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who-is-page · 2 years

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Prey Drive & Video Games

Author: Page

Type: Personal Essay

Words: 1,534

Summary: How Page uses particular video games to manage their prey drive.

[Part of the Sol System's Alterhuman Writing Project for NaNoWriMo 2021. If you don't want to see these posts, block the tag #inkedpaws]

I’m someone with an overactive prey drive. I attribute it to my nonhumanity and specifically my identity as a canine psychopomp (a glorified magical hunting dog…wolf…thing) and it can be something of a struggle to deal with. Sometimes seeking enrichment can be difficult or downright impossible, situations depending—the covid epidemic has in particular made navigating this part of me especially hard.

The best way I’ve yet found to alleviate this resides in video games. Two ones in particular: Skyrim and, more recently discovered, Monster Hunter.

Skyrim’s werewolf mechanics, especially with DLC and modding add-ons that enhance the natural abilities of the character and the customizability of the model, are an iconic part of the game’s appeal to me. Racing around the countryside and mindlessly slaughtering animal and civilian alike is satisfying in the same way eating a good meal might be, especially when your werewolf character themselves gets to devour the hearts of their kills!

But more satisfying than that element is the stealth mechanics themselves, especially in regards to daggers and bows. Everyone rags on stealth archer builds, and for good reason: they’re overpowered as all get out with the ability for the character to just melt away into the shadows and ruthlessly one-shot virtually anything, sending even giants careening into the sky.

Crouching unseen in a patch of grass while stalking the guards outside of Whiterun, only to take them out one by one while the NPC’s AI works itself up into a panicked frenzy, imitates an emotional economy that is functionally impossible to (legally and/or ethically) engage with in real, physical life for me. Skyrim’s broken code around stealth, bows, and daggers works by proxy as a fantastic “pumpkin full of meat” in terms of enrichment, helping to soothe some of the restlessness that my prey drive ramps up the longer I go without engaging in something that satisfies that itch. The option to sneak right up behind a target and get close and personal, the option to keep your distance and get the perfect shot, the option to slink through city alleyways or through the tall grass of plains or in the murky swamp water like and hunt actual animals… it’s the beauty of Skyrim’s open world layout and utter lack of any real morality system beyond “don’t get caught.”

Hunting the guards is probably the most satisfying for me within game play, but the ability to functionally roleplay as an actual big game hunter, going out and after the various wildlife like saber cats, wolves, deer, bears, and potentially more if you have modded gameplay, is also something I enjoy. The juxtaposition of doing all of the above while being a werewolf in-game hits a special sweet spot between what I want, and the reality I’m currently living.

But Skyrim’s ragdoll physics and the repetition of playing a game that I’ve had since 2011 can dull how well it works for me. It’s also hellish to start the game up, as I have it loaded with a fun few hundred mods that make it liable to crashing—because what’s the point of playing Skyrim if you’re not going to break it over your knee in the process?

Skyrim is the old reliable of getting my prey drive worked out, but a new option’s come to light to help me deal with my more problematic instincts: Monster Hunter World.

Monster Hunter World, for those unfamiliar, is a game where—you guessed it!—you hunt enormous monsters, either capturing them or killing them. This game in particular is set in the “New World,” an unexplored continent filled with flora and fauna that scholars and scientists are attempting to gather as much information on as possible.

The game has multiple different fighting style options based on various kinds of weapons, all combined with a grappling hook that allows for up close and personal encounters. For me, I enjoy the sword and shield, and the hammer. Both allow for immediate use of the grappling hook without sheathing the weapon, and let me functionally wail on anything that crosses paths with me. Anything that tries to run—which monsters in the game will try to do, multiple times, while you hunt them—I chase with the single-minded determination natural to virtually any canine.

Before playing Monster Hunter World, I thought of myself as a scholar first, a bundle of uncontrollable animal instincts second: during the second area of the game, during an escort mission where a large, fire-breathing dragon monster called a Rathian swopped down upon the group of scientists I was supposed to be chasing, I realized that this was not the case. The Rathian is meant to be significantly above the player’s level, especially if they’re new to the game, and the scientists all scream to run as soon as it comes in sight. I proceeded to chase after it to try and rip its individual limbs off with my bare teeth, and only stopped after it lead me through an area that activated an automatic cut scene with my then-forgotten escort, causing me to lose my prey and lose my shit. It’s a good thing the NPCs in this game are invulnerable, because I was ready to take their lives in exchange for the Rathian I’d lost.

But getting to bound after monsters and even occasionally lose them because they successfully flee off the map or outmaneuver you on the terrain is half the fun. It’s the joy of knowing that the hunt might not always be successful, and the pride and celebrating when one is.

You also have the ability to harvest raw meat from certain monsters and spit-roast it over a fire, with different degrees of done-ness having different perks. Eating what you hunt is never not a plus for me.

But the benefits don’t just stop with the hunting or trapping of the big, scary monsters: Monster Hunter is filled with a variety of different small insects, mammals, reptile, amphibians, birds, and fish to catch or kill as you please. These creatures are affected by the game’s day/night cycle and different weather effects, so it’s been a real treat to get to sniff around and discover them all. Chasing after the squirrel-esque creatures and netting the birds is more of a treat for the “stalk,” and “chase” parts of my drive than he “kill” part, but it’s deeply satisfying in its own right. The only downside is that spawn areas for creatures are pre-determined, so once you know where everything small is, there’s no turning back to the days of being presently surprised by the geckos or fish you stumble across out in the wild.

There’s also a certain sense of kinship with the large creatures in Monster Hunter World that I just don’t feel in Skyrim: even though Skyrim has its fair share of non-human NPCs, filled with lizard-people, cat-people (both humanoid and feline), ghosts, vampires, and werewolves, the only people I tend to feel any strong connection to on a nonhuman front are the followers of Hircine and the god himself. Which is a very small number of characters overall, when you put the whole open world factor into perspective.

Meanwhile with Monster Hunter World, I can see parts of my own instincts in the animals I hunt and track. Even the way some of them move when defensive or hurt is a reflection of my own phantom limbs’ tendencies. It makes me sympathize and relate to the animals in a certain way, though not enough to make me feel emotionally invested in not engaging them in combat. But it helps my brain unwind and let lose, not being so caught up in the human decorum that I try to keep up consistently and that I, to some degree, mask with unconsciously.

I’ve tried other games that involve hunting wildlife, but none of them have quite hit all the points for me in the same way Skyrim and Monster Hunter do. Slime Rancher’s exploration and mechanics with catching slimes is fun in a similar way, but I can’t (and don’t want to) injure any of the purposefully lovable critters. The Hunter: Call of the Wild game was fun, but being a human in it felt limiting in a way that put me off of it. Dead by Daylight I struggled with because of its multiplayer focus and how much of an absolute n00b I am at it. And the Witcher series is slow going, since I’m starting from the first game, so it’s more for the story than for any nonhuman benefit at the point I’m currently at. These games are all objectively good and I certainly enjoy them, but when my inner instincts are screeching at me, they just don’t make the cut.

I’m lucky in that I’ve found these ways to bow off steam, especially during a pandemic that makes it difficult to explore my other options. Keeping my instincts under control isn’t the easiest thing to do and I’m constantly on the lookout for ways to improve my enrichment methods, but I’m at a good place right now and I’m grateful for what I’ve found that works for me.

#Inkedpaws #alterhuman #otherkin

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kaypeace21 · 3 years

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The fathers of Stranger Things: (narrative analysis)

This analysis will discuss all the dads in st. But will mostly focus on the parallels between Brenner, Lonnie, Neil,and Hopper. And the ramifications on their kids.And no i’m not saying Hopper is necessarily as bad as these other fathers/doesn’t have his reasons. But i think the parallels are worth mentioning.

Cycles of Ab*se & internalizing your father’s teachings

Baseball-We see in s2 the cycle of abuse is there- Billy mimics Neil, and then Max mimics Billy. And uses violence to stand up for herself- which earlier she said she was trying to combat … explaining she can be angry like Billy sometimes but she never wants to be like him (her nickname symbolizing this: aka ‘mad max’).

We see in s3 Neil taught Billy baseball and bullied him and called him a “p*ssy” so Billy as a child bullied others and calls them a “p*ssy” (internalizing his father’s teachings and probably venting his anger towards his father on to others). We also see Billy in s2 antagonizes max and demands “say it. say it!”And later Max yells at Billy “say it! say it” and attacks him with a bat. Showing that even Neil has influenced her to a certain extent (via Billy’s ab*se of Max).

We also see in s3 when Will is frustrated he destroys cb (a symbol of his artistic ambition/the day his father left) and destroys it with a baseball bat (and then we see the mf officially return) . We also see in s2, Will has a baseball next to the mf drawing (in his room). This is noteworthy due to the fact Jonathan in s1 asks if Will even likes baseball or is just doing it to appease his father. in s1, Will admits he isn’t a fan of baseball -showing how this ‘interest’ in baseball in later seasons just reflects his desire to win his father’s approval (through more sterotypically masculine hobbies). And we see how both Neil & Lonnie taught both their sons baseball- who are both named William -and who they would call “f*gs”. We also see in s1 Jonathan lugs around a baseball bat & his father’s gun -however neither tool is used by him in the end successfully. However, in s3 we see Jonathan using an axe (like Joyce) showing by this point he’s mostly taken on Joyce’s influence.

El’s spying , fighting the Russians, and lack of care for her safety shows she internalized Brenner’s teachings- We know in s1 El was trained to be a spy/weapon against the soviets (by Brenner). And in later seasons when it comes to her interpersonal relationships- she continues to spy on everyone around her. she spies on Mike despite his vocal discomfort in s3. Brenner specifically tells her to spy and repeat the words the guys are saying back to him- which is exactly what she does to Lucas and Mike (spying on them and repeating their words back to Max). And when Mike is concerned for her safety we also have El mimic Brenner’s words (from s1) . in s1 she is also said to be taken by Brenner to be a “weapon to fight the commies” and in s3 that’s exactly what she did! She does literally everything Brenner ever wanted from her!!!!!!!

Jonathan & Billy’s fights with Steve (reflect their father issues... which Steve accidentally triggered)- We see Billy and Jonathan both shoved into walls by their father’s . For Billy this is in a direct consequence of Max running away and for Jonathan- Will’s disappeareance. Billy first shoves Lucas into the wall similarly to Neil. And both Jonathan and Billy are told to “STOP”.

Billy also breaks a plate over Steve’s head. What’s interesting to note is in s3 we see Billy’s mother threw a plate at Billy’s father (so he was mimicking the dysfunction he saw as a child). kind of like how in s3 he backhands max (mirroring how neil backhanded his mother in the s3 flashback).

When it comes to jonathan we see jonathan tell nancy to leave and it’s “not worth it” to argue with Steve. However he stops in his tracks when Steve says he’s “like his father”. Then Steve proceeds to insult his family. And eventually Jonathan who throughout every season is generally portrayed as non confrontational attacks steve. similarly when Billy and Jonathan are beating Steve (who is laying on the ground)-multiple people are yelling for them to stop.But both are in too much of a triggered daze to stop themselves. Even when the cops come- Jonathan elbows the cop in the face and kicks steve with handcuffs on and even says handcuffed for the cop to “get off’ (like he told Lonnie earlier).

Both would rather do this to their own fathers-but Steve (and the cops) were used as their proxy instead. The fights might reflect what the boys have been taught by their fathers-aka vi*lence. Also on some subconscious level jonathan may have been like-oh you think i’m like my dad? I’ll show you what my dad is like (beats steve with no mercy).

***also, tw se*ual ab*se (you can skip)-during the jonathan fight they also bring up the “pervy photo sesh”- which jonathan took right after seeing his father. in the movies said to inspire s4 they often had a se*ually ab*sive dad/relative who would take innaproriate pics of his kids.uuuuugh. So jonathan may have just been mimicking that past behavior of his father. ugh.***

father’s ab*se reflects the supernatural

*if you know about my did theory-part 1 and 2 you’ve heard this stuff in detail but i’ll just give a brief synopsis

- The demogorgan that attacks Will in s1 is a demon called the “deep FATHER” in d&d.

-El first comes across the demogorgon (“deep father” ) eating it’s own eggs- symbolically this shows the ‘father’ is hurting it’s own kids ( a motif in the show)!

hunting/baseball/trunks connecting to Lonnie and the monsters: Will is attacked by the demogorgan in Lonnie’s old shed (and Will tries to defend himself with Lonnie’s old hunting gun). The demogorgan jumps on Jonathan and knocks the bat out of his hands, when he tries defending himself from the demogorgan( both activities: hunting/baseball Lonnie taught the boys). We also see the demogorgan also attack hunters and a deer- a ref to the lonnie & Jonathan hunting story about Bambi. In s1 we see Jonathan check Lonnie’s trunk to see if Will is there . But also we see the mf throw heather and later her parents in the trunk as well. Also when Jonathan starts talking car repair lingo in s3 -Will senses the mf (since Lonnie repaired cars as a hobby in s1). When lonnie returns in s1 jonathan asks Joyce “did that thing (demogorgan ) come back?” And when Lonnie says he explored around the quarry-jonathan mentions how the demogorgan only traveled a few miles around his house. When Lonnie says “someone should be held accountable” for what happened to Will- it transitions from lonnie hammering a nail into the wall to Mike piercing a pencil into paper explaining the hole in the upsidedown and how Will got trapped there- hinting at how Lonnie causing trauma to Will is the explanation for everything supernatural. Also need to point out how we zoom in on the lightbulb in Lonnie’s shed (after Will is taken) and they later zoom in on a red lighbulb (when Jonathan tears the innappropriate photos down from the red room) and then it transitions to the christmas lights. And then we see Lonnie berate Jonathan and there’s a glowing lightbulb beside Lonnie (to mirror him to the demogorgan).

-flowers & monstrous fathers: when Brenner (”papa”) first hurts Terry on a hospital bed she wakes up with sunflowers next to her bed. Lonnie in s1 is shown to have a sunflower blanket, and in s2 we see a sunflower book next to Will’s bed after he has a nightmare. We also see that the demogorgan ( ”deep father’-also called the “the man without a face” in s1 ) have a face that resembles a flower. Brenner also gave El a flower when on her bed (although not a sunflower) before forcing her to face the demogorgan for the 1st time.

I believe credit goes to the tumblr user lazy-storm-cloud for noticing Lonnie’s sunflower blanket. I noticed most of the flower imagery but never noticed that blanket until they mentioned it.

-supernatural “wounds” connecting to Will, El, Kali and fathers.The lab workers say the upsidedown’s influence over crops/hawkins is “spreading” while joyce says the tunnels Will drew are also “spreading”. Will says his now-MEMORIES” (connected to the mf-who parallels lonnie) are “growing, spreading, and killing.” Later, Kali in reference to Brenner says her wounds “spread” because she didn’t address her pain caused by Brenner (her papa). And when kali creates a brenner-double he says El has a terrible wound that’s “growing, spreading, and eventually it’ll kill you.” (if not addressed) and they don’t stand up against their father.

-doors connecting to problematic fathers: We see Will in s1 have a sign on his bedroom door that says “do not enter”. And he also requires a password for cb for people to enter. When joyce in s1 hears aggressive knocking on the door she assumes it’s lonnie and says to “go away, Lonnie”. In s1 we the demogorgan unlock the door telepathically and chase Will. later we see Will stare at the shed door terrified as the demogorgan sneaks up behind him. in s2 we see the mf slam open the arcade door by itself, and also open his house door in the same manner . when the house door opens it zooms in on the back of his neck- which indicates it’s based off an old memory-a now memory. We have El also telepathically unlock people’s doors in a similar fashion-not respecting such boundaries. And El asks in s1e1 for the door to stay open. And Neil, Hopper, and Billy angrily yell to “OPEN THE DOOR!!!!!” And Hopper slams doors open demanding they stay 3 inches open. We also see El enter a door in the void to see Heather being attacked in a tub and entering the darkness.

tubs:brenner forces El into a sensory deprivation tank. Later El refers to it as a “tub” after seeing the byers tub. we later see the mf is afraid of the byers’ tub. And tub iconography shows up for billy & heather. the s4 movies hint at Will having a tra*matic memory occurring in the tub.

The fathers of St (recap):

Brenner (“papa” to El and Kali). He forces El into a dark room for hours when she doesn’t obey him. At one point tries to force her to k*ll an animal. Given the way she ate at Benny’s- he may have starved her as another form of punishment.He allows El no ability to express herself (and dresses her in a masculine/androgounous way) and bans her from the outside world. He tries using a calm-kind demeanor to try and manipulate mothers (Joyce & Karen) into thinking he cares about their kids. And uses El as a weapon/spy . He would read to El and give her flowers and a lion plushie . in the st novel (suspicious minds) he compared the children/numbers to “rabbits” he could “hurt”.

Lonnie-(dead beat dad of Jonathan and Will). divorced.Forced Jonathan to k*ll a rabbit. It’s implied he has thrown his kids in his dark car trunk (since Jonathan checks if Will is lonnie’s trunk in s1). He tries manipulating Joyce into thinking he cares about Will. But he just wanted to use Will’s death to make money. He canonically-joked about his son dissappearing. And insulted his ex wife. Then when he realizes he can profit off his son’s death-who he hasn’t seen in years. He leaves his 20-something live in gf, flirts with Joyce calling her “babe”. And pretends to care for Will and the rest of his family. Then gaslights them when they call out his bs. He also has called Will a “f*g” and it’s implied he forced Will to hunt/play baseball. He also shoves Jonathan into a wall. He can have a relatively calm demeanor like Brenner-but then blows up. He smokes, and it’s implied he may be an alcholic since beer cans are littered all over his house. Will has lion plushie in cb (and since lonnie means ‘lion’ it may have been given to him by Lonnie?). He (like Hopper) implies Joyce is mentally ill and that she’s hallucinating due to grief-and says she’s going to go “over the edge” mirroring Hopper’s words about Joyce in s1.

Neil- divorced.Calls Billy a “f*got”, and forced him to play baseball. He later shoves his son into a wall and slaps him. He has a calm demeanor and then yells to make his points with Billy. He also yells at first wife cause romantically jealous. Him & Lonnie both have fights with their ex wives where the phrase “I’m not lying to you” is used.

Hopper- divorced.in s1-3 we see he smokes, pops pills, and is an alocholic. The pilot pitch explicitely states he is . He is shown to have anger issues, sells out El’s location to Brenner in s1. In s2 threatens to send her back to her ab*sers if she doesn’t listen to him/ stay isolated from the outside world. dresses her androgonously and tries controlling her romantic relationships. He yells at Joyce cause romantically jealous . joyce annoyed at Hopper: “yes everyman i speak to is my boyfriend”. El says “you are like papa.” And in the pilot Brenner and Hopper were said to dress similarly. And Murray says to Joyce that Hopper is a “brute” who “reminds (her) of a (past) bad relationship”. Aka Lonnie.

Steve’s dad- is called an “asshole” by Steve and it’s implied he cheats on his wife.

heather’s dad - is sexist to Nancy and cold to his wife. We see Heather (who is the same age as Nancy) has some hidden resentment towards him.

Sam (Max’s dad)- divorced/out of the picture like Lonnie. in the novel ‘runaway max’ is said to be a criminal who often took Max to shady places/bars. And also taught her how to pick door locks-similar to how Jonathan picked a car lock open in s1 like max with a door in s2.

Dustin’s dad- also out of the picture ? dead... maybe?

Recap: Parallels of fathers

forced their kids to k*ll animals/violence toward rabbits/throws kids in dark places/gave their kids lion plushies/tries unsuccessfully to manipulate mother’s into thinking he cares for their kids: Lonnie & Brenner

taught kids shady stuff like how to pick locks: Lonnie & Sam

are described as poor/called their sons “f*gs”/forced sons to play baseball/slam sons into walls/have their sons attack Steve/have sons who are into hard rock music: lonnie & Neil

“i’m not lying to you”-:Neil/ex wife and Lonnie/joyce

dr*gs/smokes/alochol ab*se/womanizers/hunters: lonnie & Hopper

imply Joyce is wrong about the supernatural and is just mentally ill: Lonnie and Hopper. Both use a similar expression of her being on “the edge”.

lie to Joyce: Lonnie and Hopper (specifically lies claiming he took her advice and uses that lie to try and get a date with her)

Gave them cat plushies: Lonnie,Brenner, possibly hopper with sara’s tiger

being connected to flowers: Brenner & Lonnie

yell at love interest when romantically jealous:Neil and Hopper in s3

Hopper: compared to Lonnie (by Murray in s3) and Papa/brenner (by el in s2). in the original pilot Brenner & Hopper were supposed to look similar. Brenner was supposed to have a beard, and wear jeans and plaid shirts similar to hopper in s1. it’s also interesting to note how Hopper started to look more like Neil -they’re both blondes-and in s3 they have matching moustaches (and billy started growing out a moustache in s3-mirroring him becoming a mini neil too).

dress El in masculine clothes/isolate her from outside world/spy on El/read to El:Hopper & Brenner

calm demeanor but quick to anger/ also divorced: Hopper, lonnie, Neil

yells to “open the door”: Neil, Hopper, (and possessed Billy) .it’s also implied Lonnie can pick door locks open.

outliers

jonathan - In the pilot pitch he’s described as taking on the father role for Will (after Lonnie left). However, he is often paralleled to the mothers of st. Most likely because he never had a healthy father figure- and distrusts even good men like Bob- so models his parenting behavior more so on maternal figures. We see Jonathan being paralleled to the mothers taking photos of their kids on Halloween, and Jonathan being paralleled to Karen twice. We even see him bored/annoyed in s2 watching the film “mr mom” since the comedic premise was haha - dad has to stay at home- cook for their kids , drive them to school, do laundry, whaaa how can a man do that ... look it’s so hard ? isn’t that what moms do instead? All things Jonathan does without literally tripping over himself and failing like the older male film character, initially does . He also in canon helps pay for the mortgage. We also see Jonathan is unlike the other problematic fathers (who demand entry into their kid’s room) since we see him knock on Will’s door and get verbal permission before entering Will’s room in s2 (respecting Will’s sign). Similar to joyce ringing cb’s doorbell and getting verbal permission from Will to enter.We also see on Halloween Jonathan mocks Bob but when Will defends him Jonathan later mimics Bob telling Will “hope it doesn’t suck” (in a vampire voice) showing at least subconsciously he was mirroring the parenting-like behavior from Bob (since Will liked Bob). So Bob became the first male he used as an inspiration for his ‘parenting style’.

Ted- is shown in direct opposition to Lonnie.In s1 we see Ted help Mike put on a tie mentioning to Mike it has to be a “little tight” and that it “looks good”. And after this scene: we see Jonathan struggle to put on a tie (and then ripping it off in frustration-signifying his lack of a father figure that could have taught him how to do this when younger). So in s3 we see Jonathan’s ties are always poorly done and slightly loose around his neck. The same season Jonathan comments about how Nancy’s dad makes 6 figures and his dad “isn’t even around”. He finacially supports his family. cuddles Holly on his fav laze-boy and takes her to fairs. Wants to comfort Mike after Will dies (but listens to Karen to give him time). Has Karen tell Mike that if he wants to talk to him about Will’s death- he can call him at work and he’ll come home for Mike. His calm demeanor seems genuine -unlike the other father figures who quickly lose their cool facade (Ted has never yelled at his kids). Even when kids yell or insult him he doesn’t lose his cool. Worst things he’s done: told kids to stop cursing, naps alot, gives an outdated football analogy about How Mike needs to stop acting out . Why st fans claim he’s a bad dad : boring af aka the human embodiment of wonder bread, in loveless marriage, and not rambo-esque like Hopper so people act like he’s a horrible dad in comparison to Hopper. Despite being a more stable parent in the normal everyday situations.

Lucas’ dad- unfortunately we saw very little of him. But he seems somewhat similar to Ted. He’s nice and gives somewhat dated advice at the table to his son-like Ted did. He seems like a mellow, chill dude, who finacially supports his family. But,Unlike karen/ted it seems like he loves his wife and vice versa.

Bob-the wannabe stepdad- as the first romantic interest after Lonnie-He contrasts him. He doesn’t do drugs or smoke. Is emotionally vulnerable with Joyce and vice versa. He never makes fun of Will or Joyce’s mental health issues. he relates to Will -who was bullied as a kid, and is into computers, comics, and was in av club (just like Will). He is supportive of Will’s non-manly interests and encourages those interests (bringing brain puzzles, and board games over when told Will is sick). Unlike Lonnie who tried to force ‘manly’ interests on to Will. He isn’t mad when Will busts his brand new camera but is simply concerned that Will is being bullied. He’s also shown being concerned about Will’s mental health. He helps joyce with little things like finding her keys and taking Will to school. His happy calm demeanor is genuine-and he is never shown yelling in anger. He kindly disagrees with joyce on the ‘ drawings on the walls game’ cause he was concerned it wasn’t good for Will’s mental health (and tells her she can talk more about Will’s issues). He sacrifices himself to save Will, joyce and everyone around him. And unlike Hopper- Bob was never jealous or mean to joyce about the men in Joyce’s life. Bob was serious about Joyce and the boys-he wanted them to be his family and move them near his own blood relatives. We see he had an impact on the boys at the end of s2- Will drawing the “bob newby superhero” drawing and Jonathan using Bob’s camera.

#jonathan byers #el hopper #will byers #max mayfield #billy hargrove #joyce byers #bob newby #lonnie byers #neil hargrove #kali prasad #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

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How Scars MIGHT Relate to Leah and Daryl

Okay Everyone, this is a post that I wrote like 6-7 months ago. It was after we learned about Leah and 10x18, but before the episode actually aired. It was really just conjecture on my part. Me, trying to connect patterns and similarities I was seeing.

Why didn’t I post it back then? Because we decided we thought Leah was a hallucination, and at that point, I thought this less likely to pan out.

What I’ll say now is that, if she IS real, this may still be true. And if she isn’t, this pattern may hold but it might be about some other character, other than her.

Even if it turns out to be completely untrue, just see this as patterns I’m seeing that may come into play in the future. And I wanted to post this today, before ep 1 airs and ep 2 shows up on AMC+.

Also, someone sent me this yesterday:

Norman saying there’s some double agent stuff going on DOES suggest she might be a villain. It’s hard to interpret exactly what he meant by that, but this is one possibility. So here’s what I wrote to my fellow theorists several months back:

Here’s what I have to say about Scars, and I’m still grappling for how best to frame this, so I’m sorry if it meanders a bit. And honestly, it’s nothing super ground-breaking. It’s a lot of what we’ve already talked about concerning Leah, and it comes from what you found about the “masks” lines in the Michonne/Zeke convo, as well as between Daryl and Michonne in Scars. I’m really just giving more evidence for this and predicting a future storyline. You know, like I do. ;D

And one thing I will say is that, while I WANT to tie this to Leah because both her storyline and Jocelyn’s happened during the 6 year time jump, I’m not 100% sure this even has to do with Leah. It might, but it also might not. So, I think this is a coming storyline one way or the other. But it may have to do with Leah or may be completely independent of her. No way to tell, yet.

So, in both conversations (both between Michonne and Zeke and Michonne and Daryl on the swings) they talk about people wearing figurative masks. Daryl specifically talks about someone who has so much evil in their hearts that they actually lie about who they are and present themselves in one way, as one type of person, when really they’re the opposite.

We see this theme played out all through Scars, because obviously Jocelyn did that. But now that I’m alert to it, I’m seeing it a lot. Even in 10x17, the Sniper fell under this theme. Mostly literally in his case because he was wearing camouflage (a kind of mask) to hide out and kill people. But figuratively, that’s kinda what Jocelyn did, too.

Okay, so let me start at the beginning. I’ve watched Scars twice now and I’m thinking more and more that the thing with Jocelyn happened BEFORE Leah. Now that we know Daryl’s story spans 5 of the 6 years, I think Leah must happen after Jocelyn. Michonne is big and pregnant, so Scars can’t be more than 6 mos after Rick disappeared.

Michonne asking Daryl if he’s okay being alone definitely hints at the Leah storyline (another reason to link Leah and Jocelyn). But I think it’s a jumping off point for his story. Because he tells Michonne he’s okay being alone, and in that moment, I think he really is. Or at least he really believes he is. The story with Leah will be him realizing he really doesn’t want to be alone. Romantically or otherwise. Which pushes him back toward TF when Carol comes knocking with Henry.

But let’s get to the good stuff.

After Jocelyn shows up, she tells Michonne that some of her kids aren’t with her and she wants to go get them. Jocelyn is hurt and Michonne’s about to pop, so neither of them go. But this is interesting. The three people who go to get her kids in the one building are Gabriel, Aaron, and Eugene.

It was Eugene that really caught my eye. I started going, “hmm. What could this foreshadow?” And I don’t know the answer in detail, but I think it may foreshadow his entanglement with Beth’s return in some way. And of course Aaron and Gabe are both major proxies for Beth, with Gabe being the resident Sirius character. So yeah, kind of side-eyeing that.

The next thing is that we see two hand-drawn posters detailing, through pictures, how to skin and drain both a deer and a rabbit. These are things Jocelyn has obviously made to teach the kids to survive. And I know we noticed them before, with the deer and rabbit being big Beth symbols. But I’m seeing a much bigger theme, having watched the episode several times.

The poster of the deer shows the deer strung up by its legs (head pointed down, I assume). Then, after they bring all the kids to Alexandria, we see several deer strung up this way, and Michonne comments that Jocelyn’s kids are amazing hunters. So, we learn that two of them, Winnie, the blond, and Linus, one of the boys, killed the deer and even prepared them for everyone at Alexandria.

But here’s where it gets more interesting. When Jocelyn captures Daryl and Michonne, she strings them up over pipes in exactly the way the deer being slaughtered are strung up. And of course she brands them like animals. So, in a way, they’re meant to be the deer that she’s going to slaughter.

And I’m not even sure exactly what to make of that where the deer symbol is concerned. I thought about how killing the deer does keep people from the danger of starving to death, so it fits with Deer = Tractor = getting rid of the threat, as I discussed HERE. But I also wonder if deer is synonymous with captivity in some way.

Then there’s the rabbit. I have less to say about it except that the biggest place we saw rabbits were around Lizzie and Mica. And the poster specifically lays out how to kill a rabbit, which is what Lizzie did to Mica. And I think it works here because we’re dealing with evil kids. Like Lizzie. (I will have more to say about the rabbit theory next week. We’ll see them in a big way in 11x01.)

This is where I’m going to link it to the good twin vs evil twin theme. Remember I talked about this with Noah’s twin brothers and of course Lizzie and Mica, even though they aren’t twins. I don’t think we have to have twins or even siblings for this theme, though it’s common for them to do it with siblings like Lizzie/Mica and even Daryl/Merle. Back in S4, there was Pete and his brother as well.

It occurred to me that we have a representation of it here, with Michonne/Judith on one side and Jocelyn/Winnie on the other. Sorry to go racial, but even the ethnicities match up. Michonne, a black woman with a Caucasian daughter (Judith) who isn’t biologically hers (good). And Jocelyn, a black woman with a Caucasian daughter (Winnie) who isn’t biologically hers (evil). See what I mean?

One scene that really jumps out at me is when Michonne and Jocelyn talk in the kitchen. Jocelyn goes out of her way to REALLY earn Michonne’s trust in that scene. Michonne even says, “I’m so glad you’re here,” so she’s obviously fully trusting and loving having her friend around. This is the biggest place where we see Jocelyn’s “mask.”

Then, when Michonne and Daryl are on the swings, Michonne says, “she was a friend. Like, a real one.” She talks about how they’d been through a lot together before, like heartbreak, losing parents, etc. And then she says, “I wanted it to be that way again. I believed her. I let my guard down. I should have known. Should have sensed something.”

Okay, so many ways I could go with that. First of all, it’s REALLY close to what Carol said about Lizzie. “I should have seen it. It was already there.” So, another link to Lizzie/Mica.

But I was also thinking that I can see Daryl thinking this about Leah. Like, he wanted to believe that she would stay with him, that he could love her, but it was all just a mask.

Okay, that may feel like it came out of left field, but it’s essentially where I’m going with this. Let me keep going and I’ll circle back.

When Scars first aired, I said I thought Jocelyn was an anti-Beth parallel. I don’t think many people agreed with me, but I believe that more than ever. And @wdway’s X/Chevron stuff actually backs it up. My biggest reasoning, originally, was just all the child/baby stuff around Beth. I can see her doing something similar to this—raising an army of mini-Daryls—but of course she would be good and raise them with good values. Jocelyn will be a foil to her.

Watching it again, there are SO many Beth symbols around this Jocelyn story. There’s the deer and rabbit, which I’ve mentioned. At one point, Gabriel is telling a story to all of Jocelyn’s kids, and he covers one of his eyes, showcasing only his Sirius eye. We have Eugene going to find the kids. And of course, the X-shaped brands in Michonne and Daryl’s backs, which is where the Chevron stuff comes in.

So, one way or the other, I feel like this is a foreshadow of something to do with Beth and/or her return.

Then, at the end, I paid close attention to what Michonne says to Judith, and I picked up on a few things that had never registered for me before. Remember that, in this episode, they juxtapose these Jocelyn flashbacks with Daryl coming to Alexandria with Lydia and Henry, and Michonne doesn’t want them to stay, but Judith does, etc. And at the end, Judith takes off on her bicycle and Michonne has to go find her.

So, at the end, they’re sitting on the rock together and Michonne is telling Judith about the Jocelyn situation. She says that when Judith came out of the trailer, it “was like you were looking right at me and didn’t know it was me. I thought you’d changed, or that I’d lost you.” (Emphasis mine.)

Think about that. It’s a really odd thing to say about a two- or three-year-old kid. Like she thought Judith had turned evil or something. And I think plot-wise, she means that she thought Judith would think differently of her because she’d just killed all these kids. Michonne had a lot of guilt about that. But it’s a really odd wording, and kind of hearkens back to the mask symbol. People wearing masks, appearing to be something they aren’t.

We’ve also discussed extensively the idea of Beth’s memory loss: (X, X.) Maybe her seeing Carol but not knowing who she is, or Daryl seeing or hearing Beth but not believing it’s really her. It just sort of plays into the whole hallucination theme obliquely.

Judith then says that Michonne just didn’t look like herself because of all the blood, but after a moment, she saw it was her. So, more masks. And Michonne was kind of right. At first, Judith really didn’t recognize her, or at least thought she looked like someone else. More of the same theme.

But that bicycle is a big deal. It’s showcased obviously in the episode, and bikes almost always represent kidnapping or captivity. We saw them around Glenn in S1 when he was taken by the Vatos gang. We saw one outside the Claimer house when Rick got away. I feel like this foreshadows Judith being kidnapped. She already was once by Jocelyn. But Michonne sees that bike in the present-day scenes, which makes them a foreshadow, not a callback.

So, I’ll be the first to admit that this is mostly speculation and at least half head canon, but I’m really wondering if Leah and Beth will be the good and evil to one another. (This is obviously going to be the case in terms of a good/healthy vs unhealthy romantic relationships. And if Leah is a hallucination, and Beth will obviously be real, you can already see how they’re doing this with Beth and Leah.)

Leah is wearing a mask when Daryl is with her. And once again, she may not be totally evil like Jocelyn was. But she may be misrepresenting herself in some way. Toxic at the least, evil at the most. But maybe the reason she’s practically wearing Beth’s clothes is that she’s a foil or anti-parallel to Beth.

And you see what I mean about how, if Leah turns out to be a hallucination, clearly this won’t apply to her in a literal way.

I still think there’s a good chance she’s a hallucination, but I think this still applies. It wouldn’t be literal or physical if that’s the case, but she’s still the “bad” relationship as opposed to the good one Daryl will have with Beth. We all talked extensively about how unhealthy the relationship was right after 10x18 aired. How Leah gave him an ultimatum, didn’t seem to want to meet his family, etc. So, you can see that, real or not, the relationships will be juxtaposed, with one being good and the other, bad.

The other thing want to mention is that it’s interesting that they did this story (Scars) with Michonne instead of Daryl. It makes me think that something about Michonne and Rick’s reunion story might follow this template as well.

We’ve discussed how Leah might be part of the New Mexico symbolism, and I’ve had people message me that they’re afraid that when Daryl and Carol take off together for the spinoff, he’ll be looking for Leah. Now, I obviously don’t think he would be looking for her in a romantic/looking-for-Beth sort of way, but it’s possible that she may be involved.

And like I said at the beginning, I think there’s a good chance of parallels between Leah and Jocelyn, because they both happened during the 6-year time jump, and then there’s all the other ties like, “are you okay being alone,” the mask theme, and that Carol knew about her/the acorn conversation.

I’m actually thinking this less and less, now. I really don’t think the New Mexico symbolism will be fulfilled until the spinoff, and we already know Leah will be in s11. So, I suppose if she survives S11 (and depending on whether she’s real or not) she COULD still be involved, but the timelines just don’t seem to match up to me. At least, not right now. This may change depending on what S11 brings us.

So, total conjecture here, but I’m really wondering if Leah (or if not her, someone else Jocelyn foreshadowed) will kidnap Judith, and that’s why Daryl and Carol leave to go after her. It would fit with the TWB template for Daryl and Carol (Felix and Huck on TWB) to be following Judith (Hope and Iris on TWB). If so, Daryl might really might be following Leah to New Mexico, but not out some romantic inclination, but rather because she took the kids.

Another possibility, of course, is that Leah is real, but Daryl was drugged or is just remembering things wrong. If that ends up being the case, then this could still happen. But again, we’ll just have to wait and see.

So yeah. Let’s just say I have plenty of head canons filed away in which Beth kicks some evil Leah butt. I would enjoy that very much. :D Granted, it probably won’t play out quite that neatly for us, but that’s what head canons are for, right?

And as I said, I can’t be sure this has to do with Leah. It’s possible this storyline is completely independent of Leah, and she’ll be something else entirely. But I think something like this will happen either way. And I’m sure I’ll recognize it as fulfillment when it does.

Any thoughts?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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toonqueen · 3 years

Text

Duckvember 2020

-Mourning-

This takes place in my headcanon for Negaverse in 87/comic of what Nega Gladstone and Nega Magica are like (And by proxy Nega Poe haaaa.) BTW my Nega Gladstone is named Grimstone because he’s Hot Topic edgy like that okay. HUGS FOR THE THREE PEOPLE THAT MAY CARE ABOUT THIS SHORT STORY NNNGHHHH.

[[MORE]]

-------

Magica knew he was going to be upset when she told him the news. Of course he’d be upset. She had just underestimated how consumed by rage and vengeance Grimstone could be.

The Grimstone Gander Magica knew was the one her brother had so enthusiastically introduced her to a year ago. Or had it been more than a year? She wasn’t sure on the exact details.

Now it was too late to ask her brother to clarify.

The Grimstone Magica knew was a brooding yet charming gentleman. Now an impression that did not fit the screams and smashing sounds coming from his room at random hours of the day.

Grimstone hadn’t left his bedroom in weeks. Magica placed food outside his door three times a day. When she returned for the dishes, sometimes the plates would be empty, sometimes they remained untouched.

After rejecting several meals in the past few days, Magica finally mustered up the courage to knock on his bedroom door. There was a shifting sound from inside. A growl, and a snarl; dragging noises, followed by more growling. Then, with a small click, the door unlocked--but remained closed.

Magica cautiously opened the door. Even though she’d just heard it being unlocked purposely for her, Magica crept inside, as if she were sneaking in.

It wasn’t a hand that had unlocked the door, but a thin tendril, its topside covered in white feathers. The underside was lined with a tongue-like surface, teeth running along the edges.

Magica wasn’t frightened of the weird appendage. She’d seen Grimstone’s “skill” before: a maw that would split open from his torso, and drain energy from a deserving target. It made her a little uncomfortable, but she wasn’t scared. Magica was certain she’d never be on the receiving end of the monstrous tentacles.

Her brother had never been put off by it. Often he would jokingly refer to it as Grim’s “starfish mode”. That would always get a small chuckle out of the stoic, betentacled duck.

The tendril retracted back under the blanketed figure sitting on the floor. Nearly everything in the room was trashed. Furniture broken, all matters of knick-knacks destroyed. The bed was untouched though, as if he hadn’t slept in it for a while. A few framed photos and a tall mounted mirror on the walls remained intact as well.

The large window in the room was shattered, the moonlight shimmering just a little differently than normal.

Strange, Magica thought, the window didn’t look broken when she was outside the farmhouse earlier. Then again, she hadn’t left home much either.

“I-- Do you--” Grimstone’s voice was hoarser than usual. He started like he wanted to speak normally. Civilized. He stared up at Magica with darkened eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he received the tragic news, expression desperate, heartbroken.

That expression quickly changed. Enough to make Magica step back. Even the moonlight in the room transformed from a mourning glow to a sharp brightness that matched Grimstone’s growing rage.

“Who did it!?” Grimstone demanded. Although he remained seated on the floor, his body was tense and intimidating. The feathers on his neck stood up, a snarl pulling back a corner of his beak.

Magica took another step away, even though she silently assured herself Grim would never hurt her. “I-I told you. It was paladins. Generic white robes. Could have been anyone,” she answered, as if she were suddenly on trial. Startled and wanting to distract Grim, Magica said quickly, “You haven’t eaten all day. I was worried--”

“The same paladins that sent Poe here? The same paladins who expected me to kill and get rid of him?” Grimstone wasn’t yelling anymore, but there was something in his tone just as menacing and loud.

Magica was frozen like a deer in headlights. Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching for an answer, anything to appease the furious duck. “I-- That would be the logical conclusion, but we…” Gathering more courage, she continued calmly, “We shouldn’t attack them, do anything rash. We need to wait. You need to get better first. I made your favorite...”

“Better? Better? This isn’t the flu. This isn’t a cold. Poe’s gone and I wasn’t there to save him!” Grimstone stood as he shouted.

This time, Magica didn’t shrink back. She could only stare at him, tears in her glassy eyes.

Grimstone closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath. He then spoke in a softer voice, mirroring a tone Poe would use. “Thank you for doing your best to help me. I’m sorry I made you worry. I know he was your brother and you must be hurting too,” he said, appearing calmer, “I’ll be down to eat in a moment. If you don’t mind. Don’t prepare anything special. I’m sure there’s plenty of leftovers for something to warm up.”

Magica knew Grimstone enough not to trust this sudden change in behavior. It was like being in the eye of a storm. Everything still and serene, the sky blue and clear, but the worst was yet to come. Nonetheless, she decided not to pry, rather consciously chose to ignore it. Magica realized if Grim did go and wipe out the paladins that wronged Poe in the past, guilty or not, she didn’t care. She left that little spark to flicker in a pile of tinder.

Magica just nodded at Grimstone and left the room. As she descended the stairs, she heard something smash on the floor.

A full hour went by before Grimstone finally came down stairs. He was soaking wet, like he’d been standing out in the rain. But it wasn’t raining.

Magica sat at the kitchen table with her head resting atop her folded arms. She perked up when she heard Grim’s approaching footsteps. In a flash, Magica reheated the leftovers in the microwave.

Grim sat down silently, waited.

Magica placed the nuked food and glass of water in front of him, concerned. She noticed a few teeth from the tentacle were exposed down his collar bone near his left shoulder, the split disappearing beneath his shirt. They were spotted with blood, and when Magica looked up, Grim was staring intensely at her.

“I took out several paladins. Leaders, all of them,” Grimstone growled, a hiss rattling from his throat, “you were a part of that sect with Poe. I need you to tell me all of their locations.” Despite his unnerving voice and the accompanying unsettling noises, he wasn’t threatening her. A simple demand, really. "Their luck will run out."

“I--It's not that easy,” Magica stated.

Grim casually picked up his fork, rolling a bit of casserole around it. “It is easy. You disguise me as Poe and say you're there to turn yourself in. Then we take them all out,” he said placidly, taking a bite. Magica noticed the corners of his cheeks were split farther back than normal, displaying more teeth.

Magica sat down across from him, hands folded. Saying nothing, just watching Grim.

Grimstone continued eating while he waited for an answer.

“Why do you want me to come with you? I’m just a light mage-- I can’t… ” Magica looked down at her hands.

“Don’t you ever want to go feral? Let the last thing they know is how they hurt you? That they are getting what they deserve,” Grimstone muttered, and went back to his food, clearing it off hungrily.

Oh, that word. That phrase. What they deserve. Deserve.

There was a long silent pause again. The only sound was Grim scraping the fork on his plate to get any last scraps of the casserole.

In a quiet voice and after some hesitation, Magica finally responded. “All right. But you must follow my lead…”

And months went by. Anyone that could be vaguely tied to Poe De Spell’s death met a grisly demise.

The pair had just obliterated a group of monster hunters. Instead of leaving, Grim was frantically opening and slamming doors around the house the hunters were staying in.

“There has to be more of them!” he snarled. Another slam.

Magica followed after him, finally cornering Grimstone face to face. “We got them all. There’s no one left. Let’s go,” she insisted. She touched his arm, trying to give a comforting squeeze.

Grimstone’s expression darkened. “There are always more.” He brushed off her hand and went to the next door down the hall.

“Grim, these were just some vaguely bad hunters. They had nothing to do with Poe, really. We have to stop doing--”

Her attempts to calm Grim fell on deaf ears. Poe was more of the wordsmith, after all.

“Give me another paladin sect you know is corrupt,” Grimstone ordered as he threw another door open.

“We- we- we’ve been through them all,” Magica stammered, chasing after him.

“Every group has its rotten apples. We’ll go after them. It's all their fault.” Grim stormed inside a room, checking behind the big, billowing window curtains.

Magica lingered in the doorway. “This has to stop. There is no one else to blame. We’ve taken out all the possible--” Grimstone was suddenly standing in front of her. She awkwardly looked away. “We can’t keep doing this…”

“There is always someone to blame. I have to get every single person that could have hurt him. Would have hurt him.” Grimstone’s fists shook at his sides, blazing eyes an irritated red. Not yet tears, but close.

Magica took a deep breath, then took a risk. “You’re not to blame. It wasn’t your fault,” she stated, looking him directly in the eyes. She wasn’t as good at reading people as Poe, but Grim’s behavior had become obvious. All this lashing out at others when he was internally accusing himself for her brother’s death.

Grim’s face went through an array of expressions at Magica’s words. Surprise, anger, grief. He took a step back from her, shaken. “How dare you… say...”

Magica rushed up to Grimstone, wordlessly hugged him tight. She really didn’t know what else to do. She expected him to still be aggressive, wiggle away and fight. Instead, he practically crumbled in her arms. It was a weight she didn’t expect. The mage did her best to bring them both kneeling down on the floor, though rather clumsily.

One of the most powerful monster warlocks in the world was now crying and trembling in her arms.

“I’d destroy the whole world to have him back,” Grimstone choked between sobs, trying and failing to sound angry, “I will do whatever it takes…!”

“I know, I know,” Magica soothed, stroking and cradling his head. He only whimpered in response. Grimstone, overwhelmed by his own emotions, did not notice the faint glow of white light from Magica’s comforting fingers.

-----------------

“Taking a little break from your murder spree, huh?” Negaduck chortled at Grimstone. He hadn’t seen his magical affairs related informat in person in at least a year.

“Huh? Oh... yes. When we lost Magica’s brother, we... well. It was an interesting time, to say the least,” Grimstone replied vaguely.

Though Negaduck rarely cared, he was a bit intrigued by the wording the warlock just used. He decided to press further. “That's a shame. Would have loved you using some of that rage on the thorns in my side,” Negaduck said as he glanced at Grimstone’s hand. “Still going to wear the ring though, huh?”

Grimstone curiously tilted his head. “What? Magica and I may disagree on some of the actions taken after her brother’s death, but if she hadn’t been there for me, I don’t know if I would have ever recovered. Poe was one of my best friends. Losing him was--”

The warlock rubbed his head, suddenly aching. Painful chills lanced through his scalp, spikes of heat driving into his temples.

Negaduck, not put off by this, leaned in close. “I thought you were marri--”

What Negaduck would have finished with was “married to the other De Spell,” if not for the icy glare from Magica across the street. She wasn’t all dark magic and lethal weapons like other Negaversers. However, there was still an intimidating air about the light mage, a violent can of worms that Negaduck knew better not to open. Instead, Negaduck said, “Well, I better let you go then. Before your old ball and chain starts breaking mirrors with that stare.”

“Heh," Grimstone smirked. He knew Negaduck acted like he didn't care, but surely there was a tiny part of him that did. "Don't worry about it,” he added, “she's just keeping me out of trouble. For now."

"Hmph." Negaduck crossed his arms. He didn't like the warlock being manipulated by anyone else; that was his job. He raised his head, glared at Magica with narrowed eyes. However, he decided not to pry any further.

When Grimstone had finished his report, he rejoined Magica. She gave him a peck on the cheek, then both of them disappeared in the nearest reflective surface to teleport home.

----

Thank you so much @cataradical for editing. Also the starfish nickname is from @schadenfredde

#ducktales #darkwing duck #duckvember #duckvember 2020 #magicstone #gladstone gander #magica de spell #poe de spell #negaduck

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world-of-horrors-au · 4 years

Text

Horrors AU - Hunters in the Forest

I have no idea when this takes place, or what the context is, or if its even canon to this au. Despite this, I hope you enjoy it.

---

Her family wasn’t waiting for her when she got home from work. No texts from Ben, or Jeff, no notes from Eyeless or Laughing Jack. Never a good sign. Briar changed out of her work clothes into her normal attire, glancing out the window every few minutes to see if they were waiting. There was nothing.

Jeff told her to never enter the Forest alone. The animals were the least of her worries. The Tall Man’s proxies were smarter than any animal, and far more inclined to cruelty. She was the youngest Horror, still coming into her power, easy pickings for the more aggressive of them. What they might do to her, Jeff never said, but the look in his eyes suggested he’d found out personally.

Still, as night fell and no one reached out, she worried. Did something happen? Had they been captured? Did a killing run go wrong? There was nothing on the news about it. Capturing such famous Horrors would be repeated everywhere, on national and local news. Something wasn’t right.

Briar took her bat and entered the Forest.

The Forest glowed at night, soft illumination coming from moss on the trees and midnight flowers. Stars like she'd never seen peaked through the interlocking canopy, and moonlight fought its way through. Part of her wondered if she should've brought a flashlight, but that would've definitely attracted unwanted attention. The last thing she needed was to catch the eye of a predator.

But luck had never been on her side.

He stood in the darkness, she almost missed him. Briar stopped, heart picking up, and pressed against a tree. It wasn’t the Thin Man, no, it was one of his army. The clothes gave him away, even though she couldn’t see the dark mask under the hood. She swallowed. That was the leader of the proxies, wasn’t it? They called him Hoodie.

She teethed the inside of her lip. Had he heard her tramping through the Forest? She hadn't been quiet about it. Jeff thought it was more important for her to learn how to sneak through houses than the outdoors. What was he even doing out here, alone at night? Were the other Proxies around? The idea of meeting them churned her stomach. She'd heard stories about them all from the others. Masky's bad temper. Beastie's relentlessness. Kate scratching out eyes with her claws. Toby's… everything. The only one that wasn't feared was Skully, but even he killed without mercy or regret. And they’d said Hoodie was the strongest of them all.

The man wasn’t doing anything. He lingered by the tree, running a hand over its moonlit-paled bark. Briar tensed, preparing. She was a Horror, he wasn’t. If she had to, she could outrun him. That was how half of the encounters went, one side choosing to run instead of fight. She was going to be okay, she told herself. She could survive this.

Wood snapped not far away. Briar jerked towards the sound. Saw nothing, the Forest quieting again. She looked back to Hoodie, and he stared right back.

Briar ran.

Trees rushed by, plants and dead leaves crushing under her feet as she ran. She didn’t look back, she kept her eyes forward, her mind focused. Nothing mattered more than escape. The Forest was quiet, her panting as loud as her footsteps to her ears. She couldn’t hear anyone following.

She thought, he must’ve decided to leave me alone. He must’ve had more important things to worry about. But she still didn’t stop. It was only when she reached a small clearing that she slowed down, the deer on the edges scattering at the sight of her.

Running through the undergrowth was a lot different than on concrete. Briar liked to think she was healthy, kept up good habits, exercised often, but she still fell forward, one hand grasping her knees, panting, panting. Was it really just exhaustion causing her to run low on air? Or was it the fear crawling up the back of her neck that made her ache so?

She must've lost him. She hoped she lost him. That he didn't follow her this far into the Forest. She'd heard nothing behind her, and no one could move that quietly, could they? Especially not in the dark like this. She was safe. She had to be safe.

Briar looked behind her, in time to see the masked man aim the rifle at her body.

The bullets went over her head, Briar dropping into the dirt moments before it was too late. Her heart lodged itself in her throat. She heard the soft curse from him even at her distance, and scrambled back towards the safety of the trees. She couldn't outrun bullets. Like always, she'd have to out-think him.

Another shot, it grazed her arm but she barely felt the pain. She gripped the bat like the lifeline it was. A kind of plan formed in her mind, half-assed, more images than logical thought. Hiding in the trees, getting behind him, slamming the bat into his head. She couldn't run forever, she had to fight back.

Her heart clenched. What if the proxies had done something to her family?

Dirt under her nails, the trees pressing closer around her than they felt before. Now she could hear him, plant life crunching under his feet, eldritch growls leaving his hidden throat. He must want me dead, Briar thought, why else would he have that rifle? If Jeff were here, he'd know what to do. If she died here, none of them would find her body. Their faces passed through her mind, and her heart went cold. No, she wouldn't die here. She would kill Hoodie first.

She ducked behind a tree, held her breath. The longer she listened the louder the footsteps became. He must know something's wrong, she thought, knuckles white on the bat. He's waiting for me to break. They came from the side, boots crushing life under his frame, and she saw him so clear, so close, that she could see the texture of his signature clothing.

Briar struck.

Her bat hit the side of his face. He roared in pain, staggering. She didn't hold back, screaming herself as she swung the bat again. Hoodie twisted, she hit his torso, he raised an arm to block the next blow, she hit with all the strength she had. Oh god, she thought, he's as tough as me. Any normal human would have died on the first blow. I have to fight harder.

The rifle tumbled from his grip, but didn't go off again. Hoodie lunged. The bat missed. His larger form knocked her into the dirt. Briar screamed again, like a rabbit caught in a trap.

"Give up," Hoodie snapped. His fingers gripped her arm, she felt the bruises forming already. His other hand wrapped around the bat. "Let go."

"No!" She shouted.

Horrors were stronger than any human, but he was not a normal human either. His gloves brushed against her bare fingers, his grip better than hers. Briar cried out, the bat pulled free. Hoodie threw it aside, she heard it slam into wood.

"Give up!" Hoodie shouted.

"Go to hell!" She wouldn't die so easily. Briar jerked her knee up, burying it into his side. A gloved hand wrapped around one of her wrists, but with her other, she slammed the side of her hand into his throat. That worked, he gagged. With as much strength as she could summon, she shoved him off. She had to get her bat.

Two paces away from it, her hand already reaching to snatch it from where it lay, something slammed into her back. Briar dropped. A boot pressed down on the small of her back, and the muzzle of the rifle pressed against her head. She knew it was over.

"Give up?" Hoodie asked. Briar didn't answer, panting. Her body ached everywhere.

He nudged her with the muzzle. "Do you give up?" He said in a voice that would not be denied.

She nodded.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I give up," Briar whispered into the dirt.

"Louder," he said.

"I give up!" She shouted, and swallowed a sob. Hoodie grunted.

"Good."

The pressure on her back increased, he was kneeling down. He took one of her wrists and pulled her arm behind her back. Something metal clicked.

"You have no idea the trouble you've caused us," Hoodie said. Briar swallowed. The handcuffs snapped on. "We're going to make sure you don't cause us any more trouble again."

"What did you do to my family?" She asked, voice shaking.

"The hell are you talking about?" Hoodie pulled her other arm behind her back. "We didn't do anything to them." And she heard the smile in his voice with his next words. "But we're gonna do a lot to you."

Her heart raced. What were they going to do to her?

His hand fished in her pocket. Briar felt him pull her phone free, but said nothing. In the darkness, she couldn't see where it landed, but it sounded close to the tree her bat was by. She exhaled hard. She had to be brave.

"Alright you," he gripped both her arms. "Let's go."

Hoodie pulled her to her feet. Briar grunted, stumbling, but he gave her no mercy. With one hand he held the rifle, the other he gripped one of her arms.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said, and pulled her arm. Briar had no choice but to follow.

As their footsteps faded, Briar's phone lit up. A ringtone echoed through the trees, unheard by the two, now long gone. Jeff called, and kept calling, until Briar's phone died.

#horrors au #creepypasta #pruning roses fic #creepy pasta #creepypasta au #creepypasta hoodie #creepypasta oc #ask to tag

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bountybossier · 4 years

Text

animal crackers & pbr | mercy & nicodemus

Setting: A week or so after Mercy got her sight back. Summary: After she breaks into his home, Mercy and Nicodemus crack open a couple cold ones and have a much needed chat. Warnings: Brief death and emotional abuse mention. With: @cryxmercy

From a distance, the sounds of someone rummaging through the fridge weren’t all that strange. The dim yellow light illuminating the otherwise dark kitchen. Bottles clinking, cartons being shuffled around, plastic crinkling. The occasional mutterings about the variety of choices- or lack there of - for a late night snack. The fact that it was also well past midnight wasn’t even all that strange. What was strange was that the person doing the digging didn’t live there. Nor had she ever met the home’s occupants. Other than that one time. At the lake. Which hadn’t gone so great. Considering she’d died. Sort of. It was… complicated. To say the least.

But… she wasn’t dead. And now that her vision had finally returned, Mercy wanted to make sure the man that thought she was - the same man that thought he’d been the one to murder her, by proxy of being mind-controlled by a demon squid… - knew otherwise. So Mercy had tracked down one Nicodemus Bossier, followed him a time or two to find out where he lived - in a house under someone else’s name - and when the time was right, she let herself in (see: picked his locks) and made herself a snack while she waited on the hunter to realize she was there. Shouldn’t be long now, Mercy thought as she snagged two bottles of beer and set them on the counter next to an open bag of animal crackers she’d snagged from the cabinet (which she’d also gone through).

Hopping up on the counter herself, she popped the top off the bottles, set one aside for Nic - who would probably need a drink before this was all said and done - and took a long pull off her own. Legs swinging idly, she snagged an animal cracker - a lion - bit it’s head off, and chewed thoughtfully while she waited.

A pair of earbuds and an old music player called a Zune had become a cherished item lately for Nicodemus. Or maybe, as he checked the device, it was a Zune. Who fucking cared. After the unfortunate bullshittery at the lake, he listened to every sound and beat with an intensity not felt before. He had to snort. There wasn’t fuck all underneath his floorboards but it had crossed his mind once or twice to check it regardless. With a crackle of Creedence Clearwater Revival through his headphones, he set to work. He hadn’t reached for a knife. Instead, a small paintbrush as he squinted through a magnifying glass to paint a seal the right grey and black. As the song ended and before it transitioned to a new one, he paused. It wasn’t quite a ruckus that he heard through the seconds of silence but it was enough to stop him. It was work to slow his breath, his heartbeat, and listen.

Plastic rumpling, a bottle or two opening. The faint smell of beer. Last he checked, it wasn’t like Skylar to rifle through the beer he bought. He set the brush down and that time, he did reach for the knife. Took it in hand as he stood up and went to his bedroom door. Dundee stirred from beneath the table. When Nicodemus opened the door and passed through, the dog followed with. Fearless fuckin’ hunter already, he thought. Without hesitation, he went to the kitchen.

There was a goddamn ghost on his counter and she had opened his beer. Helped herself to his animal crackers while she was at it. Mercy looked better than he last saw her. In that she wasn’t dead in the lake with a fucking squid corpse behind her. He paused at the threshold between the living room and the kitchen.

“Weird fuckin’ way to haunt somebody,” Nicodemus said gruffly, voice held together on an edge. He glanced between her and the beer on the counter. If she had come to kill him, he hoped to hell it wasn’t with a goddamn PBR. “So, d’you phase through the front door or what?”

Mercy was reaching for another animal cracker - a bear this time - when Nic finally appeared in the doorway. She waited on him to say something, knowing that he was going to need time to process what she was about to tell him. The poor guy already had that deer in headlights look. If the person driving the car attached to those headlights was supposed to be dead. And it had been you (the aforementioned deer) that had done the killing.

In the past, Mercy had often taken a perverse sort of pleasure in situations like this. Scoping out her ‘murderer’ and scaring the shit out of them before getting some well-earned revenge. But this wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t the deers fault. It was the fucking squid-demon that had it’s psychic fuck-all tentacles all up close and personal with the deer’s brainstem. So. Mercy used one finger to slowly push the second bottle a bit further down the counter - a cold, frosty peace offering - before taking a long pull from her own. “I wasn’t jokin’ when I said you couldn’t kill me.”

She scraped her hair back from her face and shrugged - “Nah. I just picked your locks.” - before patting the countertop. “Have a seat, Nicky. We need to talk.”

“Apparent-fuckin-ly,” Nicodemus muttered. “What, only the good die young?” Even though she didn’t move to attack him or recreate Squid Night in the recently mopped kitchen, the apprehension didn’t waver. Funny how that went when someone broke into your house. The hunter had to stop and wonder just how pissed Death was getting. What with it being treated like a pitstop. A place to grab an energy bar and a shit drink before they got back on life’s highway. Except the snack of choice this time was animal crackers and beer. He wouldn’t argue.

The beer made its way into his hand.

“Nic works just fine,” he said as he leaned against the countertop. Close but not too close. “And yeah, reckon we do. Considerin’ I killed you an’ all. Or didn’t, I suppose.” His brow furrowed. Not that he was disappointed that she hadn’t died. That was the furthest thing he felt. He had met many creatures, beasts, over the years. Even undead. But last he checked, Mercy had been very much alive. “The hell’s that about?”

Mercy gave a rueful laugh around a sip of her beer. “Guess so. We’re both still here ain’t we?” If that were true, then that made Mercy the Samuel L. Jackson of White Crest: one bad motherfucker. Nic too, considering he had to be pushing forty. An age that many a hunter never saw. But Mercy didn’t worry how Death felt about the quick-stops she’d made over the years. They were old friends, the Fury and the Reaper. But damn if Mercy didn’t get tired sometimes. And this time in particular had taken it’s toll.

So she waited, lowering her bottle to roll it slowly between her hands as Nic took up his own. She made no move towards him, no move at all really, other than to look at him as he spoke. “I know what killed me, Nic. And it wasn’t you.” Mercy didn’t bother to say what it had been. That would’ve been insulting. Nic knew. How could he not? She’d already noticed the faded mark on the back of his hand. A mark that looked like just another old scar. And maybe it was. But Mercy didn’t believe in coincidence. Not in this instance. In this one, Nic knew because it had happened to him before. At least that was her assumption.

The question that followed was a given. And although Mercy had - strangely enough - been asked the same question - or variations of it - several times over the last few weeks, every person that had asked was different, and therefore required a different response. So she took a moment to consider things before speaking. The beer bottle started it’s slow roll between her hands again, a focal point while she explained.

“When I said you couldn’t kill me, that wasn’t me giving you shit, Nic. It was the truth. You can’t kill me.” Mercy shook her head. “No one can.” It was her turn to frown now, as the weight of all her years seemed to press down all at once. And it was a long moment before Mercy spoke again.

“Do you know what a Fury is?”

Nicodemus snorted and glanced away. Shook his head and squinted some. “Shit, got me on that one,” he said with a shrug as he turned the opened beer in his hands. As much shit had been happening, he hadn’t looked towards a bottle as much. He supposed he was too busy having friends all of a sudden. Yet another thing for him to wrap his head around. His. Not some fucking squids. He glanced at Mercy and then tilted his bottle toward her. “To still bein’ here, huh?”

It surprised him, really, how quick people were to tell him that what happened hadn’t been his fault. He was coming around to that idea. Raised on the idea of purging demons for a righteous cause, he had to laugh. Why wouldn’t Nicodemus get his brain hijacked by some sea demon squid? But hearing it from Mercy was different. It wasn’t a form of absolution but he wondered if maybe his head wouldn’t be as heavy when he finally went to sleep. “Yeah, still shitty all the same,” he grunted out. He took a harsh pull of his beer. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

He didn’t know Mercy much but he could tell. The hunt or battle weary had that look to them that he understood. “No one, huh?” He doubted that for some reason. Everybody and everything died. Saints and sinners alike. The hunter glanced over at her, his face pensive.

“Nah,” Nicodemus answered with a shake of his head. “Not really. Ain’t exactly my department. Just that they’re hard to kill.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Apparently.”

Mercy glanced down at her own bottle as Nic looked away. The glass was cool beneath her fingers, slick with tiny beads of condensation. A tiny smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. “I still say fuck Billy Joel for makin’ that phrase popular. ‘Specially since it’s pretty much a song about wantin’ to bang his high-school crush.” She took a long pull of her beer. Unlike Nic, Mercy had been doing a fair bit of drinking lately. And had no plans to stop. Similarly, however, Mercy found herself with a few extra people on her side. Friends. People that actually gave a shit about what happened to her. Funny old world, ain’t it? Mercy thought to herself.

A softer expression replaced her smirk as Nic held his bottle out, and Mercy clinked their bottles together. “To still bein’ here.”

Nic might’ve done bad things in his life, just like Mercy certainly had, but that didn’t make him a truly bad person. Just as being a hunter didn’t make what had happened his fault. Mercy knew that. Even if she didn’t know Nic that well - or at all really - she’d seen the look in his eyes that night, before she’d gone under. She had felt the cold, clinical way he’d taken hold of her, not even flinching when she’d struck him repeatedly. She’d been the one that tore bloody half-moons into the skin of his arms as she tried to use what remained of her waning power to make him let go. She’d been the one that had seen the flicker of recognition, of terror, in his otherwise emotionless expression, just before the world went dark.

So, yes, Mercy would make it right. As best she could. No matter what anyone else thought.

She nodded at the apology, appreciating it regardless of the fact that she didn’t blame him. “Thank you.” The words were soft and sincere, with a small hint at the fact that Mercy wasn’t used to hearing such things often. But speaking of apologies: “I’m sorry for… tryin’ to break your jaw. And your ribs. And your arm.”

Mercy shook her head slowly, inhaling a long, slow breath and letting it out just as slowly. “No one,” she said, her tone unintentionally weary. “Not yet at least.” Though Nic (brainwashed Nic, that is) had come closer than anyone. But Mercy didn’t feel that was necessary to mention.

Nic’s comment on what he knew of Furies earned him a small huff of laughter. “Apparently,” she agreed. Another moment of silence followed, her laughter fading away as her frown returned. The mostly empty bottle rolled between her hands again. “But you’re not wrong. We can’t be killed.” Other than cutting off her head, or wasting away from a lack of feeding properly, but that wasn’t necessary information at the moment. “Cut my throat, I’ll heal while you watch. Manage to break one of my bones, a minute or two is all I need. Shoot me in the head, my body’ll push the bullet back out and I’ll wake up pissed off but good as new.” She glanced at him. “Perks of being immortal I guess.”

It surprised Nicodemus how...well Mercy seemed to be taking what happened. In a selfish, gut deep way, he supposed he needed that. Absolution wasn’t something he would ever ask for. If it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, he would die one day and it would be all the same anyway. The dirt and mud didn’t care for such things. “You a Billy Joel historian?” He snorted out a laugh and shook his head. Seconds ticked by on the clock over the stove and his shoulders eased.

He nodded at her as their bottles clinked and he took a slow sip. For someone he had tried to kill, Mercy was alright. Even if she had broken into his house and into his animal crackers. Compared to the last time they met, it wasn’t so bad. Or even out of place. Without much thought, Nicodemus relaxed some. Allowed the heavy, leaden weight of his bones finally settle rather than hold it up as he had been. A breath tinged with booze left him as he shifted and brought himself to sit up on the counter a little ways from her.

“I guess we sorta broke even on that one, huh?” Nicodemus crossed his ankles as he held the bottle slightly over his lap. It would be a waste of time to tell her that there was no apology necessary. They could say it and be done with it, move on to something else. It didn’t do well to linger and be haunted by things that weren’t there anymore. “All good here. We made it out alright in the end. River current goes on and shit.”

As he emptied his bottle, he set it beside him and folded his arms as he listened. How long she had been around, he couldn’t know, but he doubted that weariness changed over the decades. Centuries. Whatever it was. He could hear it, see it, as he glanced over at her. It was a slow process, but he was getting there. Suddenly able to look at her without the memory of water. It helped that she was alive, he thought with a grimace. He listened intently, forehead slightly creased as he processed.

“Well, for starters, I ain’t gonna cut your throat,” Nicodemus said with a long sigh. “Just had the floors waxed.” It wasn’t much of a smile but it was something that he offered her way. He shook his head and dipped it to look down at said floor. “God, I’m only fuckin’ forty, forty-one now. And I feel old as shit but then you’re over here…” He trailed off and picked his head up again. “How do you do it? Get by with this whole not dyin’ thing?”

It wasn’t the ‘dying’ - or the act of being ‘killed’ - that had truly affected Mercy. It sucked, sure. How could it not? What had truly affected her was the after. The cold, dark, lonely, terrifying limbo she’d been stuck in. For what seemed like an eternity. A place she’d never been before. Not in 1200 years. A place she never wanted to return to. “Among other things,” Mercy smirked lazily at the Billy Joel comment.

Their bottles clinked in the mostly silent kitchen, and for a moment afterwards they both fell silent. It would be hard for most people to understand how Mercy could be so… forgiving… of what Nic had done. But Mercy knew evil. She had looked it in the eye, felt it’s hot, stinking breath on her neck… smelled the rot and ruin of creatures without either soul or conscience, that didn’t care for anyone or anything; creatures whose only desire was to hurt, devour or destroy. So no. Nic wasn’t evil.

A small laugh worked it’s way past the lip of Mercy’s bottle as she took a drink. “Guess we did.” She turned her head to look him over, her eyes moving from his face to the rest of him and back. “Good.” She gave him a small nod. “And yes. It does.” Life went on too, whether they were ready or not.

He was quiet while Mercy explained as best she could. She didn’t rush. She didn’t push or prod. She didn’t ask if he wanted to hear more. Or less. She just said what needed saying, and then waited. It took time to process, she knew, even for someone like Nic who knew about supernaturals. Furies weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. His comment earned a snort and a similar smile shot his way. “Yeah, you’d never get that stain up. And then to carry an ass-kicking on top of it?” Mercy tutted and shook her head. “Not worth it.”

The next thing he asked was far more difficult to answer. Even if she’d done so a thousand times. It never got easier. Mercy’s beer bottle started its slow roll between her hands again. “The long answer is a story in itself. And I’ll tell you sometime, if you want.” Mercy paused, and her smile turned softer while her cheeks tinged slightly pink. “But the short answer?” She glanced at him, her expression completely serious even as she wondered if he’d laugh at her answer. Not that Mercy cared. It was the truth, after all. The only truth that mattered. The only truth that had ever mattered.

“Love.”

Some things stained more than blood. Nicodemus understood that and as he listened to Mercy, completely still save for the occasional nod or pull of his beer, he had a feeling she might as well. The hunter didn’t linger on the strangeness of what it meant to come to understanding with someone he had tried to kill. Because in truth, a truth he had come to accept slowly, was that it had not been him. It was a haunting he had allowed to go on for long enough. It wasn’t the water he would wallow in any further.

“Wouldn’t mind hearin’ that story one day.”

He never once anticipated that he would share stories of all things but he didn’t mind it. He reckoned her story was a bloody one and between the both of them, Nicodemus figured they might be able to do without blood for a little. For a sunset at least. Let the sky bleed for a bit. Have its turn. A dry smile followed after the thought like a lazy dog and went down just as easily. Her short answer prompted his brows to raise. Then furrow. Love? The word rolled around in his head as he shifted on the counter. Something akin to discomfort stretched its fingers over his shoulders. It occurred to him, in that single moment, how little that word ever occurred to him. It had occurred to him. Quietly. Recently, at that. He half-expected his head to start aching the way it always did but it didn’t.

Nicodemus had gotten as far as he had without such a thing. Farther than most hunters he had come and gone by. Outlived. Sometimes, he wondered if the absence of such a thing was what had dragged it out for him. Life.

“Huh,” was his response. He shook his head, relaxed the crease of his brow as he looked at Mercy. “Didn’t expect that one. How do you figure with that?”

It was a strange sensation to feel empathy towards someone who had tried - and technically succeeded - to kill you. Even more strange to feel a camaraderie of sorts. But as strange scenarios went, Mercy would rather be here, sitting on Nic’s counter, drinking his beer and biting the heads off his animal crackers, than a thousand other places she’d found herself over the centuries. She had an inkling that Nic might just feel the same way. That he understood what it meant to never truly leave something behind, no matter how far or fast you ran from it. Because some stains were too deep to ever fade completely. You learned to live with them. To cover them up, hide them away, as Mercy had tried to do. But every now and then, those stains seeped through even the strongest camouflage, and you were forced to look at them regardless of if you wanted to or not.

“Alright then.” They would make time at some point, and Mercy would tell him her story.

Part of her wondered about his own story. About the people and places that existed in his past, and what all he’d seen in his lifetime - short as it was compared to her own - but now wasn’t the time to ask. Maybe later, once everything wasn’t so fresh on both their minds. They were both silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. What would it be like, Mercy wondered (not for the first time in her long life), to stop fighting? To stop chasing monsters, real or otherwise. What would it be like to finally find peace? To let the sky bleed for just a little while, as Nic wondered. Arthur had made it sound so easy when he’d told her maybe it was time to lay down her sword… to take off her armor and simply be Freyja again. But… who was Mercy without those things? It was a question she hadn’t been able to answer. Not yet anyway. But she was trying.

She idly watched Nic’s reaction to her one word answer. The way his brow rose in surprise and then fell back down as that surprise turned to something else. Something that made him shift slightly before he looked at her again.

Mercy grinned. “Does anyone?” But it softened after a moment, and she looked away, back to studying the bottle in her hands. “When I was human, I fell in love with my best friend. It was… complicated, but long story short, it turned out that he was like me: immortal. But not a Fury. He’d been born that way, whereas I’d chosen it. And as much as I despise the thought of our lives being planned out by Fate or… something else… how could that not be something that was meant to happen?”

She was quiet for a moment. “About 70 odd years ago, Tolkien wrote: ‘I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone.’ I remember reading that for the first time and thinking… that’s it.” The bottle spun slowly between her fingers. “That’s exactly what I’ve felt for almost 1200 years.”

Mercy wasn’t sure if that answered Nic’s question or not, but it was the best she had. Even if the words didn’t belong to her.

“So yeah. Love.” Mercy smiled, one side of her mouth lifting slightly. “Just don’t tell anyone, hm? I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Nicodemus had never bothered to put much weight into notions of love. He had gotten as far as he had without it. Had cast it aside when he learned that love was shaped like a fist or the sharp-lined words of some distant god. And often the word was violence. It confused him when he slipped away at night, not yet thirteen, to watch television through the closest neighbor’s window a couple miles away. A family sat around a TV with their microwaved dinners while a group of kids went to look for some treasure in an abandoned pirate ship. It seemed to have been a favorite of theirs. A ritual of some kind. Different from the way he and his grandfather sharpened knives in silence. Tended to blood. But they had looked happy. The brother and sister play fought but made sure to check on one another to the tune of laughter when it was all said and done. They laughed the same as they helped each other through homework. The husband had his arm slung loosely across his wife’s hips as they watched, smiles in place. That, to him, had been what love was supposed to be. Confused and full of questions, he had gone back home. The morning had seen the floorboards of his room screwed in tighter. The next time he saw that family, the movie had changed and the wife was solemn. The kids even more so.

It took him a few years to understand what a smile was. A real one, not the kind of twist his face took when he got stressed. It was something Nicodemus had been doing a lot more of lately. Around Rio. Blanche. Skylar. Alain and Kaden, even, when the day’s hunt was behind them. Adam too. Around Erin and like that, the thought of her, of them, had the corners of his mouth lifting by a fraction. Softly. He didn’t fight against it. As Mercy spoke of fate, he remained quiet. Fate would have seen him back in Louisiana, faceless and soulless, if it had its ways. He supposed it might thread through others differently. A puff of air left his nose at the mention of Tolkien.

“‘Spose some writers get things right every once in awhile,” Nicodemus said with a slight tilt of his head. “That was one of the, uh, first things I read when I left home and could get my hands on my own readin’. Didn’t know much about it, thought it looked like somethin’ interesting.” He offered the information freely as he adjusted himself again. “Never thought much of that whole love thing. Thought it was bullshit. The kinda thing bought and paid for, blood or otherwise.” His tone was neutral as he spoke. He quickly downed his beer and cleared his throat. Thought of quiet Sunday mornings and more than one chair at the table being filled.

“Don’t suppose that’s the case much anymore.”

His smile, small and faint, tried to match Mercy’s.

“Right, your reputation,” Nicodemus said with a rough and quiet laugh. “Sure, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll take it to the grave.”

“Spose they do.” Her smile remained, small but genuine, as Nic gave her a small fact about himself. And Mercy tucked it away, knowing he didn’t have to tell her anything about himself personally, but pleased that he had.

What followed wasn’t nearly as pleasant to think about, but Mercy suspected Nic had far more memories of this type than the former. Gods knew she did. She hummed quietly. “There’s another name for that,” Mercy said, her tone somber. “And it ain’t love.” Though it seemed that Nic knew that just as well as Mercy did. And for that, she felt grateful. Because somewhere along the way, the world (or someone in it more likely) had chosen to be kind to him. Maybe not for long, and maybe not recently, but it had happened.

So Mercy’s faint smile returned, and her own quiet laughter joined Nic’s. And for just a little while, all was well.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: animal crackers and pbr #c: mercy #// an absolute unit and i love it #love this so much #<3

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madcapmyth · 5 years

Photo

fINALLY FOUND A USE FOR THIS COMPLETE AND UTTER JACKASS

Meet Bryce. Text reference under the cut.

Assumed Name: Did not take one Full Name: Bryce Henderson Age: 21 Gender: cis male (he/his) Date of Birth: November 24th Sexual Orientation: straight Romantic Orientation: straight Marital Status: assumed single Occupation: Proxy

Physical Appearance: Species: Human/Proxy Nationality: American Height: 5'11" Weight: 145 lbs Eye Colour: brown Hair Colour: sandy blond/brown Jewelry: none Scars/Markings: Sickle shaped proxy mark, left shoulder blade. Memorable Items: knit hat with brim,

Abilities: Strengths: (to be added) Weaknesses: full of anger towards the world, hence hes quick to anger. Fighting Style: Doesn't really fist fight, mainly shoots out the kneecaps of whoever he's hunting, then uses the stock of his rifle to strike them in the head and knock them out, before dragging them back to the barn. Often lures people out there of goes after those who get too close. Weapon: various guns, mainly hunting rifles and the occasional pistol

Agility: 4/10 Strength: 5/10 Defense: 5/10 Stealth: 7/10 Strategy: 7/10 Weapon Proficiency: 8/10 Physical Status: Average build, not particularly strong. Mental Status: ohgod pls no he's kinda unstable in terms of the fact he'd rather shoot someone then talk to them. Personality Profile: Bryce tries to pick fights a lot, and is often knocked out by Morana if he's getting too rowdy, especially if he's been drinking. He doesn't get along with the other proxies, so if he's not picking fights, he's in his room cleaning his guns over and over. Voice and Vocal patterns: average american voice honestly idk how to describe it History: When he was 18, this complete jackass shot up his school of his volition, killing 8, 3 of which died from wounds and not the initial shot, as well as inuring about 10. While he's on the run from the police, the Harvestman starts giving him hallucinations, of police getting close, or of the people he killed yelling at him. It also gives visions of the farmhouse, which looks well built, when in reality it's dilapidated. Bryce is subconsciously drawn there and makes his way there. He sees people working around the farmhouse and barn, and takes aim at one proxy. Morana comes up from behind him before he shoots, and puts a rag soaked in chloroform she made over his mouth and nose. He struggles to shake her off, but she's done this to people stronger than her and easily knocks him out. Bryce wakes up on an old couch in the farmhouse, surrounded by people with masks and the like, staring him down with weapons drawn. They part like the sea, as the Harvestman walks over and sniffs Bryce a few times, before huffing and walking away. All Bryce can feel is that this is where he must stay. He's been there for a few y Biological Family: Parent(s): Orphaned, or so he claims, most likely killed his parents before shooting up his school. Sibling(s): none Other relative(s): none of note Other Notable Relationships: The Harvestman - Isn't 100% sure what to think of the Harvestman and its consumption of human organs, which is rare for Bryce to be unsure of what he thinks/feels about someone. Other Field Children - Reeeeaalllyyyy doesn't like them, in particular Morana since she chloroformed him when he showed up to the farmhouse. The only socializing he does is when he goes out hunting for game meat, such as deer or wild turkey, and when he brings the carcass back to the farmhouse for another proxy to butcher and prepare. Tolerates Vanilla (owned by deviantART user stealth-crispies / @stealthcrispies here on tumblr) to a degree, kinda sees her like a little sister of sorts. He's the only one who could get a washcloth anywhere near her face. She follows him like a duckling sometimes, and she has been known to bring guns or ammo she finds on people to him. (IE: hunters who got too close to the farmhouse.) Other notes - Smokes when he can get it. Sometimes nicks packs of cigarettes off other proxies, such as Jed, who hits him in the face with his shovel when he finds out Bryce took his cigarettes.

#creepypasta #creepy pasta #creepypasta oc #proxy #proxy oc #proxies #demon proxy #oc #original character #original character art #original character reference #my art #digital art #digital artist #my ocs #bryce #art posts

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rockyhikaru · 5 years

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From the creator of Q, here comes an even worse Cassius

Trigger warnings; Death, Shooting, and Murder

Early Life

Cassius was born to a young couple back in Maine

His mom was getting sick so she gave Cassius to his aunt and uncle

It worked out at first but after his mom’s death, well things got harder

To his superstitious aunt and uncle, Cassius seemed to be a proxy for bad luck

Cassius dropping out of school didn’t help matters

Cassius finally had enough one day and try to tell his guardians enough is enough> He was going to become a hunter

However during the skirmish involving the gun, he accidently shot his aunt and uncle.

He was so terrified he decided to grab what he could and head to Alaska.

For a long ass time he was an ice fisher/deer hunter (a pretty good one) but Cassius felt like there was more out there

By a chance of luck he won some airline tickets to colorado

Cassius uplifted again to the state

He was planning to go to Denver but made a pit stop instead.

Cassius wound up in a situation where he saved a savage member

The savage member offered him a place in the gang.

A young Cassius thought it was his chance and took it

Being really good at weaponry also helped his chances

He moved up and the rest is history

Personality

Obviously is loyal to the savages but if had to , Cass would leave

He’s usually the life of the party

But Cass can come off as a bit obnoxious

Cass really doesn’t do close relationships-feeling like everyone could go away at any time

Also more likely to go out and hot on everyone

But would kill you if you annoy him or he has to

Wanted Connections

Fellow savages

Next Door Neighbors

Rivals

The gang member he saved one time

One night stands

And thats all I can think of atm-feel free to like the post ^^

#outlaw.intro

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straightebookpdf · 3 years

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READ [EBOOK] Meat Eater Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter EBOOK #pdf

Download Or Read Ebook at:

http://read.ebookcollection.space/?book=B086255C4D

Download/Read Meat Eater: Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter Ebook

information book:

Author : Steven Rinella

Pages :

Language :eng

Release Date :2020-6-9

ISBN :

Publisher :Random House Audio

BOOK DESCRIPTION:

An exploration of humanityâ€™s oldest pursuit and its relevance today Â Steven Rinella grew up in Twin Lake, Michigan, the son of a hunter who taught his three sons to love the natural world the way he did. As a child, Rinella devoured stories of the American wilderness, especially the exploits of his hero, Daniel Boone. He began fishing at the age of three and shot his first squirrel at eight and his first deer at thirteen. He chose the colleges he went to by their proximity to good hunting ground, and he experimented with living solely off wild meat. As an adult, he feeds his family from the food he hunts.Â Meat Eater chronicles Rinellaâ€™s lifelong relationship with nature and hunting through the lens of ten hunts, beginning when he was an aspiring mountain man at age ten and ending as a thirty-seven-year-old Brooklyn father who hunts in the remotest corners of North America. He tells of having a struggling career as a fur trapper just as fur prices were falling; of a dalliance with catch-and-release steelhead fishing; of canoeing in the Missouri Breaks in search of mule deer just as the Missouri River was freezing up one November; and of hunting the elusive Dall sheep in the glaciated mountains of Alaska. Â Through each story, Rinella grapples with themes such as the role of the hunter in shaping America, the vanishing frontier, the ethics of killing, the allure of hunting trophies, the responsibilities that human predators have to their prey, and the disappearance of the hunter himself as Americans lose their connection with the way their food finds its way to their tables. Hunting, he argues, is intimately connected with our humanity; assuming responsibility for acquiring the meat that we eat, rather than entrusting it to proxy executioners, processors, packagers, and distributors, is one of the most respectful and exhilarating things a meat eater can do. Â A thrilling storyteller with boundless interesting facts and historical information about the land, the natural world, and the history of hunting, Rinella also includes after each chapter a section of â€œTasting Notesâ€ that draws from his thirty-plus years of eating and cooking wild game, both at home and over a campfire. In Meat Eater he paints a loving portrait of a way of life that is part of who we are as humans and as Americans.â€œChances are, Steven Rinellaâ€™s life is very different from yours or mine. He does not source his food at the local supermarket. Meat Eater is a unique and valuable alternate view of where our food comes fromâ€”and what can be involved. Itâ€™s a look both backward, at the way things used to be, and forward, to a time when every diner truly understands whatâ€™s on the end of the fork.â€â€”Anthony Bourdain Â â€œAn engaging, sharp-eyed writer whose style fuses those of John McPhee and Hunter S. Thompson.â€â€”Minneapolis Star TribuneRUNNING TIME â‡’ 6hrs. and 38mins.Â©2012 Steven Rinella (P)2020 Random House Audio

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lesindispensablesparis · 3 years

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Sierra Designs Down Vest Japan edition – Comment acheter au Japon ?

Texte : Marcos Eliades Photo d'illustration : Marcos Eliades

LL Bean, The North Face, Rocky Mountain Featherbed : des marques mythiques d’outdoor américaines. Les années 1960-1970 ont vu émerger un grand nombre de fabricants de matière technique aux États-Unis, accompagnant ainsi les nouveaux hobbies d’une classe moyenne émergente. Graduellement, l’accessibilité à ces pièces réservées initialement aux explorateurs les plus intrépides se démocratise. Le camping* est légion et les vêtements l’accompagnant font leur apparition. Aujourd’hui, la course à la technicité dans le vêtement laisse parfois la place à un design sclérosé. Un tour sur eBay suffit pour se convaincre que les pièces vintage sont belles : couleurs vives, détails discrets, le tout fabriqué aux U.S.A. Je me suis mis à la recherche d’une down jacket et j’ai fini par la trouver…au Japon.

Décryptage de la down jacket Sierra Designs.

* Aux États-Unis, le mot « camping » ne désigne pas un mobile-home mais bien la pratique d’une activité de découverte de la nature.

Une histoire d’outdoor

Les fondateurs Bob Swanson et George Marks se rencontrent en 1963 dans un chalet à Berkeley. Deux ans plus tard, ils fondent Sierra Design avec pour but d’offrir au plus grand nombre des vêtements d’outdoor, indépendamment de leur milieu et niveau d’expérience. Rapidement, l’entreprise grandit et propose, en 1968, un duvet pour deux baptisé « double sleeping bag » qui fait un tabac. L’article phare de la collection est cependant incontestablement leur parka « 60/40 ». Dans un article, le co-fondateur George Marks détaille l’histoire derrière cette fraction légendaire : Bob Swanson, le co-fondateur, avait choisi un tissu 62% coton et 32% nylon. Les deux associés achètent alors cette liasse du fabricant Arthur Kahn Company et confectionnent des parkas dans cette matière en arrondissant les chiffres pour un effet plus percutent : 60/40.

Les parkas orange fluo deviennent la marque de fabrique de Sierra Designs et inondent le marché, concurrençant The North Face, qui n’avait pas vu cet engouement venir. La pièce crève l’écran sur le dos de Robert de Niro dans The Deer Hunter. Une icône est née.

Ma quête pour une down jacket

Je cherche à acheter vintage lorsque cela est pertinent mais cette quête n’a malheureusement pas abouti cette fois-ci car les tailles ou les coloris ne convenaient jamais…la recherche s’est donc poursuivie sur internet chez eBay, Etsy et quelques ultimes sites de vêtements vintage français et internationaux.

Je cherchais une couleur précise, un vert particulier, le « Kelly Green », une autre de mes « Obsessions Vestimentaires Compulsives ».

A force de recherches, je tombe sur un site Italien de vêtements vintage qui proposait une down vest Sierra Designs dans un beige claire. La taille et la couleur ne me convenaient cependant pas.

J’ai tapé sur mon moteur de recherche « Down Vest Sierra Designs » et je suis rapidement tombé sur un site Japonais. Je n’y comprenais rien. Vous avez beau avoir un logiciel de traduction, certaines phrases et informations précieuses passent entre les mailles du filet.

Je recherche donc un proxy – une extension ou un site – offrant la possibilité d’acheter au Japon. Je trouve Zen Market. Il en existe des dizaines d’autres – que je n’ai pas essayés – mais celui-ci me plaisait bien. Son interface intuitive offre la possibilité d’acheter sur des sites tels que Rakuten Japan, Yahoo Shopping Japan ou encore Amazon Japan.

Je tente une recherche armé de mes mots clefs : it’s a match. Non seulement je trouve le design et la couleur que je cherchais mais ma taille était en plus disponible. Pour la trouver, j’ai suivi le guide de taille dans la description du produit, tout y est explicité clairement. A noter que ce sont des tailles japonaises, j’ai opté pour une taille S, qui équivaut à un XS américain.

Je décide de passer commande. Il faut d’abord ajouter le produit dans son panier en précisant tous les détails de celui-ci – couleur, marque, taille – car Zen Market – en tant qu’intermédiaire – vérifie au préalable la disponibilité effective du produit auprès du vendeur avant le processus d’achat.

Une fois la vérification faite et le prix confirmé (hors frais de port), il faut ensuite virer les fonds (paiement par CB, PayPal, etc.) sur son compte Zen Market. Les prix sont en Yens, d’où un taux de change assez favorable. Un simulateur existe aussi pour calculer au préalable les frais de port.

Une fois l’achat finalisé, il faut patienter quelques jours – parfois quelques semaines au vue de la situation sanitaire actuelle – afin que le produit arrive dans les entrepôts de Zen Market. Une fois reçu, l’intermédiaire confirme sa bonne réception et son état. Il est également possible de demander une photo pour une vérification plus poussée, mais qui sera payante.

Zen Market vous propose ensuite différentes entreprises d’expédition avec devis, à vous de choisir celle qui vous correspondra le mieux. Parmi ces entreprises : Fedex, UPS, DHL notamment. J’opte pour Fedex.

Quelques jours plus tard, mon colis arrive, soigneusement emballé, avec en prime aucuns frais de douane à régler. Je ne l’explique pas, peut-être que mon colis avait été libellé comme un cadeau par l’expéditeur ? Zen Market précise tout de même que le mode d’expédition influe sur les frais de douane. Du processus de commande à celui de la réception de la pièce, comptez 20-30 jours. Les délais sont malheureusement rallongés ces derniers temps.

Il faut le dire d’emblée : cette veste a été fabriquée en Chine pour le marché Japonais avec un tissu confectionné aux États-Unis. Qui dit Chine ne dit pas forcément qualité moindre, au contraire. La profusion d’informations fournies me conforte dans cette idée. En effet, j’ai flashé le QR code de l’étiquette centrale pour tracer la matière première, à savoir les plumes de canards utilisées.

Je suis redirigé ici :

S’ensuit une longue liste exhaustive de données sur le fill power, la propreté environnementale du processus et ses contenants. Je vous invite à jeter un œil, même par curiosité.

Je porte cette down vest extrêmement simplement : un jeans (celui de SuperStitch par exemple, un col roulé (un Heimat ou Andersen Andersen – reviews à venir) et une paire de desert boots aux pieds (celles de Crown Northampton par exemple – review à venir).

Une down vest outdoor urbaine

Cela peut paraître antinomique. Mais les matières techniques envahissent nos vêtements et notre quotidien. Je suis particulièrement conquis par le design de cette down vest qui respire un parfum d’authenticité d’antan.

Extrêmement satisfait par cette découverte, à moi les « great outdoors ».

#Sierra Designs #down jacket #japan #duvet

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