useful. He needed that. To hold him together.

Blaise slung an arm around his shoulders. "I'll be glad to have you by my side." Morgan leaned into her gratefully. "And I think the barbarians are going to like your golems. If you're still..." she broke off, glancing over at the one still standing watch.

"He cannot raise the dead, but the earth is still fair game," Icharion confirmed. "Now if you're quite finished, I'm going back inside." He turned and left without further comment.

"You should go back with him," Morgan said. He pulled away from Blaise, but her hand lingered on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said softly, "are you... okay? I mean, fuck, obviously not, this is... I know the Order is important to you. Can I help? Somehow?" Once again, she was looking at him with earnest concern. He should have felt something about that, probably, but the numbness was there instead.

"I don't know," Morgan replied. "I'm going to finish checking the wall for damage," he found himself saying, "and then I think I'm going to meditate." Being fully rested would be a good idea. He'd been getting so much sleep recently, he didn't need any more and he certainly didn't want to risk the nightmares. But he found he didn't want to be conscious either. Though the specific techniques had been developed by the Order, the act of meditation was hardly exclusive to them. It wouldn't interfere with anything. He could still have that little peace, at least.

Blaise squeezed him gently. "Think about eating something too." That was probably also a good idea, but less appealing. He nodded anyway. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said, then followed Icharion's path back toward the gates.

There was still more to do, Morgan reminded himself as he walked slowly around the wall. Tyrael had bidden them to slay Baal. He still had a purpose, for now. Between that and the numbness, it was enough to propel him through the rest of the day's actions. His body patched a few more damaged spots in the wall, and put some food into itself, and found a bed to lay itself in, and then it rested as his mind drifted in meditation, carefully focused on absolutely nothing at all.

#my writing #story: unbidden #fantasy religion tw #emotional whump #death mention tw

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lesbiansforboromir · 5 years

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Its been too long since I read the books and last time I saw the movies I was on denethor is a dick to my baby, let the man die. However, now I'm curious, since I remembered for instance that in the books he was devastated when he thought faramir died and your last reblog about that made me rethink my whole stance. Could you give me more positive denethor moments, or do I have to read the books again?

God I- I need so much for you all to understand how much I love asks like this, for PURELY selfish reasons, I just LOVE the idea of people like... doing what I do! Which is think about lotr and it’s characters and consider them in new angles and have fun with that! I feel connection and love in this chili’s tonight- ANYWAY.

To be clear, Denethor is one of my favourite characters, like JUST below Boromir in how much I love him and how furious I am with his portrayal in the films. I have a tag for him here that has a lot of good posts all about it. But positive moments for Denethor, yes ok! Lets start with my favourite quote from Denethor because it completely encompasses his- literally his ENTIRE book character;

In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.

Do you feel all the love and pride in his people and all the folk of middle earth who’re resisting this seemingly impossible threat? Even unto their inevitable end? Do you see the inherent belief that this is an unwinnable war, and yet how Denethor has remained Gondor’s greatest and most stalwart defender for all these years? GOD I do- ‘dying free’ is a VERY important sentiment that also puts a lot of his later, seemingly ‘mad’, actions into a much more understandable light. BUT I WILL TRY to not make this too much of a dissertation, god willing. SO! Onto Pippin’s swearing!

'Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt.' Twitching aside his grey cloak, Pippin drew forth his small sword and laid it at Denethor's feet.

A pale smile, like a gleam of cold sun on a winter's evening, passed over the old man's face; but he bent his head and held out his hand, laying the shards of the horn aside. 'Give me the weapon!' he said. Pippin lifted it and presented the hilt to him. 'Whence came this?' said Denethor. 'Many, many years lie on it. Surely this is a blade wrought by our own kindred in the North in the deep past?'

'It came out of the mounds that lie on the borders of my country,' said Pippin. 'But only evil wights dwell there now, and I will not willingly tell more of them.'

'I see that strange tales are woven about you,' said Denethor, 'and once again it is shown that looks may belie the man – or the halfling. I accept your service. For you are not daunted by words; and you have courteous speech, strange though the sound of it may be to us in the South. And we shall have need of all folk of courtesy, be they great or small, in the days to come.’

The film really had no idea what to do with Pippin offering his service to Denethor as- well essentially an acknowledgement and an honouring of Boromir’s sacrifice for him. Because the Denethor in the film would have scorned it, but it’s an important plot point, so it’s just kinda in there awkwardly and uncomfortably. This is because Denethor genuinely appreciates Pippin’s gesture, his son died for this hobbit! But Pippin is fervent and honest and Denethor can tell! Denethor is grateful, he empathises! These are not traits film!denethor possessed, so we get the.... tomato... scene.... BUT ONWARDS, I consider this a positive scene, simply because Denethor and Gandalf’s rivalry in the books is just so much FUNNIER and interesting than in the films;

'And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of sleep. Let your wrath at an old man's folly run off and then return to my comfort!'

'Folly?' said Gandalf. 'Nay, my lord, when you are a dotard you will die. You can use even your grief as a cloak. Do you think that I do not understand your purpose in questioning for an hour one who knows the least, while I sit by?'

'If you understand it, then be content,' returned Denethor. 'Pride would be folly that disdained help and counsel at need; but you deal out such gifts according to your own designs. Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men's purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man's, unless the king should come again.'

LIKE. IT’S FUNNY! Essentially Denethor’s like ‘oh ho I’m just an auld man dont be angry with me Gandy’ and Gandalf’s like ‘Denethor when you are ENFEEBLED by age you will DIE out of spite alone’ and Denethor’s like ‘OH FINE if you want to be that way, but you’re bloody annoying to deal with and I don’t TRUST you wholly so DEAL with it,’ And again we get Denethor’s like whole deal! Gondor is what he is here to defend! It’s his entire purpose in life! He doesn’t trust that Gandalf’s not going to use him for his own ends to the detriment of Gondor itself, which Gandalf LITERALLY admits he’d do in the next paragraph. Because he says ‘he’s the steward of everything, not just gondor’ which on the one hand is like, yeah, we get that, but you can understand Denethor’s perspective too. WHICH IS. GOOD CHARACTERISATION FOLKS!

'[Osgiliath] was 'It was a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.’

This is just like a little thing but I think it’s just kinda important to emphasise that Denethor wasn’t just a politician, he bled heavily for Gondor’s safety too and the retaking of Osgiliath was an incredibly important victory that Denethor achieved for Gondor’s safety as a whole. Anyway SPEAKING of the tomato scene- god this really does entirely emphasise the difference between Film!Denethor and Book!Denethor;

‘Can you sing?'

Yes,' said Pippin. 'Well, yes, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs fit for great halls and evil times, lord. We seldom sing of anything more terrible than wind or rain. And most of my songs are about things that make us laugh; or about food and drink, of course.'

'And why should such songs be unfit for my halls, or for such hours as these? We who have lived long under the Shadow may surely listen to echoes from a land untroubled by it? Then we may feel that our vigil was not fruitless, though it may have been thankless.'

In the end Pipping doesn’t sing for him but like?? Look SEE LIKE. It’s not MEAN, Denethor is in general sardonic and kinda harsh and frustrating in tone but he’s not dismissive or uncharitable or heartless; he’s interested, he likes TALKING to Pippin, he likes to hear about the world! Songs about food and drink and weather are fine! Of course they have merit!

'Not – the Dark Lord?' cried Pippin, forgetting his place in his terror. Denethor laughed bitterly. 'Nay, not yet, Master Peregrin! He will not come save only to triumph over me when all is won. He uses others as his weapons. So do all great lords, if they are wise, Master Halfling. Or why should I sit here in my tower and think, and watch, and wait, spending even my sons? For I can still wield a brand.'

Do you hEAR the bitterness in these lines? How he has to SIT here and WAIT as he sends his loved ones to die- but he has too, he HAS to do this, it’s not new, he’s been sending his sons to their probably deaths for years, and god he wishes he could be a reckless man and just ride out himself again but there IS no one to step into his place if he should be lost and Gondor just can’t take that! IT’S cOMPELLING. And so... now we’ll end on the part you mentioned, which really is like... AGONISING, it’s heartbreaking, especially after Denethor’s manners and character up until this point, sharp, sardonic, dauntless, uncowed by ever new loss, every new defeat, Boromir’s death even did not crack him completely but now-

And as [Pippin] watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown. Grief maybe had wrought it, and remorse. He saw tears on that once tearless face, more unbearable than wrath.

'Do not weep, lord,' he stammered. 'Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?'

'Comfort me not with wizards!' said Denethor. 'The fool's hope has failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous.

'I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out.'

Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City. 'Nay, I will not come down,' he said. 'I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay.'

I’ll NEVER forgive the appropriation of the ‘my line is ending’ line, he doesn’t MEAN that he’s grieving the loss of his lineage, he’s grieving the loss of his WHOLE COUNTRY, of his people! As well as his son! And in this final moment with him his priorities of heart surface, where his people are banging desperately at his door, begging for their Lord to come to their aide, he refuses, because Faramir is far more important to him in this moment.

I said I wasn’t going to make this a dissertation but WHATEVER, there you are anon, hope it’s what you wanted than thANK YOU AGAIN for the ask :)

#denethor #tolkien #erran vs tolkien #chats #Anonymous

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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years

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Day 14: The Last Day

Hi guys! Here she is! The last of our quarantine fic as the world is opening up, whether it should or not. It’s short, but felt complete! Huge thanks to everyone who read and reblogged! A huge thanks for @dirtystyles and @emulateharry for the read throughs and cheerleading! I am sure there will be other little odds and ends-

Harry’s POV maybe...

Day 14: The One With The Loss

"Where the f ..." Elise felt frantic, she could not find her bracelet. Her grandmother had given it to her. She didn't care at this point if she had to leave everything else behind, but she couldn't leave that.

She'd been incredibly close to her grandma Rose. On Some hard days, Elsie would have said she was the only one who ever really loved her. When she was dying Elise had gone to the hospital as much as possible to sit with her, at first to play cards, and then to hold her hand, and finally to curl up next to her and cry. When grandma was still able to talk she'd told her to go in her jewelry box, the one that was packed from her room at the assisted living facility and find her opal bracelet.

They shared an October 21st birthday. Grandma Rose said she'd had the bracelet since her sweet sixteen. Elise was a little older than that when she got it, but the bracelet was priceless and irreplaceable at this point. Her random t shirts and even her books could stay, but not her bracelet.

She'd been packing for a couple hours at this point. She wasn't aware she had this much stuff, or that it was so spread out. She'd been pretty unemotional through the whole process, until she couldn't find her bracelet. Elise might have been crying inside before then, but she was really freaking out now.

It was the first time she had cried since the talk with Harry.

"Is that what you're so scared of?" He'd said.

She'd scoffed. That got her back up. "I'm not scared of anything."

"Are you kidding me?" He actually laughed at her. "You're scared of everything!"

"Fuck you Harry! You don't know how I feel."

"Of course I don't. It might actually kill you to talk about your feelings or be honest." His hands were crossed over his chest.

"Honest, feelings? Cuz you are the king of talking about real shit?" Her hands came off her hips and she was pointing. "All we do is play, or fuck. You may actually be a lost boy."

"I'm just trying to read your comfort level, love. That seems to be the depth of life you're willing to deal in. Gotta keep it light for poor Elise, or she will run away. I'm dont even know why I bother." He sighed. "If you liked spending time with me at all, without being entertained all the time, I would not have to lure you out of your room every damn day with some promise of food or comfort or sex. It's so damn hard to know you."

"How dare you!" She seethed. He'd insinuated she was shallow right? That's what that bullshit about depth implied. "I am not shallow. Or a damn child who needs to be bribed. Maybe if I had any idea what I was doing here, or why you were being so nice to me, I'd not be so damn afraid I'd need to hide. I don't know you either, and your intentions are even more obscure."

"What you're doing here? I was just trying to make sure you were ok, or safe. Take care of you. If you were unwell it would be my fault."

"Cmon Harry, we both know you could have got us tests and sent me packing ages ago. What little fantasy are we living out here?"

"Yours!" He shouted.

And the conversation got more intense from there.

"Where could I have?" Elise's cheeks were wet; she was nauseous. This day had already been too much. She'd just got her head in her palms to weep when strong hands came onto her shoulders.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Harry asked into her black hair before kissing it.

"I can't find my grandma's bracelet anywhere. She gave it to me when they told her she was running out of time." She turned a watery frown on him and he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Ok, well tell me what it looks like and I'll help you."

Elise described the delicate piece and they each set off to look. She was essentially tossing things out of her way adding to the mess. The room had already looked casually like a bomb went off, but she was a mess when she looked for things. She did notice Harry was orderly in his disarray.

"When'd you wear it last?"

"I don't wear it. I'm too afraid I'll break it." She told him, and he chuckled.

"If you say something about patterns or bad habits I will cut you." She mentioned.

He put his hands up in surrender. And they both laughed.

He had a point.

Elise was thinking about how their fight the night before had gone when Harry said. "Is this it?"

"Oh my god." Tears filled her eyes anew and ran down her cheeks. "Thank you! What would I do without you?" It was an honest question. It had only been fourteen days but she honestly couldn't imagine not knowing him, really knowing him, not about him, or speculating about him, or inferring about him, or projecting about him. Knowing him, underneath his clothes, under his skin.

"No need to find out!" He smoothed her hair and then gave her a smooch. "Now, can you grab whatever you need so we can pretend we hate that we have to be locked in a house together for an undefined time."

She giggled. "You don't hate that you are stuck in your house with me for who knows how long?"

"Are you going to let me turn up the heater and stay naked?" He picked up one of the boxes she'd put together.

"Not all of the time."

"Then some of the time?" He curled his tongue and poked it to the side of his mouth.

How was she supposed to say no to that. "Maybe."

"Then hurry." Kiss. "Up." Kiss. " we need to go play strip scrabble."

"Im not playing scrabble with you." She said for the umpteenth time.

"Strip monopoly?"

"No."

"Apples to apples?"

"How the hell.." she just laughed at his hugely dimpled smile. "How about we just go in your hot tub and drink margaritas naked."

"Deal!" He started tossing clothes wildly into bags. It was out of character except for his insatibility. "Hurry up! We have plans!"

"To have sex?" God he was sooo cute. "More sex." She clarified.

"Yea, aren't those very important?" He stepped into her space and planted his hands on her hips and his flag in her heart. He'd leaned in close, but didn't connect their lips.

She gulped and leaned up against his arms keeping her feet planted and away from his tempting lips. "Yes, very important."

"Yeah." He said and kissed her silly.

She'd never done it on that bed. Seemed funny to do it after it had been stripped and with the knowledge it would never happen again.

It could have went another way. Elise kept catching herself in moments and feeling grateful, that once Harry started talking, he really started talking.

The day before, when he shouted the truth about living out her own fantasy, she'd started to walk away. She couldn't handle the truth. It was at least half true, it was a wonderful two weeks of her life, and it looked like now it was over. Elise knew she couldn't handle going back to his place and fighting more, or worse facing silent treatment. Plus, if he had wanted her there, he still hadn't said that today or before. She was about to cross the threshold of the room. Harry muttered something about her walking away.

She stopped and turned. She only had to walk away if she wanted to be done.

"This has been a fantasy, of course it has. Like a dream come true. And I'm really scared. I have no idea why I'm here, not really, or what we are doing, or what..." she sucked in some oxygen. "Or what." She felt tears building in her eyes. "How you feel about me." She expected him to say something, but instead he just stood and stared at her, waiting for her to talk. "And what happens tomorrow."

"What?" It was the first thing he'd said during her rant.

"We' re almost done with friends." She whispered.

He was nodding. "We are. so?"

"You said." She swallowed. "Last week you said we should finish Friends, the you said we only had three more days to finish."

He was nodding. "I guess I did, but Elise, the end of friends, it doesn't mean the end of us. And I'll answer all the questions you have. If you want the answers. But, I'll be honest and say I have no idea how you feel about me, like the real me, too. It's why I held back so long."

"So long? It's only been two weeks."

"Pretty intense two weeks." He wiped her tears. "It felt like forever. I wanted to love you up by day five."

She giggled. "Me too."

"Ugh." He groaned. "All that missed opportunity." But they were both smiling. "New challenge: make up for lost time now."

She was shaking her head at his ridiculous eyebrows. "So, you like me?" She asked.

"At the risk of being really obvious, I like you, like really like you, maybe could be more." He tilted her chin up. "and you like me? Me me?"

Elise nodded then thought she had already been this brave. "More than like, I think."

He beamed. "Honestly Elise, when I first brought you home it was out of guilt and because it didn't initially occur to me to just get tests." He looked down. "I had Jeff do research, and we had to wait a few days, and by then, well, I really liked spending time with you."

"Me too." All these confession made her feel like a feather.

"And nothing happens tomorrow. It's not some scary end date, I'm not kicking you out at check out time." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "Honestly? I'd really like it if you stayed with me, for however long this lasts. We've already been exposed to each other.."

"You think?"

"Very exposed to each other." He laughed with her. "And then after, whenever that is. We talk about it. You can keep your place, or save the money."

"I could pay for groceries."

He sighed. "Ok, you can pay for groceries." He quirked a brow and the dimples that bracketed his mouth wanted to break free, they just needed her response. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

"I'll stay." The full wattage of his smile was really like A full moon on a clear night. He bridged the space between them and swooped her into his arms.

"Good, I'd miss you if you were gone."

"I'd miss you if I was gone too." She was honest, hopefully it would become a new habit.

"Then let's not let that happen." He kissed her then, and it was a piece of this tiny instance of forever she'd keep always, if they wound up married fifty years or broke up by pandemic's end.

"Can I tell you something really crazy?"!She asked with her ear pressed to his heart. She felt his body nod on her head. "I'm so glad you sneezed in my face."

"Yeah?" He asked. "I could do it again?" He offered, his body vibrating with his laugh.

"I'm good now thanks. But, I'm still glad it happened."

"Me too baby, me too."

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #quarantine fic #day fourteen #the one with the loss

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criticalyasha · 5 years

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Lena? Lena? Lena.. Why do you have Myriad?

Well, you caught me. I have Myriad because I'm using you like you used me.

I never used you.

Do you remember when you finally told me you were Supergirl? You were weeping - big crocodile tears. Well, I wept real tears, bitter tears over you weeks before.

What? I.. I thought.. How long had you known?

I found out the day I killed my brother.

Lena, you didn't kill Lex, that was me. I.. I watched him, I saw him fall.

You saw him fall, but did you see him land? Did you see him die? I did, and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty.

That's impossible.

Anything's possible when you're a Luthor.

Lex used his transmatter portal watch. I knew exactly where he'd go. To the cabin we loved when we were children, so I was there waiting for him. I had the gun ready.. loaded, I could feel the weight of it in my hands. Every fiber in my being rebelled, but I.. I didn't want to do it, but I knew I had to because if Lex lived, the world wouldn't be safe, my friends wouldn't be safe. So, I forced myself to pull the trigger. I shot my own brother in the chest. His final words to me were that I was a fool, that my best friend, that every friend I had was lying to me. With his dying breath, he told me that you were Supergirl.

Lena, you have to believe me, I never meant to humiliate you-

No!

When I came to this city, I promised myself that I would never trust anyone again, and then I met you. You chipped away at my armor with your warmth and your earnestness, and you convinced me to trust in people and friendship again, and against my better judgment, I did, all the while telling you about my Achilles heel, betrayal. I confided in you that everyone in my past had betrayed me. About how much it hurt to have someone you love lie to you and betray you. I spelled it out to you over and over again, essentially begging you not to violate my trust, begging you not to prove that, once again, I was a fool. You reassured me ad nauseam that you would never lie to me, that you'd never hurt me. And all the while, there wasn't a single honest moment in our friendship.

No! No, that is not true-

No! I killed my brother for you, for our friends! Don't you understand what you've done?

When you found out, why didn't you come to me right away, so I could explain-

"Explain"? Yeah?

If you hate me so much, why.. why not out me at the Pulitzer party? Why pretend to still be my friend this long?

Because I wanted you to experience what you did to me. Feel what I felt.

I understand your pain and your fury and.. and you're right. I made a big mistake, maybe the biggest mistake of my life, but please Lena, please don't leave the Fortress with Myriad. Please don't let my mistake push you to do something terrible.

You are a good person.

No! No, you don't ever get to tell me who or what I am again.

Intruder! Intruder!

Did you reprogram the Fortress defenses to attack me?

Yes. And I rigged it to answer to this little button I have in my hand.

Are you going to try to kill me?

No. Supergirl, I'm not gonna kill you.

I'm not a villain.

You shouldn't have treated me like one.

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara zor el #melissa benoist #katie mcgrath #katie deserves all the awards after that one #i’m fine #totally fine #my heart is broken #my children are hurting #save them

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 4 years

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The reliquary of the Covid-19 pandemic in Brazil

Our “new normal” cannot be a return to our old one, because this would mean erasing injustices such as violence against women, structural racism and the genocide of indigenous people

The Covid-19 pandemic is an outrage. What sinner placed this stumbling block in our lives? It was nobody. A virus is a nobody. Hordes of us are dying, 100,000 of us in Brazil. The numbers are outrageous, but they also distance us from those who weep. These 100,000 lives have left heartache at every corner; among almost all of us, someone is mourning a death bereft of a farewell. Our dismay over lives snatched away makes us long for funeral rites. Even if somewhat morbid, these rites are moments for celebrating the memory of loved ones lost. Now there is no time for the sorrow that precedes mourning, because the virus is in a rush, and humans have been careless about taking it seriously.

Whoever says we are all equally vulnerable to the virus is lying. Only in the abstract plane of laboratory immunizations are we made of identical matter. In the concrete plane of immunization afforded by privilege, our bodies are very different – some bodies go outside to clean sidewalks, others to work in drugstores or supermarkets, while others to deliver food or medicine, and many to care for the sick at hospitals, homes or long-term care facilities. These bodies are essential to the Covid-19 pandemic and for this very reason at greater risk of falling ill and, sadly, of dying. Since I could do nothing to alleviate the impacts of this outrage on the lives of so many thousands, I shut myself up at home. I am surviving the social distancing mandate, an order for social isolation. If I can’t do anything for others, at least I can leave the streets to those who must get around to care for all of us.

From my place of non-essential existence in this pandemic, I’ve been imagining forms of care. I began teaching over social media, talking to people unfamiliar to me, people I could only meet through literature or ethnography. These new voices have taught me how others survive the abnormality of unfair rules of life. Our “new normal” cannot be a return to our old one, because naturalizing this normal would mean erasing injustices such as violence against women in their homes, structural racism and the genocide of indigenous people. We are in the throes of disheartenment, both real and allegorical. If our bodies do not succumb to the virus that disheartens our lungs, then our bodies should be wholly disheartened by the burning wound inflicted by our own survival. This is why I have hope in the post-pandemic world.

#brazil #brazilian politics #politics #coronavirus #covid 19 #mod nise da silveira

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365days365movies · 4 years

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January 6, 2021: Last Action Hero (Part 2)

SPOILERS! And check out Part 1 beforehand! Anyway, let’s go! Got a lot to cover, TRUST me.

So, this movie is incredibly cluttered. Anyway, Slater makes his way to the Fart Bomb, and Practice (makes perfect) is a dirty cop working for Vivaldi. Danny and Slater get chained to a pipe, and I’m still surprised we haven’t even slightly revisited the time Danny got taken hostage about, what, an hour ago? Whiskers the Cat Cop arrives and shoots Salieri, and I weep for the part of my sanity that just died typing that sentence.

I want you to know, I mad that GIF. I had to type “furball problem.” I’m losing it, you guys...and I think I’m enjoying it.

Together, Slater and Danny steal the body of Leo the Fart (HUP, there goes a little more sanity), everybody at the funeral has a gun (including one old woman with a straight-up grenade launcher), and so, SO much property is abused and damaged. In other words, it’s a pretty fun action sequence. Leo drops into a conveniently placed tar pit alongside Jack Slater, and Danny briefly becomes a domestic terrorist by shooting a gun in a public area, WOW, the ‘90s was a different time!

So, it’s at this point that I start getting annoyed by Danny always being meta. I realize that I've been praising it for this, but...yeah, no, it’s starting to get annoying now. Especially considering that we’ve got an hour left in the movie. But, on the bright side, it’s also at this point that Benedict becomes my favorite character. This gorgeous motherfucker kills Vivaldi (whose plan was completely nonsensical, by the way), and then turns to the screen. Charles Dance effortlessly channels the spirit of Shakespeare’s Richard III, Duke of Gloucester, as says this to the audience:

If that little turd, Daniel Madigan, can move through parallel worlds, I can move through parallel worlds. In and out! In, steal whatever I want, and out again! Impossible to catch!

I can add colors to the chameleon, change shapes with Proteus for advantages, AND SET THE MURDEROUS MACHIAVEL TO...Anyway...

Charles Dance is giving his absolute best energies to this role. And this might be a silly movie, but godDAMN is Benedict a great villain for it. It’s immediately followed by the surreal image of a monster truck crashing through the wall of this mansion, and the fight leads to Benedict, Professor Toru Tanaka, Danny, and Jack Slater falling through a portal created by the ticket, and ending up in the real world.

We put Jack’s action-movie world in contrast with the real world, first with little things, and then with a legitimately vicious-looking car accident. Like, wow, it’s a VERY realistic-looking accident. I’d show a GIF of it, but...wow, it’s extremely affecting. Toru dies, and there’s, uh...there’s blood. Man. It’s rough, honestly.

Speaking of affecting, Jack is beginning to understand the true nature of his reality. And Schwarenegger does an OK job pulling that pain off...but like everybody in this movie, his emotions are way calmer than mine would be if I were in his shoes. But there is one character I can identify with: Nick, the theater owner. When he finds out that the ticket works, he starts to talk about the movies he could now visit, the people he could meet. OK, most of them are beautiful female starlets, but still! I get it! Do you know how much I would love to meet Stan Lee? SERIOUSLY? It’d be amazing.

I can also identify with Danny’s mother, who is rightfully PISSED. Seriously, this kid just got assaulted by a robber, brought to the police, and went directly TO THE MOVIE THEATER. GROUND THIS CHILD. GROUND HIM SO GODDAMN HARD.

And then, Benedict experiences the darkest part of the real world, and Dance again shows his talent. He begins by showing surprise and mild horror at the depravity of an early 1990s New York City (a little more dramatically bad than it was in real life at this point, but still), then sees a man assaulted (and possibly killed) for his shoes. He remarks at this in horror...then realizes that the police don’t come as quickly as they do in his film universe. He experiments by killing a man in cold blood, in public, and no one stops him.

Upon realizing his potential freedom in this world...he makes a plan. He uses the ticket, and brings back...the Ripper. ANY OTHER MOVIE VILLAIN? Dracula? Freddy Kreuger? Jason? Like...nobody? That is...such a missed opportunity, goddamn. Anyway, their plan is to kill Arnold Schwarzenegger. As in the REAL Arnold Schwarzenegger, who actually appears upon his real-life wife at the time Maria goddamn Shriver! Which...yeah, that’s cool, but...the amount of celebrity cameos in this scene is, frankly, INSANE.

Here’s a list: Little Richard, Jim Belushi, Damon Wayans, Chevy Chase, JEAN-CLAUDE VAN DAMME, MC Hammer. And that’s not counting Tina Turner (the mayor earlier), Sharon Stone, Robert Patrick, Joan Plowright, and...well, I’ll save the best for last.

I haven’t even mentioned the development of Slater’s as a three-dimensional character in multiple different ways; the Ripper showing up at the movie premiere alongside the movie actor, Tom Noonan; the Ripper KILLING NOONAN’S REAL WORLD AGENT...

This movie is insane. So much to cover, and yet it’s SUCH A LONG GODDAMN MOVIE. This movie is 2 hours and 11 minutes long! SERIOUSLY! I am tired, I gots to go to BEEEEED. Let’s get this climax over with, shall we? Arnold Schwarzenegger meets Jack Slater in some REALLY seamless effect work (this movie has actually aged SO well, damn), the Ripper kidnaps Danny and brings him to the roof of the theater, in a bid to reenact their old battle. Some meta dialogue takes place from the Ripper, and he THROWS DANNY OFF THE ROOF. Noonan’s also actually pretty good at playing this unhinged, Joker-esque maniac, by the way.

Jack kills the Ripper (again), and Danny’s saved from falling by Jack, just in time for Benedict to show up and make my day once more. He expounds the true potential of the ticket and film villains (frustrating me even more), while also chewing the scenery splendidly. He points out that any movie villain would love the real world, noting that in this world, the bad guys win. He shoots Jack Slater, and as he’s about to win, Slater shoots him in the eye, resulting in this shot.

Nice.

But he drops the ticket, which lands near a theater showing the classic Ingmar Bergman film, The Seventh Seal, a movie which is on my list for Drama December. Or maybe Experimental June, I haven’t decided yet. Anyway, the ticket activates in front of that theater and...that’s Ian fucking McKellen.

THAT IS IAN. FUCKING. MCKELLEN. PLAYING INGMAR BERGMAN’S DEATH. WHAT. HOLY SHIT. And that happens just as Slater is literally about to die in the ambulance, and Danny summons his domestic terrorist impulses again, whipping out a gun and hijacking the ambulance to get Jack back to the theater. Meanwhile, Ian McKellen just KILLS a dude on the street, because this movie is secretly AMAZING. DeathKellen follows the ambulance to Nick’s movie theater as Jack is dying. Leading to one of the most surreal things I’ve ever seen.

McKellen fucking TAKES this movie as an omnipotent death, and is essentially Death ex Machina. My God. This movie is the silliest, craziest, wackiest, most nonsensical, crazy movie that I’ve seen...and goddamn does it have some amazingly great moments. To the extent that I only just realized that the fucking cartoon cat is voiced by DANNY FUCKING DEVITO. WHAT. THE FUCK.

And all of this is also running over the almost completely ignored fact that Danny is still greatly saddened about the death of his father. And this film completely passes that fact over. Like I said, there’s so much extra folderol in the film, and it really did have the chance to be this emotional, existential epic. But sadly...it’s kind of all over the place.

Anyway, Jack’s back in the movie, where his wounds heal, and he now has a new understanding of his own fictional existence. He officially becomes the meta. And also ruins the Jack Slater franchise forever. Yeah, uh...the franchise has literally become self aware. And that’s not gonna be a good thing for the movie.

And that’s Last Action Hero! Epilogue coming in a few hours, so stay tuned for that. And I gotta tell you...I have some words to say about this movie. Some great, and some...stay tuned.

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