#this is the most incomprehensible garbage + just a very long way to say: i’m a mess on every level in every way + even though i’m not going

[vigilantejustice]

having a gr8 time

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 2]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this chick is crazy...and I kinda dig it“

It’s been four days since the incident and he’s all but forgotten about it, removed it from his memory entirely as if girls hide from police in his car on a regular basis. 

Today is colder than usual, and his body has been quick to respond to the change, aching around the joints. Some days it’s impossible to move, feeling his clothes and sandpaper and housing spikes as joints. Thankfully, today isn’t that bad, the pain is rather manageable. Which checks out well for him, considering he has to do some cleaning around his apartment. His skin itched at the sight of the mess his living space has become over the last few weeks he hasn’t been bothered to pick up the strewn about items or wash the dishes in the sink. 

Standing in his living room, he turns in a circle, taking in the disaster that is surrounding him. His chest tightens, throat closing up due to the overwhelmingness of the work he has ahead of him while all he wants to do is hide in his room, under the blankets of his bed that is for sure not willing to offer him much comfort at the moment, seeing as how it too is a mess. 

Forget about that! He isn’t sure if his mind is telling him to forget the task he has at hand or the comfort he has in mind. Either way, he knows what the right thing to do is. It may give him anxiety, but it has to be done. 

He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, taking deep measured breaths and exhaling slowly just like his doctor had instructed him to do, in hopes to ease the tension around his lungs. 

Calming down a bit, he finally decides to get on with it, starting with the smallest space he has to clean, hoping accomplishing a small victory would fuel his ambition to move onto the actual rooms with a lesser struggle. So, pulling on his favorite hoodie and a beanie over his black curls, he slips out of the front door and down the stairs of his apartment complex with a trash bag in hand. He may hate cleaning, but he hates messes more, therefore it’s an easy call to make. Easy when putting the two in comparison, a struggle when he actually has to get on with the process of cleaning. 

With a deep breath as a final ‘You got this’ before action, he unlocks his car doors and looks around its interior. He starts off with the junk in the front - first tending to the passenger seat where he finds a couple plastic bags and a few water bottles. He keeps the area around the driver’s seat clean as can be, so he skips that side. Unfortunately, now he has to turn to the nightmare that is the backseats. 

While it may be tame, compared to most, the three paper bags, five disposable coffee cups that he’d dropped to the floor are more than enough to annoy him. He also makes a frustrating find of a hoodie, a few shirts, a hat, and what appears to be a forgotten CVS bag of medication. Much to his dismay, there’s more: handfuls of old receipts that he is now shoving into the garbage bag he has in hand along with straw wrappers, a few stray cold fries dating back to God-knows-when. He sighs, somewhat relieved to see the backseat is doing a lot better now than it was a couple minutes ago, though it’s not even entirely clean just yet. Something catches his eye though - a choker that was probably covered by one of the clothing items he had found. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand. It’s made of soft leather with a gunmetal ”C” and a pentagram embossed on it. It has a leather braided cord on both ends to tie together and no price tag or brand to indicate its origin. He can’t remember buying this...but then again, retail therapy is a thing and it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot a purchase. He gives it one final once-over before shrugging and pocketing it. After collecting the headphones he’d also dumped in the back and retrieving a pair of boots from the trunk, he locks up his car and heads back into the building, mentally preparing himself for facing the terror of cleaning his apartment.

Returning to his place after tossing the trash in the dumpster along the way, Corpse locks the front door behind him and proceeds to drop the things he’s brought back near the front door. 

This defeats the purpose of cleaning up in the first place, Corpse. He scolds himself but that’s what it remains at - just a scold. He slips the hoodie off his torso, but pauses when the leather collar falls to the floor. Tossing the clothing item on a dining room chair behind him, he picks up the choker and, without as much as a second thought, places it around his throat just below his Adam’s apple The metal feels cool against his skin and as he ties the leather cords at the back of his neck the corners of his lips curve upwards just a little. 

I probably look stupid. He thinks to himself. Corpse tries not to look much at his own reflection, mostly because it’s a reminder of how little sleep he gets with the dark circles and worn out, exhausted eyes staring back at him whenever he looks. But when he catches a glimpse of himself in his peripheral on his way to piss, he admires his reflection, or more so the way the black leather stands out across his pale skin. He’s gotta admit, it looks pretty cool. Edgy. Very urban. Goth maybe? But he still prefers the chains he’s known to wear over chokers.

After doing his business, he starts heading toward his office with the intention of recording a new story for his channel if he manages to find a decent submission - and also to ignore the cleaning he still had to do eventually - when the sound of someone banging on the door of his neighbor’s apartment makes him jump, thinking the sound was coming from his door instead. Being the nosey bitch he is, he creeps to his door, listening to the muffled and almost completely incomprehensible voices from across the hall. The screaming match taking place is making him rather nervous and anxious and as much as he’d rather hide in his room and pretend he never heard or saw anything, he also doesn’t want the altercation to escalate into anything physical. 

“You fucking bailed on me!” An angry female shout dominates over the other voice, a male one, that’s quick to follow the previous example with the tone volume.

“You almost got caught, it's not my fault you screwed up!” It’s the male’s turn to shout, his words intriguing Corpse.

Got caught? Screwed up what?

“Fuck you! You don’t just ditch like that! That’s such a dick move!” 

Ditched? If it wasn’t for the ‘getting caught’ part I would’ve thought it was a flopped date?

“I wasn’t about to get arrested for your klepto ass! I’m done with your shit!” The male voice takes the upper hand again, and though the female attempts to speak, she’s promptly cut off by the male, “No! No, I said I’m fucking done! Get the fuck out of my apartment!” A loud bang that sounded remarkably like a chair being flipped over made Corpse jump again with his thoughts once again racing to try and make sense of the situation. 

Klepto? So she’s a thief. Great. He rolls his eyes, not that he needed a reminder that he lives in a bad neighborhood, but he sure got it. He inhales slowly, finally deciding to check the aftermath in the hallway. Again, it isn’t his business whatsoever, but he can’t rest easy until he knows there isn’t an injured person outside his door right now. He peeks out the peephole before unlocking the door and sticking his head out to see a long haired individual still standing in front of his neighbor’s door. They have their back turned to him and are getting prepared to start banging on the door once again. 

“Little scared-ass bitch! I’ll be back for my shit!” She screams, kicking the door to punctuate her point. 

This chick is absolutely nuts. Everything in his gut is telling him to turn around and go back inside but his brain’s less-rational side is convincing him to check on her. He carefully steps into the hallway, swallowing nervously as he reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Are um-...you okay?”

The girl whips around, a furious expression on her face. Corpse makes a pause, his eyes widening at the sight of that familiar face.

Holy shit, I know this girl. 

Standing in front of him is the girl who leaped into the backseat of his car only a few days ago. 

Shit! What are the odds? 

She’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a cropped sweatshirt with the quote “Mercury’s in Gatorade or Some Shit” written in bold letters and a solar system around it, with a leather jacket on top. 

His mouth dries when he makes a realization... 

Oh fuck. She’s way prettier in the natural light instead of that ugly light I saw her in that night. 

“Oh hey! Parking lot guy! What are y-...is that my choker?” She interrupts herself, looking closer at the black leather on his pale skin, her brows furrowing. He’d forgotten he was even wearing it to be honest, but she seems to recognize it. “That’s my fucking choker, dude! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!” She reaches up seemingly with the intention of taking it off him, causing his whole body to freeze up.

Finally finding his senses, Corpse takes half a step back, eyes slightly widened, “Woah, hey! Easy there, I’m pretty sure I bought this.” He warns, hands hesitantly held out in front of himself to try and create some distance between them. 

She seems not to take the hint at his desire for personal space as she reaches out again, stepping closer. “No, I made it with my own two hands, man! It’s got a C on it for my name - Cora.” She says sharply to the point of anger that honestly frightens him a bit. 

He quickly unties the leather straps, removing it from his neck. However, he refuses to give it back so easily as he holds it up out of her reach. 

Maybe if it isn’t on me she won’t be all up in his personal space. Yeah, it’s a bit evil, but he didn’t care. Besides, part of him is still mad about the fact she used his car as a hiding spot, shooting his anxiety through the roof in the process. 

“I feel like you owe me for those fries you stole last time we saw each other. Make it up to me and I’ll give it back. If it’s even yours, that is...” He says, brows furrowing slightly and eyes narrowing as he takes another step back. “And, you know, for nearly getting me busted by the police for something I wasn’t even a part of.” 

Sure, he was talking but her eyes are wandering analyzing him: first the silver chains around his neck that glimmer in the light and his dark hair, strands dangling carelessly as a curtain over his face. 

He too finds himself admiring her, memorizing her features better in this light. She has olive skin and sports a little bit of a tan. Stray locks of wavy dark brown hair hang around her ears having come loose from her messy bun. She has earthy brown eyes with flecks of green that he can’t help but stare at, despite their current sharpness. Her right arm is decorated with a few small tattoos: a skull of some sort of animal that appears to be puking flowers; a small cartoon t-rex floating via many colorful balloons and a brain with a spiky spiral in the center of it. She has a single line drawn around her pinky finger on the hand of the other arm and the shadowy silhouette of a forest around her wrist. However, the one thing Corpse could see better than all of that, was she is pissed. 

“Gimme my fucking choker back! I paid you for those fries, it’s not my fault you spent them on douchebag lessons!” She snaps, hopping to try and grab his arm. 

She is pressed up against him now, a wave of perfume hitting him when she attempts another jump. He holds the choker higher, maybe even subconsciously, just enjoying the warm presence of another body for as long as possible - not that he’d admit that. 

Corpse’s brief content comes crashing down as he stumbles backwards when he feels something hard on his hip and her hands grabbing at the front of his shirt. 

“Wait-“ He tries to say, but is cut off when a good amount of weight pulls at his jeans. “Oh Fuck!” He rasps out, dropping the choker as he slams onto the floor. In the split second he spared to take a breath, his pants had been yanked down to his knees and his neck was crooked up against his door. He’s now lying on the floor as the girl hovers over him having landed with her hand on top of his head and one leg over his chest while the other is pinning his arm down.

While remaining unmoving under the girl, he takes a moment to let the previous five seconds sink in before replaying them in his mind:

This small woman, Cora she said her name was, had put the boot clad toes of her left foot into the pocket of his baggy jeans to use as a stepping stool. In turn, they were shoved down, effectively pantsing him and tearing the pocket before knocking them both to the floor. 

Corpse leans against his door, jeans still around his knees, hair a mess as he watches Cora stand up from where she’d practically tackled him and equip the choker. 

“Serves you right.” She sticks her tongue out, tying the piece of jewelry behind her neck. “Now get up before someone calls the cops, we both know what happens then.” She rolls her eyes and bends down, offering her hands to help him up after he situated his trousers.

“Ah-um...I-...” anxiety started reigning in his chest and head as he realized everything that had happened. He takes both her hands and she uses all her weight to pull him up. Her pull was so strong that when he stood up, he had to hold her tight to keep her from falling back. He stabilizes her, maybe a little too hard because her chest collides with his. He apologizes under his breath, releasing her hands quickly. “Don’t people buy dinner first before yanking off their pants?” He snorts, trying to make light of the situation and crossing his arms over his chest. “But then again, you stole my dinner.” 

“Are you insinuating I should take off my pants?” She asks with a smirk. 

Corpse nearly chokes on his own inhale, eyes wide as he quickly looks away.

Oh my god is she serious? “N-no!” He says, perhaps too quickly. Too loudly. His cheeks turned dark pink as he gapes at her for a moment before furrowing his brows again. He hunches his shoulders a little, doing his best to avoid those sharp hazel eyes. 

She’s pretty. Way too pretty for him and now she has him all flustered. This girl has way too much power over the agoraphobic anxiety bundle that is Corpse. 

“Oh so you’re insinuating that I should buy you dinner since I took off your pants?” She prompts, eyes narrowing with a delighted little smirk on her face. She has to be enjoying watching him squirm in embarrassment, otherwise, why would she keep asking questions like that? Of course she does. She is like every other girl in his life.

“I’m..-just...Forget it.” He mumbles, shrinking back away from her as he turns to go back inside the safety of his apartment. 

She’s probably making fun of me. Great, as if I didn’t have enough self-esteem issues already.

Before he could get inside, a hand grabs his shirt at the small of his back. “Hey, I’m just fucking with you, dude.” She says, giving the shirt’s fabric a tug. 

He turns and looks at her with wary eyes, wondering if she was trying to goad him into falling for her taunting again. But the ice in her gaze has melted and she gives him a crooked smile. “Lemme buy you dinner to pay you back. It’s the least I can do after you helped keep my ass out of jail.” She releases his shirt after a brief moment of reluctance and then offers her hand to him for a handshake. “Oh, I should introduce myself, officially this time. I’m Cora.” 

Corpse looks at her hand and carefully takes it. She has small hands and his long fingers practically engulfed hers as he shakes it lightly. He gives her his name in return and she smiles that light filled, beaming smile he remembers from the car. 

“Nice to, um- meet you, I guess.” He finds himself staring at her, unknowingly still holding her hand in his until she looks up and grins a little wider. 

“This seems like a roundabout way to hold my hand, bro. You could have just asked,you know.” She teases, but this time it felt okay, his embarrassment having faded slightly, but he still hurries to look away and release his hold on her. 

Corpse murmurs a quick apology, but before he could stick his hand back into the ripped pocket of his jeans, she takes hold of it again, tugging him forward. “Come on, lock your door. I’ll buy you something to eat. You drive though.” She lets go of his hand after a moment and, much to his surprise, he catches himself missing the warmth that it provided him while it was there. Turning, he ducked into his apartment to grab his hoodie and keys, feeling suddenly thankful he’d cleaned his car out.

Taglist: @vixenl  @fockingwhore

[concernedbrownbread]

Garbage Boy

For @adrienaugust Day 5: Cheese

In which Adrien and Plagg work at a Fromagerie, like they dreamed of in Wishmaker. But it's been years since Hawkmoth's defeat, and they're just trying to get by.

Words: 1123

Warning: I know nothing of cheese. Also, heavily inspired by Ratatoullie. Don't worry, this is fluff, the angst is in the background.

Read here or under the cut

---

“You know,” Plagg drawled, “When I said I wanted to work at a Fromagerie, this isn’t what I meant, garbage boy.”

“I’m just cleaning, not collecting garbage.” Adrien sighed, leaning against the mop, “And I know Plagg. But we can’t exactly buy a Fromagerie with no money to our name.”

“What a statement, huh.”

Adrien hummed in agreement. Three years after Hawkmoth’s defeat - after his reveal as Gabriel Agreste - and Adrien had used up pretty much any money that he’d managed to salvage after the company went bankrupt. His Dad tried to help, of course, but after Gabriel, the Gorilla had a hard time finding work too.

So, here was Adrien Agreste, once a model, now a full-time garbage boy. He wasn’t even Chat Noir part time anymore.

Technically, Plagg wasn’t even supposed to be here. But - well, they may have just made a run for it, after everything, and he certainly wasn’t looking back anymore than Plagg was. He felt guilty sometimes, about turning his back on Ladybug after the whole Hawkmoth ordeal, but she asked him to give up the one thing he had left - Plagg. So it really was just running from there.

“You’re moping.”

“Mopping,” Adrien corrected, gesturing to his mop.

“Har, har. But I can hear you think, kit.”

“Sorry.”

Plagg gave him a stern look, “Don’t be. What were you even thinking of?”

“The past,” he hesitated, “And the present. This isn’t what I imagined for us.”

They looked around the room, filled with cheese they couldn’t touch, finishing up the last bit of cleaning before opening hour. It was the biggest, best Fromagerie in Paris, and he’d only really gotten in thanks to Chloe pulling strings.

“Whatever kit. I like it. Smelling cheese all day!”

“I can’t even afford you camembert anymore,” Adrien pointed out.

Plagg shrugged, “Cheese is cheese. American isn’t so bad!”

To prove his point, he pulled out a square slice of yellow from Adrien’s pocket, pulling off the plastic and folding it into his mouth.

“See? It’s fine.”

With great amusement, Adrien watched Plagg gag.

“Still getting used to the … non-cheese aspects of it.”

Adrien was about to promise Plagg some camembert using his first paycheck - for old time’s sake - when the door burst open.

“You!” Alfredo, the store owner, said, “Who’re you?”

“Um … I clean?”

“Fine, whatever, listen,” Alfredo grabbed Adrien by the shoulders, ignoring his flinch, “Do you know cheese?”

“I - I guess?”

“Can you sell them?”

“Yes?”

“The other girl isn’t coming in today - what’s her name?” Alfredo clicked his finger, “Charlotte - “

“Colette - “

“Her. I need you to fill in. Very important people are coming in today.”

Adrien stammered, “S - sir, I don’t think - “

The bell on the door dinged, signifying customers. Alfredo’s eyes widened, “No time, no time. Just - just get out there.”

He grabbed Adrien’s mop, put him in an apron and pushed him out into the front. He froze, like a cat caught in car lights.

“Hm,” the man hummed, “You are?”

“Uh - Adrien? Adrien Agreste.”

The man’s beady eyes widened momentarily, face twitching into something incomprehensible before it settled back into an impassive stare.

“Gabriel Agreste’s son, working in a Fromagerie. Why I never.”

“You never … what?”

“Hm,” the man gave him a onceover, “My name is Antoine. I’m a food critic and it has come to my attention that the credibility of this shop is years out of date. So. I’m here to inquire about your cheese.”

A food what now?

Adrien didn’t know the first thing about cheese, except for the fact that Plagg liked it. What was he supposed to -

“Follow my lead,” Plagg hissed from beside Adrien’s ear.

After Hawkmoth, Adrien had grown out his hair to try and feel closer to Chat Noir. It only served to make people throw more slurs at him on the street, but for once - well, he was glad. He was never cutting it again.

“Well,” Adrien said, repeating Plagg’s words, “If you’d come right this way.”

Adrien was going to cry. Or maybe laugh. Or maybe -

“Garbage boy!”

“I’m a cleaner actually - “

Alfredo waved his hand dismissively, “I must say, I’m impressed!” he leaned in, “Was any of what you said true?”

“Most of it,” Plagg whispered, which Adrien repeated.

Alfredo laughed, “You’re off cleaning duty, garbage boy. From now on, you can work the front. Heavens know Catherine needs to know the meaning of hard work - “

“Charlotte - nevermind.”

Adrien watched Alfredo walk away, utterly bemused.

“This was a weird day.”

“We’re going places, kit!” Plagg said, laughing, “Did you see that guy’s face when we talked about the bryndza’s brine?”

“I didn’t see him react.”

“Oh humans, so blind. He was clearly peeing his pants.”

Adrien nodded in agreement, “Yes. Clearly.”

“This is perfect. Like in that movie with the cooking! You’re Linguini!”

“And you’re Remy the rat.”

“I’m no rat, Adrien, I’m insulted!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Adrien grinned, “Then I refuse to be Linguini.”

Plagg laughed, and Adrien didn’t remember the last time he had seen the Kwami laugh, “This is going to be better than Ratatouille.”

Life wasn’t easy for them anymore. Hawkmoth’s capture for them spelt a boy falling out of public grace, ridiculed and left without his inheritance. The Agreste wealth, the Gabriel fortune, everything he had had been forced out of his hand, through guilt and stupid decisions of his own. His friends had been help, but Natalie went back home sick and frail, and the only adult he had truly been able to rely on was the Gorilla - Gregory.

High school was a chore, but his grades in physics landed him in university. Until he dropped out, and made a long series of stupid decisions, before ending up in therapy and being forced to do something with his life.

Some days, he thought about that night. The night Ladybug was finally ready to reveal herself, after months of pushing him aside. The night when Ladybug looked like the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders, when Adrien’s world had just crashed down.

The night when Ladybug, sweet Ladybug, kind Ladybug, had hugged him tight, “I’ll love you, whoever you are. It’s time to give up our Miraculous'”

And the night Adrien pushed her away, and ran, because he wasn’t losing Plagg, come hell or high water.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Adrien would ask Plagg sometimes.

And the kwami could put his paw on Adrien’s cheek, “For every choice you make in which we stay together, is the right one.”

Adrien watched Plagg float in and out of shadows, still talking about his cheese, and felt the world come into clarity.

Plagg had been right. He had made the right choice.

---

Author's Note: This one was SO much fun to write, I'm tempted to write a whole story of Adrien and Plagg just outrunning Ladybug, trying to go from paycheck to paycheck, and learning to deal with the trauma that is Gabriel. They are such an awesome duo.

Also, I apologise for knowing literally nothing about cheese and fromageries.

[theevangelion]

Keira: Dom Cat/Sub Kara Sneak Peek

For Kendrene: Mistress Cat/Sub Kara. Kara has some special duties as Cat's personal assistant, including being fucked by her boss in the office after hours. Bonus points for involving Cat's very steep heels in the process.

*OR*

Cat Grant gives her Bambi-legged personal assistant an intensive course on how to walk in high heels.

“Oh! Keira while you’re here!” Miss Grant halted the personal assistant escaping in search of her lunch hour. “I need you to run and grab coffee before you take your break.”

“It’s Kara.”

“Excuse me?” Miss Grant glanced over the top of her glasses from the photographs spread out on her desk.

“It’s Kara, not—”

“Did I ask for your name?” Miss Grant didn’t so much as blink. “Keira, I can only assume you got out of bed on the wrong side this morning—presumably in the dark too if those last season bargain basement shoes are anything to go by—which you wear with all the grace and elegance of a reversing garbage truck without any wheels on, by the way.” Miss Grant turned her attention back to the grainy photographs of a popular athlete kissing a woman who was not his wife. “I’ll take a danish too.” She shooed with her fingers.

Taken aback, Kara realised that she now simply had a new name until Cat Grant decided otherwise. There was nothing to say—nothing she could say—other than blither foolish apologies for misspeaking. Kara had been warned about Cat’s quick, no survivors taken attitude. The several ex-personal assistants in the Facebook support group had made it abundantly clear.

But, Kara hadn’t found the advertisement for this role on Indeed or LinkedIn. She found it through quite a different website altogether.

“Coffee, Keira.” Miss Grant pointed a manicured finger to the door. “Why are you still here?”

“Sorry! Yes! Coffee, Miss Grant. Almond milk?” Kara became determined to get it right for fear of the alternative.

“Of course I want almond milk, Keira,” the petite woman scoffed, “I’m not a fucking barefoot savage.”

***

“She’s looking to finish strong but the ankles are weak. Her coach and team will be disappointed with her performance today. Wibble wobble, will she make it?” Miss Grant chided behind Kara all the way through the office as though walking in these particular heels were an Olympic gymnastics floor final. “Oh! She nearly tripped but she stuck the landing!” Miss Grant burst enthusiastically as they made it through the door into her executive office. “Goodness, Keira. It’s like watching a horse try to gallop in roller skates inside a pressurised vacuum chamber.”

“I can wear flats instead of heels if you prefer, Miss Grant?” Kara suggested with blushing cheeks, leaning over slightly as she placed the coffee and rival daily newspapers on Cat’s desk for morning appraisal.

“Keira.” Slender hips pressed against Kara’s bent bottom, then lips craned and pressed against the back of her reddened ear. It made Kara’s heartbeat stop and her brain empty outward. “I’m offended you would suggest such a thing. Firstly, I’m offended on behalf of high heels. Secondly, I’m offended you would think about stripping me of the small joy that comes with mercilessly mocking you.” Kara swallowed hard and felt her boss gently tuck her wavy hair behind her ear. “You don’t want to offend me, do you Kara?” Cat whispered.

“You said my name.”

“Excuse me?”

“You—” Kara stopped and inhaled, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “Nothing, sorry. Of course I don’t want to offend you, Miss Grant. I… I like working here. I just want you to make sure you like me working here as much as I like working here.”

“You sound like bad Roald Dahl fanfiction when you speak off the tongue. I don’t like it.” Cat pulled back, but she gently slipped her slender fingers along Kara’s shoulder as she moved away—almost taking the venom out of her own statement. “Still, a woman without confidence is like a bisexual person without a Harry Potter inspired tattoo, Keira. Incomprehensible,” Cat snided, stepping around her desk with clasped hands at her waist. “I’ll teach you how to appreciate heels. Be here at six this evening.”

“After work?” Kara gulped and fiddled with her glasses.

“Will that be a problem?”

“No Ma’am.” She shook her head.

***

Kara was a pretty thing. Annoying, but pretty. There were few things that Cat enjoyed less than a young woman falling all over herself like a wounded deer in the wake of a cutting word from her quick tongue. But, Kara had seemingly made herself immune to the humiliation in recent weeks.

Cat would try, of course, nasty little remarks here and there to make the girl wither crimson. But Kara would just smile the most radiant smile and say a blushing thank you, apparently grateful for the attention and constructive feedback.

Truth be told, it warmed Cat.

But that didn’t stop it being any less infuriating.

Cat had placed the job advertisement on the fetish website for two reasons: to draw in the type of submissive natured assistant who would prove long standing—because having to re-explain the basics of how she wanted things done around the office every few months after the latest one quit was more headache than it was worth. Cat also placed the advert on the fetish website because it was a very, very fun and convenient way to bring her most private fantasies to life.

Cat enjoyed the thought of humiliating a girl to tears, parading her naked, spanking her over her knee, doing all sorts of rude and cruel things to her. There were the overtly sexual things too—the thought of taking her personal assistant to business dinners with electrified toys in all sorts of sensitive places. A tear-stained porcelain face buried underneath her hiked skirt licking her stresses away—waiting for the chief’s permission to gasp for a much needed breath.

Why keep it a filthy, private fantasy when she could find someone as equally perverted as herself? Better yet, why keep it a filthy perverted fantasy when she could find a little fool who would do these things without the good business acumen to demand a premium salary rate.

Kara made above market average of course, if only from the benevolence of Cat’s tender heart. The girl didn’t have enough between her ears to think to demand it, though Cat supposed that was rather a good thing for longevity's sake.

Cat never abided demanding types very well.

“Panties off too.” Cat didn’t glance away from her laptop screen despite wanting to stare. “I don’t care if you cry yourself blue in the face. Take them off or put the rest of your clothes on and march yourself down to the unemployment line.”

“I’m not crying,” Kara whispered softly as though confused by the statement. “I wasn’t wearing panties to begin with, Miss Grant.”

At that Cat snapped her stare across with witheringly cold precision. Kara stood there completely bare with her hands clasped behind her spine. From stood beneath the lighting directly above her, her skin was a gorgeous shade of bone white, her muscles taut and slender, which gave her the impression of being much taller than she actually was. Cat thought she looked beautiful, and she wanted to give the compliment where it was due, though she would never miss the opportunity for a quip.

“What happens when you assume, Keira?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Grant.” Wrong footed, Kara startled like a wide-eyed deer.

Much better, Cat thought.

Kara continued, “I just. I just like to be prepared for you, Miss Grant. I like to anticipate what might be required of me—”

“And what were you anticipating when you decided to forgo panties this morning?” Cat rose from her chair with a cool, indiscernible expression. “What? You had some infantile, school girl fantasy that perhaps I might use your dripping little hole as balm?” Cat blinked and pushed the smallest of smirks. “Of course, I suppose today wasn’t the first day the air from the subway vents tickled you in private places?” She clipped around her desk with poise.

YOU CAN READ ALL FOUR CHAPTERS OF THE COMPLETE STORY HERE!

[scmsdivinecultists]

A Day in the Department of Fuckery

Warnings: Occasional curse word and tons of crack.

Written by Admin Karebear

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a peaceful morning within the palace of the heavens. Although powerful beings such as gods did not need sleep, many retired to their private rooms when the sun set and spent quiet time with their families or lovers. The sun was half-way above the horizon now, painting the endless sky a shade of beautiful orange. Most of the gods who lived in the palace had yet to leave their rooms and begin work, but unfortunately, duty called for some at this hour.

“Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?” Teresa complained, dragging her feet down the empty hallway.

“Zyglavis.” Kare replied, turning her head left so she could look at her companion. “Apparently he requested to have the meeting at this time.”

“Who the heck approved it?”

“The king.”

Teresa groaned. “Of course he did. Probably wants to see me suffer.”

Kare smirked. “Well, our job is to amuse him.”

Teresa, the Goddess of Equality, had long black hair, dark eyes and wore eyeglasses for style. She served as the minister for the Department of Fuckery. Kare, the Goddess of Peace, also wore a pair of glasses in front of her brown eyes, though her hair was berry purple and stopped on top of her shoulders. Kare was chosen as the vice-minister for the new department.

The Department of Fuckery was created not long ago by the King of the Heavens. His Highness felt that the palace had grown too dull and was growing quite bored of his old tricks. So, by creating a new department with some of the most chaotic goddesses in the heavens, the king had found a new way to toy with the gods in Wishes and Punishments.

Reaching the large door at the end of the hall, the goddesses went in. On the other side was a grand room held for meetings between all three departments. As expected, the minister and vice-minister of Punishments were already inside.

“Good morning gentlemen.” Kare greeted the men upon entry.

“Good morning.” Zyglavis replied.

Instead of using words, Scorpio replied with a nod, not thrilled about the early hour either. The women took their seats on their side of the circular table, Teresa’s eyes fixing into a glare pointed at Zyglavis. The ambiance of the room turned from quiet to awkward in a matter of minutes.

Finally, Zyglavis let out a sigh. “Lady Teresa, is there something you would like to say?”

If it were possible, Teresa’s glare grew colder. “Yeah. What’s the deal with holding the meeting at this ungodly hour?”

“Punishments has a large task to complete later today. This time was best for us.”

“Oh, so we’re working around your schedule-”

“Teresa.” Kare cut in, giving the Fuckery Minister a look.

Teresa huffed and crossed her arms, slouching back into her chair. Kare wasn’t usually this uptight, but when it came to work that woman didn’t didn’t make a habit of messing around.

The door opened once again, revealing the missing Minister and Vice-Minister of Wishes. Leon, unsurprisingly, looked annoyed while Karno wore a friendly, relaxed expression.

“You’re late.” Zyglavis snapped, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Yes, we’re sorry.” Karno apologized, taking a seat. “There were some... distractions this morning.”

Scorpio scoffed. “Figures.”

The corner of Leon’s mouth curled up. “Spent the night alone again, did you?”

Scorpio clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. “Better then whatever disgusting woman you allowed into your bed.”

Kare bit her bottom lip and quickly clasped a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, trying to withhold the giggles bubbling in her chest. Teresa, on the other hand, burst into a fit of laughter, not caring when Leon’s glare shifted to her.

Zyglavis, who’s eyebrows furrowed another inch, cleared his throat. “It’s time to get started. Punishments doesn’t have the luxury of time the four of you do.”

“You wouldn’t be so behind if you got your problem children under control.” Leon said, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. “Perhaps you should transfer them to Fuckery. Seems like they’ll get more work done over there.”

Teresa wasn’t laughing anymore. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ichthys would fit in, honestly...” Kare muttered.

The Fuckery Minister turned to her Vice-Minister. “Ok, he would, but that’s not the point.”

Karno, seeing that the meeting was going no where, decided to take things into his own hands. “I see that everyone has a lot of energy this morning. We should be able to get through this rather quickly if we begin now.”

Kare nodded in agreement. “Every Department has a problem child and we shouldn’t leave them unattended for too long.”

‘Our entire department is nothing but problem children.’ Teresa thought.

“Fine. We’ll start.” Leon said, sliding a paper across the table in Teresa’s direction. “What the hell is this foreign language?”

“I was going to ask about that, too.” Zyglavis added. “It’s incomprehensible.”

Teresa lifted a brow and picked up the paper, reading the first few lines. “Dammit, Cupid.”

Kare glanced over. “Don’t tell me she-”

“Wrote in human slang again? Why yes, yes she did.”

“Oh boy.”

Teresa cleared her throat and began reading out loud. “This week, I would like to report that there had been an increased number of thots roaming the palace. I have reason to believe these thots were given an invitation to enter by either Leon, Teorus or Tauxolouve from the Department of Wishes, though there is also a possibility that Partheno from Punishments is involved. I can’t help but LOL at how shook some of these thots looked; can’t determine if they’ve been ghosted yet or not. These thots were trying to flex, but I threw hands with those extra goddesses. In the end, I got them to spill some tea, hit them with a ‘Bye, Felicia’, then yeeted their salty asses out the door. It was lit and I wish someone was there to see me snatch their weaves. I can’t help but ROFL at how highkey desperate these thots are to sleep with any of the gods listed above. Now I’m hangry.”

Now finished reading, Teresa looked up at the others. Everyone seated at the table, except for Kare, clearly were unable to process anything that had been said.

Kare broke the silence. “Basically, we’ve noticed a lot of goddess wandering the halls and have had to escort them out. Make sure your guys clean up after themselves.”

Scorpio clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing in rage. “That miget wrote all that garbage for a simple explanation like that?!”

“You say garbage, I say work or art.” Teresa said, folding the report. “Anything else we can translate for you?”

Karno nodded and placed a smaller paper in Kare’s hand. “This was attached to the front of the report.”

Kare read the note first in her head, then out loud. “Tell Aigo to report to my office for a pegging.” Her brows furrowred and she turned to her superior. “What’s pegging?”

Teresa shrugged. “First I’m hearing of it. She must have learned a new word. Did Aigo go see her?”

“Yeah. The way he jumped out of bed and ran, he must know what that term means.” Leon said.

Zyglavis, who usually had a face of stone, was looking away from everyone in attempt to hide his reddened cheeks. This failed, though, as Scorpio noticed right away.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Scorpio asked.

Zyglavis cleared his throat. “Nothing. I don’t see why we are wasting time translating this nonsense.”

Leon smirked. “Oh-ho, so Minister Ponytail does know what ‘pegging’ means.”

“If I did, I would have said so, rabid lion.”

The meeting continued. Gods had a very different sense of time then humans did, but even for the goddesses in Fuckery, time moved painfully slow. When it was finally over, Teresa and Kare returned to their department. Inside were more members of the Department of Fuckery, who had finally left their chambers. Moli, the Goddess of Domination and Maisey, the Goddess of Submission, were having a casual conversation on large couch. Curled up on a single chair was Kay, the Goddess of Innocence.

Moli was twirling a lock of long, red hair around her finger. Her green eyes were focused on Maisey, listening earnestly to her friend. Maisey had long hair that started brown, then faded into a deep shade of green that matched her eyes. Kay’s blue eyes were cast down to the book in her lap. Her hair was also red, but cut to her shoulders. All three were dressed in the Fuckery uniform, which resembled those belonging to Wishes and Punishments, just more of a femanine style. Each goddess in the department wore a velvet-red arm band.

“Thank god that’s over!” Teresa exclaimed, disrupting the quiet atmosphere. “Cupid, you coward! Where are you?”

“She’s in her office.” Moli said, pointing towards the back of the department.

Teresa huffed and stormed towards the office. Kare, choosing to stay behind, took a seat on the couch as well, near Kay’s chair.

“How was the meeting?” Kay asked.

“Chaotic, as always.” Kare replied, nodding towards the book in the red-head’s lap. “Whatcha’ reading?”

“A book from Earth. It’s called 50 Shades of Grey.”

“Sounds interesting. What’s it about?”

Kay’s cheeks turned pink as she shook her head. “You don’t wanna know.”

Kare was confused by the statement, but chose to let it go.

Moli reached over and tapped the vice-minister’s shoulder. “How was Zyg?”

The purple-haired goddess shrugged. “He didn’t seem any different then usual. Although, I’m a little worried he may be over-working himself...”

Maisey raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“His face flushed red in the middle of the meeting. If gods were capable of getting sick I would assume it was an illness, but he seemed, I don’t know, embarrassed?”

“Zyg? Embarrassed?” Kay asked, not believing her ears. “Impossible. Over what?”

“Cupid wrote something about ‘pegging’ in one of her notes and no one could figure out what it meant.”

Moli, who looked concerned a minute ago, was now smiling. She almost looked proud.

“Oh, I see.” Moli said, picking up her glass from the coffee table and taking a sip.

Moli and Maisey exchanged a look. Only they knew the reason behind Zyglavis’ embarrassment and who was the cause of it. Kare was about to ask, but Kay quickly shook her head as of saying ‘don’t’. So, once again, Kare was left in the dark.

Maisey downed the rest of her glass. “I gotta ask Hue for more wine. This is good shit.”

“I can’t believe how high your alcohol tolerance is.” Kay said. “Or that your drinking this early in the morning.”

Maisey shrugged. “Gotta get fucked up to fuck things up, right?”

“Preach!” Moli exclaimed, raising her glass in a toast before chugging the rest of it. “Hey, Kare, you want some?”

Kare thought about it. “I really shouldn- ah, screw it. Why not?”

“What about you, Kay?” Maisey asked.

Kay smiled but politely declined.

~

Teresa lifted her hand to knock on the door, but decided against and threw it open instead.

“Cupid, what the hell is this?” Teresa asked the department’s secretary, waving the report from earlier in her hand.

Cupid, who had been calmly writing at her desk, paused to look at the Minister. Cupid, the Goddess of Infatuation, was small but mighty. She had short brown hair and brown eyes that matched. Also in the room was Ruby. Ruby, the Goddess of Dreams, was the youngest in the department and acted as Fuckery’s messenger while training beneath the others. She had dark, medium length hair and gentle brown eyes.

“Ew, it’s you.” Cupid huffed. “That’s the report, you hooligan. Maybe if you stopped putting sugar on your lettuce you’d have figured that out.”

“Sugar on my- At least I don’t go after basic human white boys!” Teresa snapped back. “I knew what this was. Why all the slang? The gods couldn’t make any sense of it.”

“I was doing my job and made the meeting more entertaining.” Cupid smirked. “How ridiculous were their faces?”

Teresa laughed. “I’ve never seen Zyg look more confused in my life. Scorpio was kinda pissed, Leon was flat out confused and Karno was just like ‘oh, ok’. It was priceless.”

“Um, no one is going to get in trouble, right?” Ruby asked nervously. “Those meetings seem important, so...”

Teresa shook her head. “They’re important, yeah, but we’re the department of Fuckery; we’re supposed to mess a around. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end of the king’s boredom. That’s what Leon is for.”

“Ruby helped me with slang research.” Cupid said, patting the younger goddess’ head. “Good work.”

Ruby blushed. “T-Thank you.”

Teresa flashed Ruby a smile before turning back to Cupid. “By the way, what does ‘pegging’ mean? Leon and Karno want to know.”

Cupid laughed. “You don’t wanna know. Trust me. It will ruin you forever.”

“Nothing can ruin me more then the lot of you have.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” Cupid looked at Ruby. “Cover your ears for a minute.”

Ruby was confused, but did as told. Cupid approached Teresa and explained it to her quietly. When she finished, Teresa was frozen in place trying to process what she had just heard. Part of her wasn’t surprised, but at the same time, she was.

Teresa groaned. “Great. Now I have an image of you and Aigo-”

A voice suddenly shouted across the department. “Ladies! We have a problem!”

Teresa, Cupid and Ruby exchanged looks before racing into the main room where the others were. Kare, Moli, Maisey and Kay were still present, but one more goddess now stood amongst them. Bonnibell, the Goddess of Chaos, had a darker complexion then the others and was equally as beautiful with her curly dark hair and powerful eyes. In this moment, her eyes had a fire blazing behind them.

“B? What’s wrong?” Teresa asked.

“I caught a rat trying to sneak in here.” Bonnibell explained.

Ruby flinched. “A-A rat?”

“Poor thing must have lost it’s way.” Kay said. “We should release him outside.”

“Oh, it’s not that kind of rat.”

Bonnibell turned and headed out the door. The other goddesses were confused, but rushed after her, curious to see what their friend had caught.

Out in the hall, the goddesses found someone sitting on the floor, wrists and feet tied together. The god was wearing white clothing, had blonde hair and gold eyes. Everyone recognized him instantly.

“Teorus!” Kare exclaimed, eyes narrowing as her hands placed themselves on her hips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Teorus laughed nervously. “I heard Fuckery was having some trouble with my goddesses, so I thought I would come guard the hallway. Can’t have anyone getting hurt, right?”

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s been letting all those thots in?” Cupid realized, crossing her arms.

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds mean.” Teorus snapped his fingers to free himself from the bonds and stood up. “If you ladies are thaaaat jealous, my door is always open. I’ll accept you all.”

None of the goddess laughed. In fact, they were all harshly glaring at him. Teorus seemed to realize what grave he had just dug for himself and took off down the hall.

“After him!” Teresa commanded.

The goddesses of Fuckery gave chase, racing through the palace after the blonde god. Teorus could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was so focused on the women hunting him that he didn’t think to slow down before racing around the corner. As a result, he ran face first into someone. The impact sent Teorus falling onto his ass.

“Ow!” Teorus hissed.

Krioff glared down at him. “What did you do that for?”

“Ah! Krioff!” Teorus exclaimed, still on the floor. “You gotta help me! The girls in Fuckery are reaaally mad at me!”

Krioff looked past Teorus to the mob of enraged goddesses standing before him. “I can see that.”

Knowing better then to get involved, Krioff turned his back and started walking in the other direction.

Teorus’ heart sank. “You’re not gonna help me?!”

“No. See ya.” Krioff replied, not looking back.

The goddesses pounced. Moli and Maisey each took a leg and started dragging Teorus across the floor, heading back to the department. The others followed, ignoring Teorus’ pleas for mercy and forgiveness. The goddesses hauled him into Fuckery and closed the door. Teorus’ screams could no longer be heard echoing in the halls.

~~~~~~~

Minister Teresa: @teresa-yukibito

Vice-Ministed Karebear: @karebearotome

Cupid: @incurablecupidity

Moli: @john-bull-leun

Maisey: @voltage-supernatural-art

Kay: @jer-ich0

Bonnibell: @bonnisimpparker

Ruby: @currentlysleepy

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 4: Madness of Maul

{masterlist}

Story summary: the reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise

Warnings: none, canon-madness

Notes: female pronouns, an OC child

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, current read, Part 5, Part 6

...............................................................................................

You could feel yourself colliding with rogue bits of metal as he went, even though you could see where you were going, your own human legs could not keep up with Maul and his reckless running. The entire time, he continued to wail and mumble to himself with one hand covering his ear and the other steadily cutting into your arm. You could definitely feel blood beginning to flow out of the large punctures. But, that wasn’t what pained you the most. No, it was Maul and the state you had found him in. What had happened to your lover? What had done this to him? If you had known he was alive and you had been able to find him could you have prevented it? “NO, no, no…” Maul mumbled to himself. His voice was a growl and the noise of his metallic legs clicking against the metal walls mockingly echoed in your head, saying ‘you could have done something’. 

Maul was dragging you further down into the tunnels and you could safely say that you were thoroughly lost. And, worryingly, the two of you were approaching a warm light. “Lost, she was, lost. Here she is....with me.” Maul muttered before falling into a cacophonous bout of unhinged laughter. You knew he was referring to you-had you been lost? Had he also fallen for the ruse that was your death? Guilt crashed down on you. What if that had pushed him even farther over the edge? 

“Maul...Maul, I’m sorry.” You whimpered despite the niggling feeling that told you he wouldn’t understand what you were saying. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Maul hissed something garbled and incomprehensible. Soon, the source of light the two of you had been approaching was identified. In the center of a wide cavern was a pyre of burning garbage. Maul charged right towards it with another cry. Without warning, the demented zabrak scooped you up and deposited you in the corner of the clearing. “Maul?” you questioned quietly, staring up into the unfocused eyes of the man that was once your everything. The zabrak spat out a string of complete gibberish as he looked at you with his head tilted. “I-I don’t understand you!” You sobbed dryly and Maul’s face fell. He lowered himself to be closer, hands reaching out for you and, instinctively, you flinched away. But that only seemed to make his panic worse. Maul wailed at your fear and burst into his own sobs that mixed unsettlingly with high-pitched laughter. What had happened to him? 

“No, no, no…” Maul heaved as he moved around his apparent new-home, swatting at invisible enemies. Your eyes stung at the sight. Slowly, you tried to get to your feet now that Maul wasn’t hovering over you. The zabrak watched your every move with a pain in his eyes that, for a second, might have convinced you that he was of sound mind. With palms raised in surrender, you dared to step closer to the man you had once described as the most cunning being in the universe. You opened your mouth to speak but, by now, Savage had caught up to the two of you. 

“You are the brother I’ve been searching for.” The golden zabrak’s booming voice carried across the open area to steal Maul’s attention from you. 

Immediately, Maul began to recoil. “No, no!” He shouted towards Savage as he backed away from you as you watched on completely at a loss. 

“Yes, we are, we are brothers!” Savage continued despite his brother’s objections. “And look, Maul, your wife is here too. We’re here to help you, brother.” 

“No!” Maul screamed again before falling into another round of demented chuckling. “You don’t know...you don’t know anything!” Maul seethed, swiftly throwing his arms out in punctuation as he clambered up what looked like a busted engine. “Never, never!” 

Amidst his laughter, you looked at Savage through the flames of the pyre. Savage met your eyes and softly shook his head-he wasn’t sure how to help his brother either. Speaking of which, Maul was already on the move again. He had climbed back down the fallen engine and was now scurrying across a small ramp behind you. Maul’s brother was tracking his movement just as you were. In an effort not to anger the unstable zabrak, you stayed rooted to the spot he had left you in as Savage slowly worked his way towards you, talking all the while. “I know I am your blood.” 

“Never!” Maul growled at Savage and came swooping down to place himself between you and his brother. “Never.” He groaned, head tilted back with his eyes pressed to his face. You carefully tried to move away from the zabrak in case he decided to do something rash. Your movements were forced to halt though when Maul brought his hands down and laughed once more. Again, you made eye contact with Savage. All three of you were at a crossroads, no one sure which direction to take. 

But, suddenly, a familiar voice humming a foreign tune decided to interrupt the tension of the strange lair. “I’m ready for my leftovers!” Morley was back. His head popped up over the edge of the clearing with a smile on his face that soon fell into a look of pure shock upon spotting you and Savage. “Oh, you’re still alive?” He asked nervously. Savage took a step towards him and Morley fell back, trying to slither away as fast as he could but your zabrak companion was far quicker. In just a few strides, he had caught up with Morley and picked him up by the neck attached to the base of his head. 

“Who did this to my brother?” Savage demanded as he marched back. You attempted to step around Maul to also interrogate Morley but his attention snapped to you in an instant and he was quick to block your way by caging you in his arms. “Are you part of this?” 

Maul’s skin was searing against your own but it felt wrong. Your reunion was supposed to be warm and beautiful and sane. You struggled to get out of the zabrak’s grip, blindly kicking backward with the intent of finding purchase, but Maul held tight. One of his hands rested atop your head, nails slightly digging into your scalp as he muttered to himself and you were left suspended by his grip. “No, no,” Morley’s struggled confession took you away from the fact you were dangling like a ragdoll for a moment. “I-I found him this way.” 

You were moving. Maul had lowered himself suddenly and thus, you went with him, face dangerously close to touching the rock below. You could feel Maul’s every shuddering inhale and his fingers mindlessly drummed atop your skull. Formless utterings fell from your once proud lover. 

“I found him this way, I swear!” Morley still struggled to defend himself while you tried to wriggle free. But, your movement only made Maul’s grip tighten around your waist, ensuring your hands were completely useless from their position trapped against your hips. From your rather compromising position, you focused on the two other sane people in the room.  

“You are a slithering liar, Morley!” You spat and the golden zabrak turned his hand so the snake was forced to look at you. “You can’t be trusted!” 

“You should have been helping him!” Savage piled on, voice thundering. 

“I-I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” Morley wheezed but his pleas fell on deaf ears as Savage crushed the uppermost part of his neck with a single squeeze. As the sounds of the snake’s bones cracking faded away and his body found a home on the pyre, Savage started to approach you and Maul, the latter pulling away with a hissed laugh and taking you along with him. 

Not quite reading the room, Savage continued to step closer and closer. “This is where you live?” He addressed Maul who twisted his torso away from his brother. “How long have you been here?” 

“Years and years and years.” Maul answered swiftly, finally letting go of you in the very corner of his home. You fell on your backside with a small huff as Maul remained hovering over you, hands making odd grabbing gestures in front of his face. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The chains, the chains are the easy part.” He took a deep breath in, “It’s what goes on in here that’s hard.” And let it out in a heart-wrenching wail as he tapped his temples. 

“You have been lost, my brother.” Savage calmly explained over Maul’s sobs and you made eye contact with the golden zabrak under one of Maul’s legs. The crimson zabrak lowered himself further till his head was pressing into your shoulder and, unsteadily, you reached up to massage the back of his neck. In response to the ministration, Maul’s sobbing died down. It was strange. Your lover was not himself, not in any way, shape, or form but he responded to your touch the same way he always had. In fact, if his hovering was any indication, he still craved it. “Do you remember who you are, where you came from?” 

Maul sat up, eyes glimmering as he looked past you. “Always remember I am fear.” 

“Y/n, my love, my bright shining sun, how can you stand to be held by me?” Maul asked out of the blue, disrupting the still air of his ship. Confused, you pulled your face away from the juncture of his neck and shoulder where you had steadily been pressing whispering kisses against his skin. 

“What do you mean?” You asked softly as one of your hands gently traced the tattoos on his chest. He didn’t answer until you looked up at him, glittering gold eyes meeting your shining (e/c). 

“Always remember I am hunter.” Maul seethed, hands grasping at nothing. 

“Look at me. I am Sith-a dark lord. I’m a trained killer.” Maul’s grip tightened around your waist, one hand ghosting over the steadily forming bruise on one of your hips. “I’m not meant to love or be loved-I am meant to destroy.” 

“Always remember...I am filth.” Maul’s voice cracked. 

“And you’re a...my light, you’re this beacon of good.” He sighed into your ear, breath ghosting over the side of your face. “You’re someone that knows how to heal and how to create. You deserve the universe, (Y/n).” 

“Always remember, I am nothing.” Maul broke into sobs once more, his face falling to your shoulder as his hands wrapped around your arms.Helplessly, you looked at Savage who seemed to be contemplating his next move. 

“Your legs…” he began with a vague gesture to Maul’s lower half.  

“That scum!” Maul screamed into your shoulder, pulling away as he swatted at the air. “He took them from me! He took them!” His voice echoed around the chamber as you got to your feet to avoid being trampled by Maul’s spider legs. 

“Who? Who took them?” Savage pressed. 

“Jedi. Jedi!” Maul whispered, crouched so his torso was parallel with the floor. 

“You remember?” You asked disbelievingly. If he did remember who had hurt him, then it was possible that his other memories were in there too. And maybe that meant that you could make him remember. You moved to be in Maul’s peripheral vision and Savage took a step forward to crouch in front of his brother.

“I must ask for mercy, Master. Mercy is a lie, a delusion of the weak to make themselves strong. I ask not for mercy…” Your love rambled on, moving back inch by inch as he struggled through the annals of his mind. 

“What? What is it? Brother, what are you saying?” Savage yelled as he hoisted both himself and you to your feet. 

“And through the filth,” Without warning, Maul charged at Savage. He picked the larger zabrak up and threw him against a wall, leaving you separated from your companion. “through the grief, Jedi!” You and Savage were struck silent as Maul’s voice bounced from wall to wall and seemed to resonate within your very bones. “Revenge. I must have my revenge.” He whispered, suddenly calm. 

Quietly, you crept forward and gently placed a hand on Maul’s bicep, trying to coax him to let his brother go. “And you will have it, Maul, but first we must get out of here. Will you let Savage go and then come with us?” You squeezed his arm gently, boldly looking into Maul’s eyes which, for the first time since you’d found him, seemed focused. “My love, please.” Maul’s gold eyes flicked between you and Savage before he suddenly smiled and dropped his brother. 

With an almost dopey smile, Maul clasped both of his hands around your arm and moved your hand to be cupping his cheek. “Anything...anything for my light.” 

......................................................................................................

<- Previous | Next ->

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 1

The new posters on the board in the break room had Tommy in stitches.

Who put this up here? They were huge sheets of paper, large enough to cover the rest of the flyers that were tacked on first. The printer’s settings were fucked, apparently, and it had rolled out three crisp eleven by seventeens of incomprehensible inky bullshit.

Tommy stood in front of the bulletin laughing for thirty straight seconds when he first walked in for his break. The fact that someone had printed out this garbage and still put in the effort to post them here was cracking him up. His coworkers, humorless as ever, were giving him strange looks for the fit of giggles he was in, so he popped the tab on a can of Sprite from the vending machine to try and calm down.

Distantly, he heard an unfamiliar, animated voice echo further down the hall. Right, the new guy was here today. The guy who was going to put on the fancy orange suit and risk his life for science. Tommy was supposed to be working on that project, too, making observations from behind a sheet of safety glass.

He wandered down the hall toward the voice, figuring he might as well be polite and introduce himself. Not a lot of folks around here liked to talk much, and he could hear the discouraged faltering in the man’s words as he tried and failed to make conversation. Maybe it would be nice to have a talker around. Keep things interesting.

When he rounded the corner, Tommy had to pause and regain his bearings. So the new guy was cute. He had dark curly hair, a beard that was neat-but-not-too-neat, and a charming smile that showed off his dimples. His face was framed by a tasteful pair of glasses and he walked like he had places to go, people to see. Friendly, but studious. Tommy wanted to derail him from his quest immediately.

“Hello,” he cast a greeting down the hall.

The new guy paused mid-stride, somewhat startled. “Hello.” What was his name again? Freeman? He was an MIT boy, if Tommy recalled correctly, a physicist who had published a thesis that was so long Tommy had stopped paying attention halfway through the title. A man of many words. A man of too many words, perhaps.

Oh, shit, he was walking over here.

“I’m new,” Tommy blurted, even though he wasn’t. Good job, idiot.

“You’re new here? Me, too, I think,” the new guy replied, brow wrinkled studiously as he approached.

I think? Maybe they were both idiots. Tommy gave the man a quick up-and-down look. He was a big guy, but well built. Athletic. Hard to believe he transferred from the education sector.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asked.

“Gordon Freeman.”

Right, that was it. Tommy remembered looking at his file now. “My name’s Tommy,” he told him, his grip tight on his Sprite can.

Gordon Freeman raised his eyebrows, like he was surprised someone had bothered to talk to him. “Tommy?” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Tommy,” he went on. “Are you - what department are you in? Where are you supposed to be right now? You headed to the break room?”

Wow, this guy asked a lot of questions. He looked adorably lost. Tommy could point him in the right direction, but his mention of the break room reminded him of the nonsense on the wall in there, and he fought down a snort of laughter. Maybe the new guy would appreciate the signs.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “I like to read the billboards there.”

‘Billboards’ wasn’t right. It was a bulletin board; Tommy caught it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But it made Gordon laugh in a puzzled sort of way, and it was such a lovely sound that Tommy left it.

“The - the billboards? In the break room?” he asked in bewilderment. “Are they - putting ads up in there?”

Tommy was fighting back another snicker. “Yeah,” he said, turning away to hide the grin on his face. “Follow me.”

He led the new guy down the hall and to the break room, passing the greasy microwave and the gaggle of disinterested coworkers. Man, those posters were even funnier the second time. Tommy wanted to find the person who had tacked them up and shake their hand.

“Oh, is this what you were talking about?” Gordon asked, realization dawning as he saw the bulletin. He cast Tommy a prompting look. “The billboards ?” He asked, politely giving him a chance to correct himself.

That was considerate of him, Tommy thought, but he stuck to his guns - he was already too far in the bit. “Yeah, tell me what it says,” he threw back.

He was going to pop a blood vessel trying not to laugh, and Gordon could clearly tell by now. Letting out a breathy chuckle, he glanced up at the bulletin and played along.

“Yeah, I can’t read it either, dude,” Gordon said, dark eyes passing over the nonsense in front of him. “Maybe he can?” He tossed the question to one of the scientists loitering nearby, who muttered something rude under his breath. Gordon turned an unflappable smile back to Tommy, ignoring his coworker. “Yeah, maybe.”

Oh, Tommy liked this one. He wanted to keep him for himself. Nobody around here appreciated his jokes, much less ran with them.

“I don’t know what it - can you read?” Gordon went on.

It took Tommy a half second to parse if he was serious or not, and realized the question was a continuation of the joke. He mimed a studious pose, taking a thoughtful sip from his Sprite as he pretended to decipher the clouds of ink.

“I’m trying, but it’s very - I -” He was breaking - he couldn’t help it - snorting out a laugh.  “The person who printed all these papers really fucked up.”

Gordon was grinning fully now, shading his eyes from a nonexistent sun as he glanced back at the notice board. “I think they used like, one DPI? Y’know - you know how a printer works? Like, dots per inch? I don’t think they got any - like - the right amount of dots - I can’t read any of this.” He gave another prompting glance to Tommy, clearly enjoying their little vignette. “What do you make of that?”

This man spoke like a machine gun, and it delighted Tommy. The words just came firing out of him with barely any comprehensive thread between them, a steady stream of consciousness straight from his brain to his mouth. It was wonderful. He shook his head in disbelief that someone so fun had just fallen into his lap.

“I don’t know,” was all he could reply.

Still chuckling, but still in a hurry, Gordon did his best to excuse himself politely. He had a test chamber to get to. “Are you staying here?” he asked.

Tommy wanted to follow him, but he had no real reason to outside of his attraction to the guy, so he nodded. “I’m on,” he faltered, glancing down at the Sprite in his hand, “lunch break.”

Gordon’s laughter staccatoed his farewell. “Okay, we’ll see - I’ll s- I’ll catch you later, Tommy.”

Tommy was grinning like a fool as he watched him leave the break room. Charming guy. Hilarious. Sharp as a tack, if a little scattered. His laugh sounded like bells ringing and he loved it.

“I drink soda for lunch,” he called down the hall after him, one last attempt to pull that laugh from him before he saw him again.

Gordon must not have heard him, because he didn’t reply. That was fine. They’d cross paths again. Tommy would be watching him very closely as they ran the test today.

---

The test chamber in the Anomalous Materials department wasn’t Tommy’s favorite place in the world. He thought the spectrometer was grandiose in a spooky sort of way, its rotating claw hanging menacingly from the ceiling. He was glad Gordon Freeman was the one going in the barrel instead of him.

Everyone who worked down here had a grim purpose about them, and it weirded Tommy out. There were many times during his research that he tried to lighten the mood, but most of his jokes sailed over his coworkers’ heads. Or they were rudely ignoring him. At this point, either option was plausible.

He stood behind the reinforced safety glass alongside the other members of the research team. All of them were older than he was, the majority born in the facility, which Tommy concluded was the only quality they really had in common. He was well qualified for the job with his range of experience and his Ph.D. in nuclear engineering, but whispers of nepotism still sometimes circulated.

Tommy ignored them for the most part. Everyone who worked for Black Mesa was stuck living in an underground bunker regardless of pay grade, so it wasn’t like he was any better off than his peers in that regard. He didn’t make anyone call him Dr. Coolatta, either, because that just sounded fucking stupid. Dr. Thomas Coolatta? Please. Tommy was fine.

He was zoning out, lost in his thoughts, when he noticed a blip in on the ground floor of the test chamber. The blip took the form of a short man in a blue uniform, and suddenly Tommy was very uneasy. He knew that guy.

Seconds later, the doors to the chamber whirred open, and Gordon Freeman strolled in. Tommy watched him gesticulate angrily at the security guard who had spontaneously manifested inside the spectrometer. He put two and two together and figured Benrey had been following Gordon for some time, riling the other man up as he was so wont to do to people. This could be bad. He reached over on the control panel and hit the broadcast button on the mic, ignoring the murmurs of indignation from his colleagues.

“Hello?”

Both of the men in the barrel whipped their heads up to the control room. Tommy raised a hand in a grim wave.

Benrey cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered back at him, voice grating in his ears, shivering down his spine. “Tommy!”

He had to handle this carefully. The entity in the chamber with Gordon was an anomaly that Tommy should have considered, but he hadn’t predicted Benrey would have latched himself onto the new guy so quickly. He darted a glance to his coworkers, who were all staring at Tommy expectantly, and then down to the scene below. There were things Tommy knew that the others weren’t allowed to know.

His hand was still on the intercom. “Gordon,” he began carefully.

“Tommy,” Benrey cut him off, a threat in his voice. The two of them stared one another down through the pane of glass, unspoken words passing between them. Finally, he sighed heavily. “Hi,” he muttered.

“Tommy, do you know this man?” the scientist beside him asked.

He was an older gentleman, the product of an experiment that probably had a name at one point, but had gone by ‘Bubby’ for as long as Tommy could remember. Tommy would have thought the nickname was a joke if Bubby had a single humorous bone in his body, which he didn’t. Well, unless he counted his humerus. Which he also didn’t.

Tommy killed the mic and fixed Bubby with a careful look. “He’s not a man,” he said without elaboration. He didn’t have to. Bubby could connect the dots well enough on his own.

On Tommy’s left, another colleague jockeyed beside him to hit the intercom button. He was a cheerful fellow, empty-eyed and cotton-headed. Tommy recalled that his name was Coomer. He also recalled that brawl in the dining facility a while back where he had knocked a fully grown man out with one punch.

“You know, he didn’t bring his passport,” Dr. Coomer informed the team brightly over the loudspeaker, even though they were all standing in the same room with him.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I heard you don’t have your passport,” he said dryly down to Gordon.

But the new guy was occupied with the entity standing next to him, gesturing in agitation as he spoke with him, pointing to the chamber door. Probably was trying to get Benrey out of there. Worried about his safety. It would be a reasonable request made by any decent human, one that should have been backed up by the rest of the staff.

Several pairs of eyes were watching Tommy, knowing his security clearance, waiting for his decision. Benrey would be fine; he couldn’t be killed by any normal means. Tommy’s concern was for Gordon, bright orange and oblivious in his HEV suit below. If something went wrong, he would be paying for it.

He looked at Bubby again. “Standard procedure,” he told him.

If Benrey was up to no good, which he almost always was, Tommy could stop him. He could blink down there in an instant and kick him into another dimension for a while. Not fun, not easy, but he could do it. He moved closer to the glass, deciding to watch and wait.

The two figures dicked around in the test chamber for an insufferable amount of time, a fact that Tommy would find incredibly funny if it weren’t Benrey in there with Gordon. His colleagues were backing up Tommy’s decision, assuring Dr. Freeman that this was all normal and part of the process, while Gordon grew increasingly agitated. Poor guy. He had no idea what was going on.

Tommy decided to throw him a bone, leaning into the mic again. “Gordon?” he prompted. “Do you see the next step?”

The grinding of machinery in the room drowned out most of his response, but Tommy caught what he needed to. Push the shit into the thing. So easy an MIT grad could do it.

“Yes,” he affirmed.

“Very carefully,” Bubby said seriously over Tommy’s shoulder, miffed that he had been nudged away from the mic.

“Very carefully,” Tommy agreed. “Slower than molasses drips off a spoon,” he added, simply because he couldn’t help himself, ignoring the puzzled looks the other scientists passed in his direction.

He couldn’t really hear Gordon’s laughter, but he saw the man’s shoulders shake with mirth and his even teeth flashing that pretty smile. Tommy grinned. Worth it.

That was the only bright spot Tommy got to have before everything went to shit. Benrey was hassling Gordon mercilessly, Bubby was grinding insults into the mic, and Dr. Freeman was losing his mind. Tommy was standing there, taut like a mousetrap. Laser focused on Benrey. He was not paying attention to Gordon, or the glass shattering in front of him, or the error alarm blaring over the loudspeakers.

He did, however, catch the flashbang of light from the spectrometer. The ghost-white form of Bubby vaulting over the console and through the broken window. He tore his eyes away from his target for a second, and then there was electricity raising his hair and voltage shivering through the building and an acid-green shockwave flashing over all of them.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Benrey was nowhere to be seen. Tommy gripped the edge of the window, ignoring the slice of broken glass into his palms. Bubby looked… utterly dead, in a crumpled heap below him. Shock was forcing a waterfall of panicked words out of Gordon as he watched everything crash down around his head.

The machine groaned and surged outward. Tommy had seconds to choose: find where the fuck the entity went and snap him out of existence, or shield the new guy before he turned into a smoking crater on the ground.

Tommy made a decision. The world ripped apart.

---> Chapter 2

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Almost Finished My Tasks

---

The incomprehensible scream that ran through every other headset before Charlie’s tirade began to reach higher and higher pitches, a fever pitch of frustration and accusations, as the discussion time slowly counted down.

“Oh that-” “Don’t you dare!” “That was so unfortu-” “NO! NO! You can’t do this again!” “-nate! Right as I walked in! Right as I walked in!”

“Don’t you dare do it again, you blonde bitch-” Charlie hissed harshly, as the count down entered voting time and then there was a sharp intake of breath. “OH YOU FUCKING WHIPPED ASSHOLE!”

Grey hissed back quietly for a second as he unmuted his mic for a moment. “Everyone knows the rules, Charlie-”

“You mean your self-imposed one that anyone dares suggest your gal who just vented in front of me is an imposter gets voted?” Charlie snapped back, and the sound of a can of pop opening came through the speakers. “She vented!”

“Oh no no no,” Jo’s voice cut through over Sam and the Ghostfacer boys chiming up with queries to cover over them.  “How are you about to spin this?”

"Spin what?! You fucking vented!" "Uh huh, and tell us all what I did next will ya, Charles?" "You chased me to the button!!!"

Jo's noncommittal hum echoed into the quiet that came after Charlie's screech, before the bemused tone bounced through to everyone again. "So, good summation of exactly what happened except for how you were the one that vented and chased me."

The clock ticked down, and the questions continued to flow as Charlie raged on an on until the last vote was cast and she'd successfully infuriated, annoyed or unconvinced everyone into voting for her - only for her fury to be justified just five minutes later when the announcement of a crewmate failure and the success of Jo's White and Ombre's Pink imposters winning the round.

---

“Harry~” Shada’s voice carried over Dean and Garth’s back and forth trying to decipher where everyone’s locations had been against what they’d seen, to get a surprised ‘huh’ from the researcher. “Do you have any tasks in Electrical to do? I don’t want to go in alone. It’s scary~.”

“Uh, I don’t-” “Well, could you come with me and watch my back, and then we’ll go to your tasks the round after?” “Um, I guess so?”

“Thaaaanks~!” Shada’s singsong cut over as the progress time ticked down after no one had been ejected and most except for the odd suspicious vote was skipped.

The fact that Brown was found the round after murdered in Communications and Shada cried tearfully that she lost him during the lights down wasn’t noted until it was Garth, Shada, Dean and Grey left at the end. The imposter win when Dean refused to believe the deadly purple-bean and found himself and Garth dead before the end of the next round was of explosive arguments afterwards.

---

“How the fuck was it you two?” “Fucking Ghostfacer bullshit-” “That was such a good game!”

“Hell yeah, Team Ghostfacer!” Ed’s cheer came through loudly as the Imposter win for both him and Harry was clearly displayed. “Thanks Spruce for being third-”

There was a deep chuckle and the sound of a beer can cracking before the ‘third imposter’ cut through. “Hey, if it is a Ghostfacer win then I get to share in it. That’s fine by me.”

“That’s cause youre six beers in-” Charlie’s quip cut through before there was a bunch of laughter coming through from the rest of the group as they reset to the lobby. “Ah well, at least we know that the three of you are in cahoots next time.”

That the next round was a crewmate win with Spruce’s Orange and Ed’s Yellow missing while Harry’s Brown had been killed in the very first round brought about it’s own round of angry screaming about how dare the Ghostfacers break up again.

---

The report came in, and while the silence settled as the graphics faded and showed the reporter and the only dead crewmate of the game - it stretched out for a long five seconds.

“Um-” Dean’s voice came through first as the tension continued to build, before being cut off by a darkened growl.

As the sound tailed off, Grey cleared his throat quietly before speaking. His tone deadly serious. “So, which of you killed my girlfriend?”

“Where did you find her?” Dean asked, the only one willing to speak up at the looming threat that had been echoing through the other’s tone. “I was in Admin and had seen people in-”

“I found her in Medbay.” Grey’s tone was grumbled and angry, before there was a shift to a sadness that made all the others cringe quietly. “She was just... lying there...on the scanner. She was doing her job and someone got her killed.” There was a pause, and then an accusatory tone began to bleed into the words. “Perhaps we start with-”

“Brother! It’s a game.” Shada cut over him, and then the awkward, uncomfortable giggle came over the top. “But lets start with who was where. I was in Navigation with Harry and Ombre.”

“Yep! I was doing the zoomies-” “She means charting the course.” “Yeah, the zoomies!” “And I was on wires while Shada was doing them as well.”

“I was up in O2.” Garth said quietly, before adding, “And I had been in weapons just before doing my download.”

“I saw him there, and also Ed.” Spruce chimed in, the sound of a drink being taken before he added. “We were in Cafeteria and then went to Weapons.”

“Stupid garbage, right? I went to asteroids and then Spruce was doing download as well.” Ed said as well, and then there sounded a drumming of fingers and scratching papers before he added suspiciously. “Charlie?”

“I was in Cafeteria doing the first garbage after Ed and then went down to Storage!” Charlie chirped up, before there was a pause and then. “Dean... Where were you?”

“I said I was in Admin.”

“Doing what?” Grey snapped as the clock ticked down. “Watching where everyone was to vent your way in and kill her when she was in the midst of a scan? Vented leaving me to find her body?!”

“Where were you-” “That sounds mighty suspicious, Dean-” “I think it must have been him.” “Wouldn’t be the first time-”

As the votes came in and Dean was ejected, the next round started.

“So... who did it?” He asked with a growl as Dean’s ghost circled around Jo’s and the rest of the team started up again. “I bet it was Shada-”

“Nope!” Jo chirped back with a laugh. “Grey saw the perfect opportunity to get us both out of the way!”

---

“I just saw pink vent, I just saw pink vent, pink vented pink vented pink vented!”

The second the Emergency Meeting started, Harry started screeching the words through. The group as a whole fell into an array of laughter as the chant of ‘pink vented’ continued while the girl in question made surprised sounding gasps and quiet attempts to answer to the crime.

“Harry, let her talk!” Shada cut over the other’s chanting, backed up by Sam’s quiet but sleepy voice chiming in as well. “Harry, c’mon man, you gotta say more than that and let her defend herself.”

“No I do not!” Harry snapped back with a laugh, and everyone laughed along as Ombre’s giggle came in high and uncertain over the top. “I walked straight into Security and she popped right up and stood there staring at me for a moment before we ran for the button.”

“I... I-I-I... No I-I-I didn’t! I wasn’t running f-for the button! I-I-I don’t know what-”

“Ombre, sis, what happened?” Grey asked calmly as the group continued to laugh quietly as the blonde mumbled and stuttered anxiously as she spoke. “What do you say happened? Did you walk in and Harry not see right? Or what happened?”

“I...I... I was in Electrical watching...” Ombre’s words mumbled uncertainly, and she would be biting her lip, chewing on it cautiously as she told her story. “I was...was watching white and cyan and orange doing tasks-”

“That’s true, she was in Electrical as I was doing wires.” Spruce said, and Jo chimed up in agreement.

“And then?” Grey encouraged gently as the time started ticking down in the voting.

There was a pause, and then a surprised tone came through as Ombre exclaimed, “Wait! Is pressing on the button where it usually says Sabotage but then said Vent when I walked up to the wall how you Vent?!”

In the face of the childlike wonder, the laughter was utterly uncontrollable, and everyone felt bad clicking to vote pink out as Ombre giggled loudly and even Harry found himself saying “Okay guys, lets not vote her out! At least we know one of them! Let the baby play!”

---

“It has to be Jo. Come on guys, the sheer good of the plays? This has to be her.” Spruce’s voice was both determined and slurring at the same time - clearly more than a few beers in.

There was a pause before Harry chimed in, equally drunk and more than a bit giggly. “You’re right! Has to be her!”

“Totally. Team Ghostfacer wiping out the bad bit-” “Hey!” “-ch! Grey, you’re fucking dead, dude, dead people can’t talk to interject.”

Ed’s agreeing and bantering came through just as clear, and the votes came casted in from the three ex-Ghostfacers as Grey re-muted himself and Jo’s voice reached a high pitch as she squawked.

“Oh my god! No! You two!” Jo cried, hitting the table with a fist that reverberated through the mic, the drunken whine echoing through as they were the final four players left. “No no no no no, oh how could you two, you’re absolute morons, it’s not me, please!”

“Sorry Jo, but it’s totally you.” “You always murder this swiftly.” “And there were three bodies hidden in Specimen back when your-” “-fellow imposter, Garth, were body camping down there.”

“No, no no no, but it’s not me. I swear it’s not me!” Jo whined more, giving a quiet hiccup as she smacked her laptop repeatedly. “No, no-” Watching the time count down as it got towards the end, she cried some more as it appeared she was in the last seconds of count down and her body was thrown into the lava. “Nooo I’m a good bean, I promise! I was a good bean!”

Spruce’s last kill was right on the left seismic reactor, and the laughter from Garth as the game finished to the imposter win was even louder than Jo’s cries that ‘dammit I was a good fuckin’ bean!’

---

The utter demolition and destruction of the game was fierce, fast and bloody.

At the first dead body report, the gasps of shock seeing five out of ten players killed before even the first body had been found had the group as a whole stunned into silence. They couldn’t even work out who had been targeted first, and it was very quick for the group with tear at one another as soon as Jo and Ed decided that the stacking of bodies absolutely meant that the other one had to be the Imposter.

Sam’s Blue and Garth’s Red flashed up right as Ed’s body was ejected and the utter eruption at the deadly duo was beyond the expected.

---

“I cann’t believe it’s Batman.” The cry from Jo as they all joined the meeting at her reporting the body was too genuine, too distraught and too perfectly upset as the group followed her cry to throw Dean out the airlock on nothing but her cries about him living long enough to become the villain.

That the game ended showing White standing and Black’s ghost beside it - and to Dean’s screaming about Jo being a backstabbing, self-imploding Imposter did nothing but make the win all the more hilarious as Jo had continued to cry throughout the whole game about how heart broken she was, how her faith had been shaken and how Gotham was left without a light left in the dark any more.

“I just... I couldn’t believe it was Batman.” Jo sniffed quietly under Dean’s ranting as the group returned to the lobby, and Grey had already gone to get himself a drink from the kitchen and walked in to see her sniffing dramatically - even wiping away a tear despite no one else being able to see her, lips curling up into a smile at his own grin. “I couldn’t let him destroy us all. He had to die, you all know that. Die as a hero before he could kill anyone - besides, it was so much more fun killin’ all of you myself!”

---

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream: The Nostalgia Critic

I have been a fan of the Nostalgia Critic for years now. That’s a rather controversial stance to take nowdays, especially in light of recent controversies; first was the big #ChangeTheChannel movement which had the entire site sans Brad Jones performing a mass exodus elsewhere with some even going so far as to brutally cut ties with Doug for his and managements failings (with Alison Pregler, AKA Obscurus Lupa offering some especially harsh words). Then was this year’s review of The Wall, where he utilized his divisive clipless style and his complete lack of a good singing voice to create what is hands down one of the worst videos – not even just review, VIDEOS – on YouTube. But even with those two things aside, I do think there is some value to the work of Doug Walker. He became popular for a reason, right? So what is that reason? Where did he go wrong?

Doug Walker began doing his Nostalgia Critic schtick in the wake of James Rolfe’s Angry Video Game Nerd becoming an internet icon, and he quickly became one of the bigger faces in the wake of imitators Rolfe spawned. The conceit of his show is rather simple – he reviews nostalgic movies, mostly stuff from the 80s or 90s, with occasional forays into the 2000s – all while parodying the typical internet film critic much as Rolfe parodied the typical nerd gamer. The Critic, you see, is not necessarily Doug, but instead a hyperactive psychotic manchild version of himself who screeches, shoots, and curses up a storm while reviewing movies. It wasn’t too different from other review shows at the time, really, but Doug had a sort of corny charm that really worked.

As time went on, production values slowly increased, Doug’s humor sharpened, and eventually actual thoughtful film analysis crept in, especially in the post-reboot episodes. In fact, that is something I generally like about Doug’s work, and why I even bother with him still: the man clearly has an understanding of film theory, he knows what he’s talking about, and when he takes the time to sit down and actually talk about movies he’s actually pretty insightful. I think of his reviews of stuff like Ghostbusters 2,where he actually gave a genuinely great alternate plotline for the film that would have better utilized the concepts and characters, or any of his numerous video essays on film issues like whitewashing. When it’s Doug just sitting down and talking about a film while cracking jokes here and there, it tends to be really good.

However, Doug has increasingly wanted to add some spice to his reviews in the forms of skits. And it’s not like there never were bits in his reviews back in the day, but post-revival He ramped up the amount of skits, utilizing a cast of friends, with the current mainstays being Malcolm Ray and Tamara Chambers. I do sort of like the weird cast of characters the show has amassed, and I think they really help give the show an identity to set it apart from other review shows. Malcolm and Tamara are honestly, genuinely funny and enjoyable, though the writing doesn’t always play to their skills and can sometimes be a bit obnoxious. I think I’d have to say Malcolm is probably my favorite of the bunch, as he has the wackiest roster of amusing characters, with roles such as Satan, Black Willy Wonka, and good ol’ Bill. And some of his best reviews have crazy skits. His Moulin Rouge review is a standout example; even if I don’t agree with his opinions, he manages to make the musical interludes fun, funny, and actually filled with some sort of commentary relating to the film.

I think the real issues with the skits is they sometimes bog down the reviews or go on for a bit too long.  Some of them also just plain aren’t funny at all, or they use really bottom of the barrel cringeworthy comedy that the Critic himself has criticized in his reviews. Of course, the pinnacle of these problems are his clipless reviews, which are basically just Doug and pals reenacting whatever movie he’s reviewing. On paper, this seems like a fun and amusing idea, but the execution is often extremely poor. See, the thing about the Nostalgia Critic is that you’re ostensibly going to him to see criticism and see if something is worth watching; the thing with his clipless reviews is that they require intimate familiarity with the source material for you to even get half of the jokes he’s making, which kind of defeats the point. This is one of the reasons his review of The Wall is so terrible; he’s taking a film that is incomprehensible and surreal and parodying it without explaining the context, so anyone unfamiliar with the movie will be lost.

And even if you are familiar, a lot of the parody can come off as mean-spirited or even filled with blatant lies. Doug has a tendency to overexaggerate and be hyperbolic when he’s in-character, so if he finds a serious flaw in the movie he’ll blow it up in his parody. His reviews of the It films really showcase this, as he sort of nitpicks things that really aren’t as big a deal as he makes them out to be, which has the unfortunate side effect of making his legitimate criticisms look a bit weaker. In fact, a lot of the time Doug comes off as genuinely hypocritical, mocking tropes and tools he himself frequently utilizes in his own reviews. It’s so weird, because despite all this as well as the cheap special effects and production values that Doug is clearly putting a lot of effort into acting out all these wacky parodies, but he just can’t act and criticize at the same time. At the very least, his clipless reviews lend themselves well to unintentionally hilarious, so bad it’s good territory.

I think a lot of why the clipless reviews and skits don’t work is because of Doug’s lingering resentment over the failure of Demo Reel, which was him trying to branch out after he retired the Critic. Of course had to fall back on the Critic; Demo Reel was not very popular, and people just wanted more of what Made Doug famous. I do like that he did try stuff to spice his show up to make it enjoyable for him again, but it’s still hard not to get the sense that Doug is still bitterly lashing out with his skits at the people who wouldn’t accept him branching out into attempts at legitimate acting. As such, they just feel like empty, over the top garbage that Doug is pushing out because he really wants to act, but he feels like he can’t because what people want is more Critic.

I guess in general it doesn’t help that Doug is just not a great actor. Just look at his performances in the anniversary movies, which horribly clash with the whiny manchild the Critic is portrayed as in the main show, orr even during some of the commercial skits he does, where he tends to overact or just get too childish and hammy. It’s so obvious to me that Doug really wants to be a legitimate actor but he just doesn’t seem to have the aptitude for it. He’s a lot better at comedy and criticism than he is at acting. Of course, that’s not to say he’s incapable of doing anything good; his review of that 3D Nutcracker movie, and in fact a lot of his more modern Christmas-related reviews, have some genuinely touching and heartfelt moments, and when Doug is staying true to the goofy, idiotic character of the Critic he can be really fun.

The Nostalgia Critic is not really a show I think I can recommend to most people. Hell, sometimes I feel like I only watch it because of, ahem, nostalgia. I definitely don’t think the show is void of good content, but when Doug drops something like The Wall, it makes me wonder… Still, I like to stick around, because when Doug hits it, he hits it out of the park. The problem is when he fails, he tends to fail in the most epic manner possible. He’s like that one bat in EarthBound which is super powerful but misses a lot, but when it hits, your opponent is pretty sure to get knocked out. I think a lot of Doug’s failings are carried by his supporting cast, and the flaws in his writing are only easy to swallow because of the genuine insights he offers. There’s just a lot to take into consideration when it comes to the Critic, it’s really hard to say if he’s good or bad. He just… is.

I definitely think some of what Doug does is bad and cringeworthy (I really can’t defend those sketches in the Deadpool 2 review or those awful Kermit puppets), but I think beneath the cringiness, beneath the overdone acting, and beneath the flaws, there are some good insights to be found about films and why they do and don’t work. I of course don’t agree with everything Doug says, but there is still genuine thought and effort. I don’t really know if I can say he’s worth going out of your way to watch, but popping in now and then to check out what Doug has to say isn’t a bad thing. I kind of wish he would go back to doing those video essays again, because I think that was some of his best work, or maybe stick to only reviewing stuff that he has some sort of genuine connection with. When he is really passionate about something, it really shows, because he puts care and effort into the analysis and is able to tell some genuinely good jokes in between snarking at the film. When he just doesn’t care… you get The Wall review. Yeah, that’s pretty much my go-to for awful Doug reviews, becauseit is emblematic of every single problem that has come to plague his worst efforts: lack of care, bad writing, crappy production values, overdone and overacted skits, manipulative editing, and zero insight into the film.

Still, as cringeworthy as he can get these days… I’ll take this version of Doug over the Bat Credit Card/Chuck Norris/Burger King “elephant”/forced meme version of Doug from his early days.

I’m Michael Ford. I remember the Nostalgia Critic so you don’t have to.

[earthrealmlesbian]

Since it's proven to be canon, Kotalblack headcanons?

I'm....perhaps too into Kotalblack. This got really long since I couldn't help but add a lot of thoughts about them as individuals. Tumblr has decided I'm not allowed to use read mores unfortunately so rip. 

Side note: You didn't ask for it but I had some thoughts about their sex life so I've included some nsfw hcs. Hope you don't mind! 

Sfw:

• Kotal is a considerate lover and even at his most firm is undeniably gentle with his partner. A fact that almost scares Erron off at first. Sure, it's one thing to fuck your boss but falling in love with him when he -scoff- treats you nice? Come on now. Kotal demands respect in a relationship but gives the same in return and that sounds downright healthy to Erron. This cowboy isn't sure how to handle a relationship like that at first. Kotal deals with Erron's flighty nature with a steady, patient hand and after some time Erron settles into the relationship. 

• These two are more openly affectionate than many other characters. Nothing raunchy, especially on Kotal's end. Erron will shoot anyone that gives them a dirty look right through the eyes and Kotal's the Emperor so.....who's gonna question them? Erron is a flirt through and through. He'll tone it down to something reasonable for Kotal's sake but he's still going to throw out the occasional tease or hungry look. Kotal's brand of affection is a hand rested softly on the small of Erron's back, tender smiles or the occasional smirk when he humors Erron's flirting. Nothing overt but watching him you might mistake them for a couple that's been together for decades. Whether they have or not. It's all vaguely domestic? Their lives are hectic, which Erron thrives on, but he's learned to take comfort in Kotal's steady presence. 

• Kotal is actually interested in Earthrealm's variety of cultures. He's not been to Earthrealm since his realmwalk and has had little chance to keep up with its every changing people. On quiet nights he'll stay up with Erron asking about anything and everything he can think of. Erron points out there's A LOT of cultures and even he's not familiar with all of them but he's happy to tell what he knows. Erron can make anything sound interesting and that only encourages him to ask more. 

• Likewise, Erron is curious about Osh-Tekk culture. He's curious by nature and always collects stories from the places he visits before moving on. He's got a feeling he won't be wandering away from Kotal anytime soon but he's still eager to learn. Still, he approaches the subject carefully. For his part, Kotal is grateful that someone is genuinely interested in his lost people. There's bitter sweetness in his recollections, but he's the type to face things head on so he freely shares many parts of his past. Erron doesn't press when Kotal reaches a memory that's harder to share, just waits for the words to come piecemeal, if at all. Sharing stories like this is a huge part of their relationship. They've been through a lot and bond through their long nights burnt away talking. 

• Speaking of....speaking? Kotal is enthralled by Erron's accent and dialect. He thinks it's incredibly charming how Erron can so smoothly deliver an entirely incomprehensible sentence. He can glean the meaning of most of Erron's sayings after a moments thought, they're all just so WILD. It amuses him greatly. One time Erron was fuming about some new, hapless guard he was trying to whip into shape. His hands were going a mile a minute and he finally huffed out "I tell you what, that boy couldn't pour piss out a boot if the instructions were on the heel!" Kotal choked out the ugliest laugh and gave him the most confused smile. "Excuse me???" 

• Erron would eat lead before he'd admit it but Kotal's deep voice and commanding aura make him feel safe. He's no damsel in distress but safety is a foreign concept to him. Kotal makes him feel comfortable, almost free of his usual paranoia. It's nice, if disconcerting. 

• Kotal is sentimental. Erron less so. They make it work. Erron makes an effort to remember their anniversary and to do little things to let Kotal knows he values their shared memories in his own way. He gets an Osh-Tekk saying engraved on his favorite gun. Kotal makes him a necklace of leather, beads and engraved bone. Erron wears it religiously. It warms Kotal's heart when he catches Erron thumbing the beads, unconsciously seeking comfort. Later, much later in their relationship, Erron begins to wear paint in appropriate designs on his exposed arms. He does it to honor Osh-Tekk culture and in turn Kotal. It stops Kotal cold the first morning Erron catches him alone while donning the paint. He's touched to say the least. 

• Kotal would marry Erron in a heartbeat. Erron has a lot of thoughts about that. He may have settled into their relationship, may even like the stability it offers more than he's willing to admit, but making it "official" scares him. He thinks it's like begging bad luck to rear her head. Kotal isn't surprised or even particularly upset about it. He's got a long life to live. He's content to openly be with Erron and wait patiently for the cowboy to chew on the idea of wedding vows. 

• They like to go riding together. Erron prefers Earthrealm horses but he'll take anything that can gallop at this point. He thinks Kotal leaned over, eyes forward, pushing his mount as fast as it'll go cuts a striking image. (this is a sfw headcanon but maybe Erron's thoughts on the matter are a little nsfw :/ )

• They don't tend to do official dates or anything besides anniversaries but they find time to treat each other. Kotal takes his duties seriously but he let's Erron's wilder nature pull him into stepping away occasionally and indulging. Erron also eventually shows him his secret spot. They duck into it every now and then when their day is overwhelming. 

• They've taken the time to learn each other's weapons. Well, Erron can't really wield the macuahuitl properly but the sickles are manageable. They're not really interested in each others weapons but thought it would be a good challenge. Erron does alright on his end but Kotal just cannot get the hang of firearms. He can use them, but his aim is garbage. Erron only teases him a little. 

• Erron suffered from heatstroke once. It's made more embarrassing by the fact Kotal was there, had warned him he was pushing himself too far during training and he still kept going. Erron isn't one to be babied which Kotal knows. Still, afterwards there's always a suspicious amount of water on hand when Kotal is around. During the hottest part of the day if Erron catches Kotal's eyes flicking back and forth between the sweat on his brow and the canteen on his belt he'll give a wry smile and take a drink. "Stop lookin’ at me like that. I'm not gonna pass out again." Kotal only teases him a little. 

• Kotal asks Erron's opinion on political matters often. He swears he isn't one for political nonsense but he's glad his opinion is valued either way. 

• They both very much enjoy music. They go to the performances of court musicians as often as time allows. Erron likes to scope out the market for street performers he thinks have talent so he can get them to play for Kotal. He's not doing it out of kindness or anything but if a street performer or two earns a spot among the court’s performers and enjoys a more comfortable life for it who's he to complain? Kotal is privy to the knowledge that a much younger Erron Black aspired to be a musician but gave it up when life got complicated. He's happy to watch the singers Erron recommends. Even happier when Erron breaks out his old guitar and sings to him in private. 

• Kotal teaches Erron the Osh-Tekk language. It's useful since nobody besides historians and some of his more dedicated warriors know it. It allows them to communicate secretly in the open. Which....sometimes means them openly shit talking annoying politicians trying to curry favor in meetings. Ermac and Reptile know enough to understand most of the insults and always give said politicians looks of pity. 

• It's also useful when Kotal is feeling extra affectionate. He'll slip in Osh-Tekk pet names during morning briefings and watch the corners of Erron's eyes crinkle the way they do when he's smirking. Again, Ermac and Reptile know. They're used to it and rarely give the behavior more then a small smile.

NSFW: 

• Both are switches. Erron bottoms more often than not but Kotal has no qualms changing things up. He's especially fond of Erron fucking him missionary so he can pull him close by the back of the neck and look intensely into his eyes. Kotal is big on eye contact. 

• Neither is shy about sex. Both have a high sex drive. Most mornings include at least a quick blowjob. 

• Given both aren't particularly inhibited, they enjoy an adventurous sex life. Before Erron, Kotal didn't indulge much despite his high sex drive. There was little time and few he could trust. As such, he didn't have a variety of experiences. He's good at what he knew but was eager to broaden his horizons. Erron has been around more and tried plenty. He's always amused when he tells Kotal about this or that kink Earthrealmers are into and gets a shocked look every time. Equally amused when Kotal is keen on giving it a try at least once. 

• Kotal may be interested in trying things but he's got a lot of limits when it comes to pain. Both receiving and giving. They have to have a conversation regarding some of Erron's less than healthy past encounters so Kotal can essentially list off the things he won't do. That said, he's fine with being dominant/dominated or rough within reason. 

• One thing both agree on is marking each other is appealing. Kotal isn't very possessive, he doesn't need to be, but he'll admit seeing Erron display his handiwork gets him going. Erron has a hickey on his throat almost constantly. When things get a little more wild Kotal likes to bite. Erron loves looking at the love bites along his chest, hips and inner thighs the morning after. It's harder for Erron to leave marks but Kotal is thrilled when he tries. 

• Erron has a bit of a complex about his mask. He's used to having it on even in bed. Kotal isn't unkind about it, but he's firm about the mask coming off when things start getting serious between them. Erron takes it off himself, sometimes reluctantly, but he grows used to the intimacy. Kotal never asks to take it off for him, sensing it might be too much. He's right, but eventually Erron works up the courage to let him and it immediately becomes a thing between them. Kotal carefully, reverently unbuckles the straps like he's unveiling a treasure. The gentle adoration never fails to make Erron shiver. 

• They have a few oddly reverent practices in the bedroom. Erron is into body worship and it's one of the few things he's embarrassed about since he's gotten teased about it before. Kotal isn't perturbed however. Erron has a thing for bathing Kotal. He'll sit on his lap in their tub and get to work. He takes extra care in wiping away every hint of paint and after will usually wash Kotal's hair. (Mkx ponytail please come back). Kotal enjoys it and is content to lounge while his cock slowly hardens from the teasing, sensual touches. They usually end up fucking right there in the tub, just as slow and leisurely. 

• A similar activity is when Erron takes his sweet time tracing Kotal's tattoos(?). First with his fingers though his mouth is never far behind. 

• Erron has a filthy mouth when he wants to. Kotal isn't shy and isn't easily embarrassed but sometimes Erron gets so into it he'll start begging to be filled up in some very explicit terms and Kotal will go a little red. 

• Kotal likes to watch Erron play with himself. A lot. Toys are a fairly new concept to him and when he realizes they can make watching all the more exciting he goes all out on purchasing any that catch Erron's eye. Kotal likes to sit in a chair a few feet from there bed and quietly watch Erron fuck himself. Erron likes being watched. It always gives him goosebumps to have Kotal's eyes picking apart his every movement like that. Calm, almost distant and utterly in control until Erron's efforts are impossible to ignore. 

• They've fucked on almost every inch of the throne room. If Erron doesn't get bent over the throne at least once a month something's up. Likewise, Kotal likes to sit Erron on the throne and ride him like his life depends on it. 

• Erron is down for a quickie whenever. Like at all times. Kotal prefers to take his time but he can be encouraged to indulge Erron if the cowboy plays his cards right.

[unclefungusthegoat]

A CONFUSION OF TONGUES - Far Cry 5 Week Day 3 (The Resistance)

Day 3, YAY! I had the greatest time ever writing this. It’s just a pile of stupid crap but @lucy-and-loki wanted a story where Chad, Wheaty and Cheeseburger were mentioned and so this is what I came up with.

And anyway, it’s about time Chad gets some love hahahaha

Chad Wolanski simply wants to mind his own business, work out what the hell a vegan burger is so that he can woo Adelaide Drubman, and preferably not have to talk to the obnoxious John Seed, who has just shown up at The Grill Streak, with a proposition and a couple of thinly disguised threats.

And what is he going to do about it?

Let's just say the Tower of Babel has got nothing on Chad.

This can be read on AO3: HERE

My whole Far Cry Week series can be read: HERE

Chad Wolanksi had never made a vegan burger in his entire life. As far as he was concerned, plants were plants and the only way they should be anywhere near his grease-slathered grill was having been digested once by the elk or bison sizzling over the heat.

Only… Adelaide Drubman wasn’t of that opinion.

Not since she’d met that spinach worshipping, kale for brains Californian.

God, that woman was a cougar , sex on legs with a quick wit, flirty charm and a healthy appetite to boot. Exactly the sort of woman Chad Wolanski went for. He held the long revered stance that the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach… and so here he was, on a blisteringly hot July afternoon, stood on the porch of The Grill Streak, experimenting his way through heaps of unfamiliar produce to whip up the perfect vegan burger.

He’d drop by the marina and give it to her personally.

Maybe he’d invite her out for a steak?

Show her what she was missing out on.

As he mushed and mashed and squashed and pounded his latest attempt into a patty sized lump and tossed it onto the grill, he heard brakes screeching to a halt in the parking lot. One of those horrendous Peggie songs was blasting on full whack through the open window. The smooth humming cut out as the engine was switched off, the door slammed dramatically behind the driver, and footwear obviously inappropriate for the mountainous Whitetail region came striding towards him.

“Mr Wolanski?” Chad could hear the smug grin in the way the approaching voice drew out the syllables of his name, hissing a little on long ‘s’. He knew exactly who it was. Being a business owner of some renown, reputable and profitable in a county famed for its carnivorous population (Chad would rather die than miss the annual Testy Festy), he’d been expecting the manicured bastard for a while.

A fly danced around the misshapen patty of black beans, green beans, corn-beans right off a cob, whatever those goddamn chickpea-beans were, and something which the folks at Sunrise Farm called an ‘eggplant’. Didn’t look much like it came out of a chicken’s ass, but if it did, Chad very much wanted to get his hands on whatever oversized and no doubt juicy hen dropped the purple monstrosity.

Chad squashed the fat little insect straight onto the counter and watched it burst.

That’s exactly what he’d like to do to his latest visitor.

He turned and was faced with the ever irritating John Seed. A rare sight in this area, often far too busy sticking people’s heads into rivers down in the Holland Valley or looking at himself in a mirror, and definitely an unwelcome one.

“You are certainly an industrious man, Mr Wolanski, to be braving the heat of your kitchen in this weather.” John laughed, slick lawyer small talk weakened only by the fact that Chad could see that the man’s brow was glistening. He was probably desperate to be back at his ranch being fanned by swooning women. And why the hell was he insisting on wearing that ugly coat in 100 degree fahrenheit weather?

Chad offered no reply.

He sure as hell wasn’t about to offer a cold beverage either.

He’ll take my beverage, then he’ll take my restaurant.

All it took was a single step and Chad Wolanski was not going to take it.

John sauntered forward, surveying the Grill Streak in all her shabby, oily walled and grimy bathroom-ed glory, almost rubbing his hands together.

“You’ll be aware, Mr Wolanski, that my brother Jacob has, what one might call, an insatiable appetite for the protein food group. Something on which I’m sure the two of you can relate. And the same goes for rather a lot of his men, the ones who no doubt have paid a visit to your most nourishing and nurturing establishment.”

Chad watched this walking bacterial virus run his tattooed fingers along the surface of one of the outdoor seating tables, and rub the residual coating of meat juice between them.

The wince of disgust didn’t go unnoticed.

“They are the new alpha pack of this county, strong, loyal, a collective, more united than ever. A true militia. They make Eli Palmer’s group look like a book club. And you must take some of the glory for that, Mr Wolanski. You have provided a great service to these men and women. Fed and watered them, shared your bounty, relinquished your greed and gluttony and gave it to the community. You should be proud.”

Chad smelt his heap of mangled beans burning, and cursed under his breath. Damn Seed family, never shutting up, a permanent pain in the ass. He’d have to start all over again, and cutting up the eggplant had been hard enough last time. Ignoring John, he turned and grabbed his spatula, scooped up the patty and tossed it into a nearby garbage can.

“I have a proposition for you, Chad-”

“Iaigihtgohnnsyll, Jwn, sogtffmylndbakinyrfcycahrnfukff” Chad growled, hauling himself down the front stairs, spatula raised, wielded like a pitchfork, as if he were defending America from the British.

John’s face became utterly blank, that smirk finally wiped away. Eyes wide, brow furrowed, mouth agape at the string of unintelligible words he’d just had hurled at him. Chad relished in just how nervous even the spatula seemed to be making him. A part of him wished that John would cause trouble, and he could give him a good hiding with his utensils.

Whitehorse wouldn’t have cause to charge him with assault if he was defending his property… and would also probably be glad to hear that John Seed’s backside got what was coming to him at the hands of Hope County’s finest spatula.

“Imntinrstdinyrkultshihsujsfukffnlivmhtmwrk”.

John still didn’t move, just stood and stared.

“Dntmkmywsthz…” Chad raised his makeshift weapon again.

A bird squawked in the trees.

One of Jacob’s chosen sped on by, honking their car horn in victory.

The stifling airless day was suddenly treated to a short lived breeze.

“... I’m sorry… WHAT?”

All pretence of polite society and schmoozing was gone.

“Yhyrdm.”

“Uh… I…” John spluttered, completely oblivious to what was going on.

“YcntkyrPrhjctnshviuyrss”

“Are you even speaking English right now?”

“Alystmnhtspkinssholunlysmonuh-”

Chad could have sworn that John nearly reached into his inner coat pocket to retrieve a crucifix, in the hope that he could banish the demon that spoke in tongues.

“Those aren’t words- ”

“Yrthonlfkrnthcwntwhudnunstnm-”

“Do they not teach diction in Montana?”

“DthynhtichyhwtnhdrhssnthdhknGyhgh?”

“Maybe if you spoke a little slower , a little louder ?”

“IlspkhwwIwnthnyvrmuh-”

The usually dangerously collected lawyer was seething with visible rage. Chad couldn’t tell if he had a holster on his hip under that coat of his, but suspected that even with his track record of behaviour that went beyond questionable legality, John Seed wouldn’t be stupid enough to draw a pistol on a man armed only with a spatula in broad daylight.

“If this is supposed to be humorous, I warn you now, I am not a man who appreciates or tolerates being messed around and made to look a fool- ”

“Wlyhlkafllrhdyfyhcntuhndstnamnspkyonlngwg.”

“The Father requires your co-operation in these matters, and it would be wise not to play games with his patience, or mine- ”

“Ivlrdygvnmnswrntsno.”

John clamped his lips together, and breathed heavily, trying to regain his composure. There was a vein throbbing in his forehead, sweat now running from his hairline as they faced each other in the almost unbearable sunlight. Chad wondered just how much longer the man was going to endure this undignified performance, but realised he was in for an encore when John pushed his shoulders back, and plastered a smiling grimace on his face.

“Now, Mr Wolanski... we’re going to try again.” His voice was low, ominously quiet and all the wrong kinds of pleasant. “I have a proposition for you, one that would bring you into the Project’s embrace as a brother-”

“ThnkbhnthnkmnonlchdnIlkithawy.”

John threw his hands up in frustration.

“Do you have a sous-chef who I could speak to…” John cut himself off before finishing his point, folding his arms and resting his head in his trembling hand, rubbing at his temples, “No, why am I even asking , of course you don’t…”

“OnlnIndsm, ImnbsdmnckswthaBlngs, nIdfyntldntnyh-”

“Will you just silence yourself, for a moment, so I can think- ”

“Mlnmryls-”

“I warned you about the punishment for disrespect , Mr Wolanski, I am not an enemy you want to have. I can make your life exceptionally difficult- ”

“GhydIdlktsyyhtrhy, Jwn, Iljsthrwynmgrlnwhchycklkthundrfdgohtyr-”

“Pride is the most unforgivable of all sins, Chad-”

“FnyIhrdiwsbyna-”

“Utter another string of mumbled incomprehensible slop and I’ll-”

“Ylwh? Wwosaonwthspatulahr?”

John’s eyes darted towards the spatula, having finally picked up on a single, solitary word. Chad bared a knowing smile, unbrushed teeth yellowed with age saying everything else he wanted to say. I’m not afraid to use this and make it hurt. Maybe Adelaide will see him as a hero, cast her beetroot smoothie chugging toyboy out into the water for Ragnar to eat, and come running into his bare rugged chest and muscular arms? The scene briefly played out in front of his eyes, like the cover of one of those cheesy romance novels he flicked through in the clinic waiting room when he went to have his cholesterol measured.

More music came from the road, and Chad couldn’t have been happier to see Wheaty rolling up in a deep red 1970 Kimberlite ZZT, with Elton John’s ‘Tower of Babel’ crooning out of the speakers. Upon seeing the situation at hand, the teenager stuck his head out of the window, looking deeply concerned.

“Guess I got here just in time, huh? I’ve seen what he can do with that thing, Mr Seed, believe me, it’s not pretty.”

He hopped out of the car and half-skipped awkwardly over.

“Uh, if it’s not a bad time, Mr Wolanski? Wade asked me to pick up his usual?”

Not relinquishing his grip on the spatula, and not taking his eyes off of John, Chad replied:

“Thgtthbyrwznadyht?”

Wheaty shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand sheepishly.

“Well, Cheeseburger’s been a bit grouchy since he’s been on the diet Doctor Lindsey recommended and uh, well Wade’s feeling a bit sorry for him, y’know?”

“ImnhtsprhzdWytprthgcnlvnfsh, nydsmytngudolAmyrcnchz.”

“Yeah, I know right? Poor thing’s looking miserable as hell right now...”

“Ilmkhizomthndntywrryh.’

“Thanks Mr Wolanski, that’s a big help-”

Wheaty trailed off, double taking at their audience, and Chad saw that John was gawking again, his gaze this time dancing between the young boy, who was so effortlessly communicating with what he had considered to be crude, Neanderthalic grunting, and Chad, who had not let up on said grunting.

“Wha- HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT? WHAT IS HE SAYING? ” John demanded, screeching like a PTA mother offended by store bought cakes at a bake sale.

Wheaty frowned, confused by the question.

“What is it that you don’t get, Mr Seed?”

“I- wha- he’s not saying any words. There are NO WORDS THERE. ” John was losing it, looking like he was on the verge of fainting with utter bewilderment. He wobbled, and gripped the side of the nearest greasy table, eyes scanning the floor, looking at nothing, as he tried to process what the hell was going on. Chad chuckled to himself silently. He couldn’t wait to tell Adelaide how he’d made John Seed squeal like a mid-tantrum toddler.

Maybe he’d get a steak and sex?

“...Are you OK, Mr Seed? Are you having a stroke?” Wheaty made no move to help the man, but pulled out his cell phone. “I could try and get a signal and call an ambulance?”

“Trznzygnlhr-” Chad started.

John’s head snapped up and he threw both of them a filthy glare. Straightening up, he adjusted his vest and jacket, smoothed his hair back, still visibly vibrating with boiling rage, and flounced away towards his sun-warmed Mercedes, calling back as he went.

“Mark my words, Wolanski, I know your game! The wrath of the Father shall rain down upon you for your contempt! You will rue the day you made a mockery of me... and I shall so enjoy watching this shithole burn to the ground! And when you feel the hand of the Project’s justice, there’ll not be a single goddamn person there to listen to your insolent vociferating- ” He spat, before climbing into his car and speeding away towards the Henbane River as fast as the engine could take him.

Chad and Wheaty stood watching the dust rise behind him in a daze.

“And he says he can’t understand you … what the fuck does ‘vociferating’ mean?” Wheaty asked, as they retreated back to the safety of the shady Grill Streak. Both were in need of a Whistling Beaver beer and Chad wasn’t exactly one for being too concerned with age of drinking laws, or even permits to sell alcohol in the first place. No one asked, so he didn’t say.

“Idnszpzwlevrno, hsrahllancminbk” Chad laughed, before suddenly deflating again at the sight of mountains of uncooked beans.

Wheaty leaned over to peer at it, frowning at how unappetizing it all looked.

“Mrs Drubman coming for dinner?”

Chad beamed at his young friend.

Things would soon be as they should again. Seed-less, bean-less and vegan-less.

“Yh. Ihpzo.”

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

WHEATY'S GUIDE TO SPEAKING CHAD

Iaigihtgohnnsyll, Jwn, sogtffmylndbakinyrfcycahrnfukff - I ain’t gonna sell John, so get off my land, back in your fancy car and fuck off

Imntinrstdinyrkultshihsujsfukffnlivmhtmwrk - I’m not interested in your cult shit so just fuck off and leave me to my work

Dntmkmywsthz - Don’t make me use this

Yhyrdm - You heard me

YcntkyrPrhjctnshviuyrss - You can take your project and shove it up your ass

Alystmnhtspkinssholunlysmonuh - At least I’m not speaking asshole, unlike someone

Yrthonlfkrnthcwntwhudnunstnm - You’re the only fucker in the county who can’t understand me

DthynhtichyhwtnhdrhssnthdhknGyhgh? - Do they not teach you how to not dress in the dark in Georgia?

IlspkhwwIwnthnyvrmuh - I’ll speak how I want, thank you very much

Wlyhlkafllrhdyfyhcntuhndstnamnspkyonlngwg - Well you look a fool already if you can’t understand a man speaking your own language

Ivlrdygvnmnswrntsno - I’ve already given my answer and it’s no

ThnkbhnthnkmnonlchdnIlkithawy - Thanks, but no thanks, I’m an only child and I like it that way

OnlnIndsm, ImnbsdmnckswthaBlngs, nIdfyntldntnyh - Only one I need is me, I’m the best damn cook south of Billings, and I definitely don’t need you

Mlnmryls - My land, my rules

GhydIdlktsyyhtrhy, Jwn, Iljsthrwynmgrlnwhchycklkthundrfdgohtyr - Go ahead, I’d like to see you try John, I’ll just throw you on the grill and watch you cook like the underfed goat you are

FnyIhrdiwsbyna - Funny, I thought it was being a...

Ylwh? Wwosaonwthspatulahr? - You’ll what? Who’s the one with the spatula here?

Thgtthbyrwznadyht? - Thought the bear was on a diet?

ImnhtsprhzdWytprthgcnlvnfsh, nydsmytngudolAmyrcnchz - I’m not surprised, Wheat, the poor thing can’t live on fish, needs meat and good old American cheese

Ilmkhizomthndntywrryh - I’ll make him something, don’t worry

Trznzygnlhr - There’s no signal here

Idnszpzwlevrno, hsrahllancminbk - I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, he sure as shit ain’t coming back

Yh. Ihpzo. - Yeah. I hope so

[lemonmoxy]

The Dissertation That Was Promised

Look, I wasn’t going to do this but then people told me to, and I’m a bitch for attention, so here we go.

Shout out to @wildernessuntothemselves​ and @savingprivatecass​ coz I wouldn’t have written this without cha. (Yes, it does only take two people to get me write this whole thing. Yes I am ok with being this eager.)

Click below for a 4k+ essay about why episode 3 of season 8 of game of thrones was shit (in my opinion). I like casually spoil everything. So... you have been warned. 

 This where I would in a few sentences sum up the core of the problems with the episode, but honestly it's too numerous for me to be succinct in my thesis, but I shall endeavor. The problem with the episode is: one, not appropriately setting the various scenes in a way that is comprehensible; two, setting everything up to come down to the clutch; three, that the show writers lack any teeth; and four, making the ending of the episode a twist.

(There are also the side problems that there are just like no character beats going on in this episode and the siege tactics are laughably garbage… but unless people really want me to make an additional post I’m just not going to talk about that)

But before we get into my arguments let's start with some acknowledgements. One, I am arguing why this episode sucks, so I will not be spending any time discussing what was good. There were a few scenes that I thought were good. Maybe I will write about them later, I am not now. Two, while I do think the episode was God awful and I do genuinely not understand why people like it so much, my opinion is ultimately subjective, if you liked it, that is fine, this is not written for you.

And three, and this has its own paragraph for a reason, the rules of this universe change around season six when the writers run out of book material. The rules change from being the characters defining the story to the story defining the characters. The book is all about the characters’ decisions deciding the plot and that is what makes a Game of Thrones unique. Most TV shows and movies are about the plot deciding what the characters do. Neither is inherently better than the other, it just is. In this essay I am accepting this as a fact, so I’m not going to spend a lot of time talking about how this character should have died because of a stupid decision they made. In LotR that wouldn’t have resulted in a character dying and in most TV shows and movies stupid decisions don’t equate to death, and the same is true here. Those aren’t the rules of the universe anymore. This change happened a long time ago and is not why this episode sucks (though I do feel it is a contributing factor).

Ok ‘but Miss Lemon’ you say ‘why does this episode suck then?’ well thank you strawman reader, let us get into it. It might seem weird to start on such a minor note but really a key problem that undermines everything that is good and exacerbates every problem is that everything that happens is kind of incomprehensible. What I mean is, throughout the battle there is no sense of time or location.

There are like four moments that really encapsulate this but it’s in every scene and I could do a mini breakdown of every single scene of this episode and how they fail to establish this.

The first time I really noticed it was when Jon was running after the Night King on foot to attack him before he could walk into Winterfell (or into the godswood, I also had NO idea where Dany, Jon, or the Night King were in relation to everyone else. Btw, you being able to answer this question that does not make my point invalid, I’ve seen the episode twice and I couldn’t figure it out and this is something that I should just feel instinctively if done properly). The distance between Jon and the Night King seems to change throughout the scene. There is no sense of progress as he runs because he seems to get randomly closer or further away with each cut. It was frustrating to watch because I was being denied the tension and was just waiting for the writers to reveal which they decided on, him reaching the Night King, or the Night King noticing him and raising all the dead to swarm him. The scene was not communicating to me which would happen on its own, I was just waiting to the scene to resolve to be told. This is bad.    

Also because I have no idea where the Night King, Dany, or Jon are in this moment, or how long it takes Jon to take down that mini army of undead by himself, I have no idea how close the Night King is to Bran and if there is any chance of Jon catching up to him. There is no real tension in watching Jon run after him because I do not know if it is possible, it is again me watching moving pictures that convey no meaning as the writers play up the ‘will he won’t he’ until they decide to tell me which happens. The writers are dictating what happens not the pictures that are moving and supposively conveying meaning (only they aren’t and that’s the problem).

Another key moment of time and placement problems in when the Hound sets aside his fear of fire and his lack of faith that they can win to try to save Arya. We see Arya coming down a roof with the Hound and Beric watching below and they decide to help her. Then when we catch up to Arya later she is alone somewhere within Winterfell castle using her stealth to get around the underdead. How did she get here? Where are the Hound and Beric? I can infer that maybe instead of finishing her slide down the roof into the courtyard she climbed back up and went into Winterfell to get a moment to catch her breath and though the Hound and Beric yelled for her to come down to where they were she couldn’t hear them over the din of battle, and they went after her but they are taking awhile to find her because they don’t have a good grasp of how to get around the castle. But I am making a lot of assumptions for the writers to explain it away when there aren’t any clues to indicate that. We could have easily been shown what was happening instead of her weird pointless stealth around the zombies side mission. Was it cool to watch her stealth around them? Yes. Did it serve any purpose or make any sense? No. I would easily sacrifice that stealth moment that set up the payoff of the Hound and Beric saving her. How much more tense would it be to have Arya parkouring her way around Winterfell castle while a hoard of zombies swell after her while we keep cutting back to the Hound and Beric who are desperately trying to find Arya? Instead we have no idea where anyone is and the Hound and Beric show up when they are needed because the writers will it and not because we are shown it.  

The last big moment of lack of time and placement is Arya in the kitchen with the Hound, Beric’s corpse, and Melisandre. Where is the kitchen in relation to the Godswood? They barricade it, so how does she get out and around the zombies? How long would it take to get for her to get to the Godswood? Then she just comes flying at the Night King, from where? Did she climb a tree to dramatically jump down and just watch Theon charge at the Night King and die? How does she get around the White Walkers? Wouldn’t it have been more tense to watch her STEALTH her way out of the kitchen to the godwoods, see her running cut between Theon’s charge, so we know that Theon is actually buying her time?

And that’s what leads me to my next point. One of the reasons this episode sucks is because everything comes down to the clutch. Now what do I mean by that? Everything ends when Arya kills the Night King and nothing leads up to her doing that. There is no back and forth, Arya comes out of nowhere and kills the Night King and then the episode ends.

Now this is key, I am not saying (right now) that the problem is that Arya kills the Night King. What I am saying is that there are only three scenes in this episode that matter (arguably four). When Arya is saved by Beric and the Hound, the scene where they talk in the kitchen, and when Arya kills the Night King. (For those curious the arguably fourth scene is where Theon dies, but we will discuss that in a second)

Now what do I mean by a scene mattering? Ok so because the rules of the universe have changed and things are no longer about characters deciding plot but plots deciding character then the only scenes that matter are scenes that contribute to the plot. The plot of this episode is stopping the Long Night, the only scenes that matter are scenes that contribute to that plot or contribute to a plot of a later episode. This makes it very easy to discern what is a scene that matters looks like. Let us accept that the killing the Night King does mean that everything falls dead, they do establish this in the previous episode at the end, and I will not even critique that this as stupid (it is tho). Therefore a scene matters if it contributes to moving Arya or the Night King to the godswood, or buying time for that to happen (or again setting things up for another episode). Now my amendment ‘or buying time’ comes with its own amendment, it must be demonstrated that time is bought.  

This is why the Theon scene does not count as a scene that matters, it didn’t feel like he was buying time nor was it framed that he was buying time. If it were framed that way we have seen Arya running cut between his charge to establish what he was doing and what it accomplished. He throws himself at the Night King and instantly dies in a last valiant, if stupid and pointless, attempt to save Bran. He does not buy time because Arya could have shown up at any point because time and location are not established, if the writers wanted Arya to show up and kill the Night King just before he kills Theon they could have because it wouldn’t go in the face of any time or location constraints that were set up, because they do not set them up. This is what I meant by this issue exacerbating problems.

Now maybe people disagree with me (I mean people definitely do that’s why I am writing this), who do you think contributed to ending the Long Night? From what I’ve seen argued, people think Jon, Melisandre, Beric, and Dany contributed to ending the Long Night (and obviously Arya and Theon, but I mean besides them). I will give you Beric on a technical level though I will discuss why this scene is also not so good later. I will even give you kind of Melisandre since she does put the idea in Arya’s head to go after the Night King, but since not one of you (don’t fucking lie) thought that was it about her going after the Night King this barely counts and is not the moment people talk about anyway.

Nothing Jon does contributes in anyway to ending the Long Night. His goal is to wait on a dragon until they see the Night King then he and Dany will go fuck him up in a sweet aerial battle. This plan falls apart when Dany, enraged by the death of the Dothraki (we will get to this later), flies in early, and fails again later when an ice storm is summoned. Later we do get a brief battle that ends with Jon on the ground, his dragon gone (not dead just it vanishes, don’t worry about it), they haven’t killed the zombie dragon, they haven’t killed the Night King. Jon tries again to kill the Night King but fails when the Night King raises up all of the dead. Later Jon yet again fails to kill the zombie dragon (not that it mattered at that point if he did). Jon contributes zero to the plot but we see a lot of it, this is wasted time.

Now the problem isn’t that his plan fails, that is fine, the problem is that this is Jon’s war, as Dany maddeningly put in one episode earlier (in another example of terrible writing, what the fuck do you mean Dany, how is the war for the dawn, in any way, only Jon’s war?) and he doesn’t do anything. Maybe he slows down the Night King but as the problem with Theon’s scene, because we do not know time and location, it doesn’t feel like he’s accomplishing anything. It doesn’t even feel like he’s failing, it feels like we are waiting for the writers to finally inform of us of what is going to happen, rather than moments leading into moments.

Dany does not nothing for the same reason Jon does nothing. Even the “mistake” she makes of losing her temper and going to avenge Dothraki doesn’t matter. Her and her dragons might as well not been there for all the difference they made. It’s all well and good to see the dragons breathe fire but when we do not see the consequences of that.... Winterfell felt completely run over by the undead by the end, you didn’t feel any weight to Dany’s contribution of blowing undead to shit with her dragon. Nor did we really see any big moments of dragon fire providing time to accomplish things.

I know the counterpoint ‘but Miss Lemon, the whole point was that the Battle for the Dawn was hopeless unless they managed to kill the Night King, that was the point’. Ok, then that makes for poor storytelling, because watching things happen on a screen that do not contribute to things happening for the plot moving forward, when there aren’t character beats happening, when there aren’t consequences for characters’ choices (dammit I said I wouldn’t bring this up) is boring.

Melisandre lighting shit on fire was a waste of time and was only there to look cool. There I said it. Her lighting the Dothraki’s swords on fire was cool and made for a truly iconic (if totally idiotic) scene. But like, the only important thing that happened is now they don’t have any calvary, which would have been true if Melisandre didn’t light their swords on fire, so pointless. ‘What about when Melisandre lit the trenches on fire’. Yeah, she did that. It was almost good too. It was almost good in that it was a character actually accomplishing a thing. It was almost good in that this was the first good strategy the main characters employed in this whole episode. It was bad tho because even though we see that time passes before the undead just… decide that breaktime is over, nothing crucial happens during that time. Time was bought, but it wasn’t used, so it might as well have never happened. Wasted moment. Also it demonstrates that the show writers do understand how to combat the undead effectively and just chose to have the characters make stupid ass plans. So not only wasted but bad.

People keep talking about all of the hero moments that characters had in this episode, and this has been really annoying me, because while I agree that they were supposed to be hero moments. At the end of the day, they weren’t. Because nothing anyone did mattered. By leaving everything to the last minute moment of Arya killing the Night King, of that being the one big moment that changes and saves everything, means that nobody gets to accomplish anything, and everything feels wasted and pointless. It’s bad storytelling.

(Also, I as a human being, am incapable of being tense for the whole episode especially when it is as long as it. At some point I stop being tense and start being annoyed and bored. This is bad pacing.)

Ok, moving right along to the writers not having any teeth. ‘But Miss Lemon, you said it was ok if characters didn’t die because of their mistakes’. You’re right I did say that, and boy howdy did characters make so many mistakes and never got punished, but you’re right, that isn’t why I’m making this point. Look people are saying ‘oh my god, the shocking deaths, what a body count’, and all I can say is ‘did you accidentally put on the red wedding episode? Coz we were not watching the same episode’. So who died? Big Mormot, Little Mormot, Theon, Baric, Melisandre.

Ok, we all need to be honest with ourselves. Jorah has had nothing to do for a while now and contributes nothing to the plot but being sad because dragon queen don’t want to bone him, which is just bordering on creepy by this point. He is one manifesto away from being a white knight. It matters zero to the plot that he is dead. What plot lines are ended because Jorah is dead? Narratively, what does it matter that Jorah is dead? Dany will be a sadder, but that probably isn’t going to affect any of her choices. She isn’t really missing out on any of his stellar advice because he doesn’t give her advice that her other advisers couldn’t. And none of us seriously thought that Jorah might end up with her, so it’s not like a potential love plot was cancelled.

Also the way he died was dumb. How the fuck did he get from inside Winterfell to outside (???). Why did he? It’s not like he knew Dany was alone. How did he get there in time? Why did Dany’s dragon desert her for so long. Like I know her dragon left to get rid of the zombies swarming him but I feel like that takes one, maybe two barrel rolls to deal with that. And also her dragon should never have been in that situation, she lit had no reason to land him. Also she has two dragons, where was her other one? It wasn’t with Jon. It’s almost like everything happened or was hand waved away to kill Jorah off for the shock value of it. Hmm… It didn’t feel like Jorah died because choices he and others made led to him dying, it feels like the writers decided he was going die and wrote around that.

Ok, Lyanna Mormont also doesn’t really contribute to the plot but to be sassy. Like, I like her, but let’s be honest. We aren’t going to be in the North much longer and she isn’t really an important North noble. She was important back when they really needed northern support and allies but the North is tenuously united to the cause. If you want to argue that Lyanna Mormont is team Northern Independence, then my counterpoint is so is Sansa, she doesn’t really need Lyanna’s help. They are almost definitely going to still do the North wants independence plot with or without Lyanna Mormont and she would not have been a big shaker of that plotline.

Ok, while I admit that Lyanna’s death was badass and it was really fun (and also really distracting) to watch King Cailan's death from Dragon Age: Origins play out in HD with a little girl in his place, it was also really fucking stupid. Why the ever loving fuck is a twelve year old, who is the last of her house, and a leader of her people, on the battlefield? Why does a mindless zombie giant (and also the only one for some reason) pick her up? Is it because he wants to eat her, even though he isn’t that sort of zombie? Is it because he respects her and wants to give her an honorable death for the audience? Coz I think it’s that one. And it’s distracting and obvious.

I have already explained why Theon’s death is stupid but this is where I would like to point out that narratively it is inconsequential. Theon’s arc was done. This does not mean there was not more to do with his character, he does have some potential that was wasted. But that would have all been interesting character stuff. Plotwise killing him doesn’t affect anything and his big character beat of coming home, becoming both a Stark and a Greyjoy, and redeeming himself for driving Bran and Rickon out of their home, was accomplished. Nothing Theon could have done after the fact would have really affected the plot. He’s not going to sit on the Iron Throne. He’s not going to change Sansa’s mind about Northern Independence (he has no reason to). He’s not going to convince his sister to break her peace treaty with Dany to ally with the North to secure their own independence. He’s not going to convince his sister to join the crown after all. He’s not going to convince Dany to let the North go. He’s not going to kill Cersei (or maybe he would makes the same amount of sense as Arya killing the Night King, maybe I’m wrong).

Baric’s death is similarly inconsequential. His story was completely tied to the White Walker Arc and he has nothing to do once it is over. He has no stake in the Cersei fight. He has basically no real character arc to finish either.

His death was also stupid because even though this is his big moment, he is accomplishing the goal that he was brought back again and again to do, this is literally his life’s purpose, and the scene is entirely framed around the Hound. Not only does Baric have basically no connection to Arya at all, but this was the Hound’s moment. This was the Hound overcoming his fear of fire and moving past his nihilism to fight for Arya. This was not about Baric at all. And if you rewatch the scene you can see that all of the framing focuses on the Hound completely. And not making Beric’s death scene about him is fucking lame.

Melisandre falls into the Baric camp as well. She is entirely tied to the White Walker Arc and has zero to do once it’s over. I guess you could argue that people were denied putting her to death for her crimes, but honestly in the scope of things, the only thing that differentiates her is that she is guilty of is killing someone we liked.

But like her death is built up and she’s like ‘oh I’m not surviving the night’ and you expect her to get this blaze of glory moment. This really awesome death where she makes up for the fact that she burned people alive for literally no reason (not that she knew that at the time but still), and instead she dies from literally being written out of the plot. I’m sorry but that was a really underwhelming death.

All the deaths are safe is the point I’m making. The consequence of killing a character is that you end all of their potential plot lines, places where the story was going to go. If you kill characters that didn’t affect that and who didn’t have plot lines, then you aren’t taking any risks. You’re just killing characters to kill them because this is Game of Thrones and characters die. But characters don’t just die in Game of Thrones. They die for reasons that have apparently been forgotten. There is a reason why Ned’s death and the Red Wedding are remembered and are defining moments of the series, and it wasn’t just because we were surprised.  

Ok, so moving right along to the twist. Look, I’m not ragging on it just because it was a twist. Because honestly, I know I said it was a twist, but it’s not a twist. Not a real twist. It’s a twist in the way that bad mystery novels have twist endings, when information is withheld, details excluded, things made up after the fact, to create an ending that no one could have predicted. It’s bad storytelling. If you want Arya to be the one to kill the Night King even though she has no relation to the White Walker Arc at all, fine. Set that up. Setting it up during the episode in which it happens does not count by the way. We’ve had 8 seasons of setting up either Jon or Dany killing the Night King, you had since season 6 or if I’m being generous 2 previous episodes of season 8 to start laying the ground works for Arya suddenly doing it, use that time you hacks.

And when I say they have set up Jon or Dany (but mostly Jon) killing the Night King I do not mean that just characters think that or that the audience inferred that from storytelling tropes. If that were just the case then subverting that expectation would be totally valid. But that’s not just what happened. The meta narrative, the tricks the writers and directors use to talk discreetly but directly to the audience, told us that Jon would kill the Night King. You cannot subvert that expectation, that’s not subversion, that is lying. So I don’t feel like I’m watching a magic trick, I feel like I’m being conned.  

Like I literally don’t get why people liked the episode besides the ain’t it cool of it all and the fact that there was a surprise. I mean, I guess it was good in the way that roller coasters are good. But I ride roller coasters for the adrenaline of it, I don’t watch TV shows for that same rush. I want something a little bit more. Nothing matters, you could have just watched the last couple of scenes and not really missed anything. Nobody that dies matters. No one did anything. There weren’t any really big characters moments (except Theon, I will give them that much). This is the biggest most important episode. This is the Battle for the fucking Dawn and it was somehow worse than the Battle of the Bastards. (Also if you think that Game of Thrones is about politics and Cersei is the #realvillain you have not been paying attention. I swear to God if I see someone say this one more time I going to die.)

[not-a-statement]

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore. 

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?   

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.  

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

[beardycarrot]

This post is way too long so ignore it and just keep scrolling

Alright. Having played both Sonic Mania and Sonic Forces, I can now say, based on my own experiences... that Sonic Forces is a smoldering garbage heap.

First off, let me get this out of the way: the character creation system is... okay. In the screenshot above, you can see My Original Character,  Blonic  Eiko the Cat. You have several different anthropomorphic animal species to choose from, each of which has their own species-specific ability. Birds can double-jump, cats hold on to a few rings even after taking heavy damage, that kind of thing. There’s a selection of three head types for each species, about a dozen eyes, and can set two skin/fur/scale/feather colors. Not bad.

For the game’s main selling point, though, it feels a little weak... especially in comparison to the last game I played, South Park: The Fractured But Whole. In addition to your character’s physical appearance, which meshes perfectly with the South Park style, you can set your character’s gender (male/female/non-binary/multi-gender), whether they’re cis or trans, both their race and ethnicity, their sexual preferences, religion, all sorts of stuff that are pointless in the context of the game but let you make your character whatever you want them to be. I’m not saying that all games should have this, but I did just play that game, so I can’t help but compare Sonic Forces to it since the character creator is meant to be one of the game’s big gimmick.

Anyway. In addition to your character’s body, you also get to dress them up with outfits you unlock as you play. I guess this is a cool concept, with you getting between three and twelve costume pieces every level depending on how well you do and whether anything you did in a level completed a special objective... but it’s annoying constantly being pelted with costumes you’ll never wear. I was a mixture of fortunate and unfortunate in the fact that clothes I like (a tactical outfit in black and olive green) were unlocked within the first couple levels, so I could wear an outfit I like throughout the game... but it also meant that I never had any reason to change out for new gear or experiment with costumes that would only be less appealing to me.

There’s also the jarring fact that with clothing on, your character looks completely out of place. Most of the other characters in the game wear nothing but white gloves and sneakers, and seeing you alongside them just makes them look naked. I’ve spent way too long talking about customization. Moving on...

...You can also customize your avatar’s weapon, which I guess is the power of the Wisp aliens from Sonic Colors stored in a gun? There are probably advantages to all of them, but you spend less than half of the game playing as your avatar, every enemy in the game dies in one hit, and the fire weapon I started with can clear a screen of enemies in literally two seconds... so I never really bothered with them. You also occasionally find Wisps locked in capsules, but the game never actually gives you a real tutorial for them. It’s possible that it was explained in a hint marker, but it’s possible to take a route through a level or jump at just the wrong moment that you miss the marker and can’t go back to see what it said. I eventually figured it out in level twenty-five, which is right at the end of the game... and that level also happens to be a great example of why I don’t like this game.

I know that as a still frame this is kinda incomprehensible, but what you’re looking at is a little vertical shaft kind of thing. There have been shafts like this elsewhere in the game, but they’ve always been things you either just dropped down through or rode an elevator in or had platforms to jump on. Here?

This game apparently has a wall-jumping mechanic, which only appears here, in the twenty-fifth of thirty levels. I’m completely fine with video games using mechanics sparingly or even basing levels around a gimmick that never appears again... but this is the only time in the game that this happens, and the mechanic isn’t even implemented very well. If you’re too close to the wall it will sometimes fail to activate, if you press the jump button again too soon you won’t cling to the wall, and sometimes your series of jumps will have you end up jumping over the wall to the left instead of going right... which is an issue considering that for the second half of the level, you have to do this while trying to outrun a giant instant death laser. Assuming you can even get to that point.

I can’t tell you how long I was stuck here. To the left is a checkpoint, and all you can do is collect what looks like an electric Wisp in a capsule, then... wait to the blue death laser to kill you and put you back at the check point. The dark red boxes are breakable, and you’re clearly meant to either get down through this shaft to continue... but there’s no obvious way to do this. I thought that you were supposed to use the electric Wisp somehow, but I guess you can only do that if you have the right Wisp weapon equipped, as the game only seems to care when I collect capsules with fire Wisps in them.

I was eventually forced to watch a video of someone playing this level, and they just kind of... broke through all the boxes at once. After further research, I discovered that if you press the Crouch button (which I’ve never pressed up to this point and forgot existed) while in the air, you’ll do a stomp move that the game never bothered to teach me.

Once you’re past that, the next section is incredibly difficult... I figured out how to use the encapsulated fire Wisps (it’s the “Wisp Special” button that I’d previously been unable to figure out the function of) to skip over the obstacles, but if you don’t time/aim it properly, you’re back down in the area where you have to deal with the wall jumps that occasionally send you careening backwards.

I know that I’m just complaining about one difficult end-game level, but the entire game is like this. It’s all either gameplay mechanics the game doesn’t explain properly that are prone to failing, or levels that are way too short and simplistic. I haven’t even touched on the jumping mechanics... Want to know how many times I died replaying that level to get those screenshots?

A couple of those are from the laser section, but it’s mostly falling into bottomless pits because you’re pretty strongly locked into your jump trajectory when playing as Your Own Character, and the platform placement in that level sucks. It’s not as big of a deal when playing as Sonic; I think Classic Sonic has free control in the air, and you only play as him in two or three levels, while Modern Sonic’s levels are so completely filled with enemies and jump pads that you can just spam the jump button to string homing attacks through anything that isn’t a speed section. Places where the gameplay becomes frustrating aren’t as common as in other games I’ve played recently (L.A. Noire comes to mind), but that’s because the majority of the levels are ridiculously simplistic and easy, and when you reach the end without anything really happening you’re just like...

Which brings me, finally, to the worst part of the game: the story. This is among the worst video game writing I have ever seen... and as someone who does a lot of art for indie, amateur, and fan games, I’ve seen a lot of scripts from “idea guys” who’ve never taken any kind of literature or creative writing classes.

The basic premise of the story sounds interesting, and seems like a huge departure from the normal Sonic formula: Dr. Eggman and his new associate Infinite use the powers of all the major antagonists from past games to kill Sonic and take over the world. The remaining characters of the Sonic universe form a resistance movement (the forces in Sonic Forces) to fight back, and half a year later Your Own Character joins up after their home city is destroyed.

Damn, man! That’s pretty dark! Unfortunately, it completely fails to deliver. Unsurprisingly, Sonic isn’t dead... but he HAS been held prisoner and tortured for the last six months. Despite that, he’s in high spirits and joking with his captors... yeah I dunno, just bad writing ...and manages to escape when the resistance attacks the base and temporarily disables the power grid. Why Sonic was in a Laser Prison and wearing Laser Handcuffs that require uninterrupted power to operate is just more bad writing, as is the fact that he was being held on a space station and you’re never shown how the resistance got up there.

More importantly, it’s never explained how the resistance discovered that Sonic was still alive. There are other captives in the same area, so THEY would know he’s alive, but there’s never any indication that one of them managed to escape. Speaking of which, they’re all still imprisoned after Sonic breaks free, and I think the space station ends up destroyed... so those guys are probably all dead. That reminds me of another point: most of the levels just end at a random arbitrary point. You ostensibly have a goal that you’re trying to reach, but the goal markers are always, like, in the middle of a hallway, which looks no different from anywhere else, and there’s no cutscene showing what happens what the characters do after reaching their goal... the level just kinda ends.

Most of the game’s dialogue and exposition is in the form of radio conversations that occur on the map screen, which I can’t help but admit makes sense: media too often forces characters to be in the same place for scenes to occur, when logically they would’ve just spoken on the phone. The issue I have with this is that it really does make up the bulk of the game’s dialogue, and none of the conversations are ever that interesting. Honestly, more than anything it reminds me of the kind of story you’d see in a free-to-play mobile game... except there isn’t really any kind of story being told, just information being relayed. There isn’t any kind of character development, since the game expects you to already know who everyone is and what their paper-thin personalities are.

After Eggman spends six months taking over Literally The Entire World, and the resistance apparently does very little to stop this, Your Own Character joins up and things start happening instantly. They rescue Sonic, then Classic Sonic appears out of nowhere to save Tails from Chaos, the creature from Sonic Adventure. I guess they included him (Classic Sonic, that is; after this cutscene, Chaos is never seen again) to trick people into thinking that this game would be similar to the much more popular Sonic Generations. I think the plot of that game involved time travel, accounting for the two Sonics, but here they’ve retconned him as “the Sonic from another universe”.

Speaking of time travel and alternate dimensions, Silver and Blaze are in this game... I’m no big Sonic fan (in fact, Sonic Mania and Sonic Forces, both of which I played this week, were the first Sonic games I’ve ever beaten), but them being part of the resistance is kinda inexplicable. To my knowledge, Blaze is from an alternate dimension, but in Sonic ‘06 was somehow Silver’s partner or something in the post-apocalyptic future. In the end, I think Sonic saving the day included the elimination of the timeline in which Silver existed... so I’m not really sure what’s up with Silver and Blaze being in this game. Are they now retconned to just being normal people who live in the same place as everyone else?

I’m also really confused on how this game fits in with the rest of the series. Infinite’s power is to create autonomous physical virtual reality projections, and he uses it to create his own versions of the Chaos, Zavok, Metal Sonic, and Shadow... so in addition to being in continuity with Sonic Generations and Sonic Colors (the game the Wisps are from), you also have to include the Sonic Adventure games and Sonic Lost World. Again, I’m no expert on Sonic, but... I’m pretty sure at least a few of these games feature planets populated with humans, and not the hordes of bipedal animals that make up the only characters in this game. Is there just no official continuity at this point?

As an aside... every character you see in scenes like this are made with the character creator, but for some reason they’ve limited themselves to a very small number of models instead of just using a bunch of different random colors and other features. See that bluish-purple dog at the front? If you look closely, you can see five or six identical dogs in the background, all doing the same animation where they raise their guns up in the air.

I’ve gotten REALLY off-topic, which is basically a war crime with how long this post is already. Anyway, as I was saying before I derailed myself, once Your Own Character joins the resistance things happen super fast. Sonic is alive, Classic Sonic appears out of nowhere and punches the Chaos clone (which is subsequently never seen again, despite Infinite being able to create an infinite number of them), and Eggman for whatever reason reveals that his ultimate plan will be complete in just three days. I’m not really clear on what this plan is, but it involves a virtual reality projection of the sun... I don’t know, Majora’s Mask-ing the planet and killing everyone, maybe? Again, bad writing.

Sonic faces off against Infinite and, despite the player winning the boss fight, gets his $#!+ kicked in... and that’s when Infinite says, and this is an actual, verbatim quote, “You’re not even worth the effort to finish off”. I think I might actively hate the writers of this game. I feel like I should probably also mention that the boss fight takes place on the back of a giant snake that’s just kinda floating there, suspended in mid-air, above a forest that is also a casino?

It’s at this point that Infinite drops a prototype version of the Phantom Ruby, which is what gives him his powers. How did he fail to notice that he’d dropped something the size of a softball? How was he even carrying it? WHY was he carrying it, when the finished perfected ruby was already embedded in his chest and he’d been using it for over six months? If you expect these questions to have answers, well, that bold text in the last paragraph must’ve caught your eye and you’re just now at this point starting to read the post. Hello, welcome! The writing in this game is absolutely abysmal!

Your Own Character picks up the prototype ruby and holds onto it for the next three days... well, except for when they drop it while Infinite is looking right at them after a boss fight, and he doesn’t notice ...and at the end of the game, uses it to somehow get rid of the virtual reality sun. How do they know that the ruby is and how to use it? No idea. How do they get rid of the sun? Happens off-screen. Then, further confusing matters vis-a-vis whether the prototype ruby is invisible to bad guys, Eggman acts as if he saw it... despite it breaking and disappearing before he arrives. Weird.

Alright, backtracking a bit, I need to touch on the stupidest plot point in the game: the Phantom Zone. Well, I think it’s called Null Space or something, Eggman calls it “a little something the Phantom Ruby cooked up”, whatever that means... but it’s basically the Phantom Zone. A pocket dimension that supposedly contains literally nothing. Eggman opens up a portal into it, Your Own Character tries to save Sonic from it, and they’re both pulled in... man, that’s a scary concept, isn’t it? Being trapped in an empty void?

If a regular prison held Sonic for six months, and he only got out with help from the outside, then I can’t even imagine how long this will-- haha just kidding it’s twenty seconds this game was written by chimps.

Apparently “completely empty” means “filled with blocks you can run on”, and Sonic manages to get out... by double-boosting. There are a handful of levels where you play as both Sonic and Your Own Character at the same time (the “you’re next to me and I’m next to you” in the Hoobastank song you hear in that video), allowing you to use the Wisp weapons while also using Sonic’s super speed. You’ll also be prompted to “double boost” at set points, which consists of the characters jumping in the air, fist-bumping, and then... holding hands and somehow running even faster, I guess? I’m not at all clear on how this works, or how it broke them out of Null Space.

I’d be totally okay (bored, but okay) with the prototype ruby being responsible for them escaping, but that’s not how it’s presented: they’re meant to have escaped through the power of friendship and running really, really fast. I mean, I can come up with a reason it works, gimme a minute... uh... virtual reality... pocket dimension... gotta go fast.... gotta go faster faster faster faster faster... aha! Maybe it’s an empty, infinite void because it’s being created as you move through it, but the double boost allows them to move faster than it can be created, allowing them to break free? Yeah, that’s dumb but plausible in-universe. Too bad the writers made literally no attempt to explain it.

After that, it’s time for the big showdown with Infinite, the game’s hot new antagonist. Who is he, why does he hate Sonic, why is he working with Eggman? What kind of awesome boss battle will you have against him? Not explained, not explained, not explained, and it’s just a slight variation of the boss fight you have with Metal Sonic earlier in the game. You DO get an explanation of who he is if you play Episode Shadow, free DLC consisting of three levels that you played in the base game that serves as a kind of prequel. All of your juicy Infinite-related questions are answered: he’s a nameless mercenary who went all emo because Sonic beat him up. Oh. Well. That’s... lame.

This post is already over three thousand words, so I’ll wrap it up. After your boring rehashed boss battle with Infinite, he just kinda... runs away, never to be seen again, and you have to contend with Eggman and his giant robots. It’s not very interesting. Once the day is saved, you get this completely inane exchange between the characters, which in most games would be the worst bit of writing... here, it might be in the top five. Knuckles says that the fight is over, everyone can go home, there’s no longer a need for the resistance... but then Amy (or someone) says, “no, we’re just getting started!”, and Knuckles nods in agreement as if she didn’t just directly contradict him. As if two characters doing this isn’t bad enough, Tails then does the exact same thing all by himself, saying something like, “we won, the resistance is done, now we have to come together to save the world!” I think he also says something about just one person not being able to change the world, which I’m pretty sure runs contrary to a “one person CAN make a difference!” message the game had been going for earlier.

And... that’s about it. I have nothing more to say. This game is bad, anyone who defends it is lying to themselves, and it’s entirely possible that I’ve spent more time writing this unfocused rambling post than I did actually playing the game. I’m not a Sonic hater; the playground politics surrounding video games in the early nineties didn’t exist where I grew up, so to me Sonic has always just kinda been that series with the interesting music that I had no particular interest in playing. As I mentioned, I played through Sonic Mania at the same time as I was playing Forces, and loved it. It’s a bit on the hard side for someone who’s never played a Sonic game, but aside from a few annoying bits in Hydrocity and Oil Ocean, it’s a blast all the way through. That’s a great game... and Sonic Forces, in my opinion, is decidedly not.

Back in 2017 I made a post about the Metascore for Sonic Forces, and received backlash for it. I decided to wait until as many critics as possible had reviewed the game, and... never really felt like doing the update, so didn’t get around to it until now. So, how much of a difference does a year make in the review score?

Oh wow, it’s like I knew what I was talking about or something. Well, kinda. At the time I said that Sonic Forces didn’t seem like a bad game, based on what I’d seen of it. Having played the game for myself... I think my opinion is known.

[craftygirlscreations]

Why is Suicide still so Taboo?

How can Suicide still be so taboo after being responsible for so many deaths in the recent past years? In my 45 years of life, Suicide has significantly increased with each decade that has passed. At the very least Suicide is the culprit, the end and growing result of far more deaths than most people care to admit or are willing to talk about. No one wants to talk about it. It makes people uncomfortable to talk about Aunt so-and-so, or their sibling, or their best friend. Even someone who was merely an acquaintance that died from Suicide, it’s all hush-hush. Why? Why do we still act as though speaking their names or talking about a loved ones Suicide is some sort of bad juju? Suicide isn’t a dirty word. It isn’t a sin. God forgives us all and loves us no matter what. Please someone explain to me why hearing the word “Suicide “or giving someone’s story truth make so many people back away.Far, far, far away! Why?

Let me first say, many who die from Suicide always die from other causes. Suicide is merely the means of death. Some have been battling lifelong mental issues. Whether it’s newly onset, medication or no medications it matters not in the end. This battle they are fighting clearly was such a very heavy burden. Please stop avoiding this conversation. Be honest and be grateful for every second you had with your beloved. I guarantee you they tried their best to get better. In the end they stayed as long as they could. They fought as hard as they could. If your loved one, died due to cancer, a motor vehicle accident, drugs or an alcohol related death they are given more dignity after death from the general public than those who die of Suicide. Unfortunately, the same is true among family members and friends. Why is it so hard to comprehend that their choice was taken from them the second a mental issue overwhelmed their system? Their brain chemicals and way of thinking have been altered and after a long struggle they simply could not deal any longer.

If we do not speak about our loved ones who died from Suicide then that in itself is doing them a disservice and is simply wrong. We are doing them a wrong. Plain and simple. It is up to us survivors, to give voice to their memory and legacy. It is time for us to stand up and stop this ignorant talk about “Suicide being the easy way out.” That is garbage and wrong. The pain and suffering the person was in to make this frightful choice must have been excruciating. I’m sorry but they were not cowards. Do you have any comprehension how much guts it takes to end your life? When it comes down to it... I mean really, really comes down to it, It is not easy. I don’t care which option your taking. It takes some serious cajones to move forward with the actual act so please stop with this irrational way of thinking.

Please do not misinterpret my point. I, in no way, mean to glorify Suicide. The actual amount of pain it leaves in it’s wake is truly horrifying.Yes, they may not still be here among us breathing. They clearly do not have to continue enduring whatever it was that lead them down this path but that isn’t something to be feared or revered. It just simply is.

Compassion for the family and compassion for the one following through with Suicide is all I’m asking for. In most cases, the parents and family members have had no clue whatsoever this was going to happen, because this was something very well hidden. Or the family did know this was a possibility and were committed to doing everything in their power to get help for their loved one. Either way, the destruction left in Suicide’s wake is a lifetime of living misery for the survivors. It’s filled with pain, grief, stress, anger, and incomprehension for a lifetime. Let’s stop the taboo. Open yourself up to the Survivors. Offer your help, lend a shoulder to cry on or simply check in on the families. If nothing else, commit yourself to a an open conversation when the family is ready to talk about it. I guarantee, the one thing a survivor fears most is to have their beloved forgotten or feel abandoned themselves in their pain.