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nerdy-the-artist · 19 days

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Maytroid 2024 is here!

I am so excited to get to work on these new prompts. Last year, my entries for each day were fairly sloppy, and I was new to the series, so I was lacking a fair bit of information. Now, I’m armed with more knowledge and am eager to use it.

For those who haven’t seen what I did for Maytroid last year, what I’m going to be doing instead of art is something more writing focused. These little text entries are mostly styled after the scans from the Metroid Prime series. Matter of fact, this new set of prompts actually lends itself much better than last year’s, as I have a lot more leeway to play to my own strengths than last year (I still don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do with Gorea). These are all canon to my own Metroid AU currently, though as things change in development, these may become out of date. They will give the vibe my stories are going for, but these shouldn’t be held to as the absolute canon for them. I’ll be posting these week by week, around 7 at a time, starting today.

Day 1: Ridley

Transcript of Security Footage

Several individuals in this footage cannot be identified at this time. They shall be identified as Pirate 1, Pirate 2, and Pirate Major.

Ridley: What I want to know… is why he is not in custody.

Pirate Major: I gave them their orders, they knew he was to be brought in alive, and instead they killed him.

Pirate 1: You told us to take care of him! We thought you meant an execution, not milk and cookies!

Pirate Major: Insolent Wretch! You say such things about your orders in front of our Commander?! You know how we handle that sort of insubordination!

Pirate 2: Cool it, we’re already in hot water.

Pirate 1: We’re in hot water because of the life of some winy little nobody that begged for his life with money he didn’t even have.

Ridley: While your insolence is… aggravating… I am willing to forgive this misstep.

Pirate Major: What?

Ridley: He was an insignificant pawn. We can always find another. As I was saying, I am willing to forgive this on one condition. Did he die in pain?

Pirate 2: Yes. He did suffer before he died.

Ridley: What methods or torture did you employ?

Pirate 1: Waterboarding. Works wonders on humans. I always liked how they sound when they cough and gasp for air.

Ridley:Mmmmm… was blood shed before his end?

Pirate 2: Yeah. My partner here has… quite the way with knives.

Ridley: Do tell.

Pirate 1: Slashed his wrists. Those arteries gush lots of blood from humans. And we started pulling teeth when he lied.

Ridley: Delicious. You have escaped capital punishment, but you will still be serving as guards for the Metroid containment units. For further forgiveness, you will need to be more creative with your implements. I find Revine’s death, by your account, to be quite dull. Your are dismissed, unless you wish to enlighten me further.

Day 2: Fiery

Scan of Pipe System in Norfair

“These pipes appear be delivering superheated magma into the Norfair region. Given the proximity to Ridley’s personal quarters, likely explanations include terraforming the area for Ridley’s own comfortability, additional protective measures, or the intentional destruction of Chozo artifacts not deemed useful. The latter is most likely, as the immediate area was once a Chozo burial tomb. It is now completely submerged in magma, disintegrating much of the artifacts within.”

Day 3: Winged

Scan of SA-X Mutations

“This X-Parasite copy has suffered some form of destabilization of its copying abilities. Abnormalities include a malformed, beak like structure around the mouth, several atrophied fingers, several hypertrophied fingers, small patches of feathers, and an extraneous structure protruding from its back resembling a Chozo wing bereft of feathers. These unusual deformities could be the result of DNA infusions during childhood complicating the process of anatomical replication within X-Parasite offspring. This individual seems to suffer great stress from its predicament, but it is unsafe to assume that its combat functionality is greatly hampered. Adaptation is this species’s main trait.”

Day 4: Pirate

Scan of Space Pirate Elite

“Subject is a member of an unknown species known only from individuals working within Ridley’s special operations group, The Revenants. This group acts as Ridley’s personal enforcers and assassins, fanatically worshipping their commander as a literal God of Death. They wield melee weapons personalized to their unique fighting styles. Each weapon is charged with electricity, giving them an additional ranged attack capability. They have operated since before the Galactic Federation, making a name for themselves in fighting Chozo warriors. Their endurance, agility, and strength cannot be overstated, in spite of their gaunt appearance.”

Day 5: Mecha

Scan of automaton codenamed Mecha Ridley

“Subject is a battle ready drone, seemingly created by Ridley’s fanatical special forces, the Revenants. Mecha Ridley is heavily weaponized, as there could be no altar to the God of Death without the ability to take a life. Weapons include flamethrowers, guided munition launchers, and superheated claws. Mecha Ridley’s armor is highly durable, but greatly hampers mobility compared to its inspiration. Additionally, as a cult idol of worship, advanced artificial intelligence was not prioritized during production. Mecha Ridley displays average combat intellect for a war drone. Recommend staying moving and outsmarting the automaton.”

Day 6: Fang

Scan of Rundas’s Necklace

“Rundas appears to have begun collecting Metroid Fangs as trophies since last he was approached. Assuming one fang was taken from each Metroid he has eliminated, he has defeated 15 Metroids in the two months since he was last seen. Unfortunately, his ego has grown with his kill count.”

Day 7: Cunning

Scan of Abandoned Home

“Old Bird and Grey Voice’s abandoned home has been left mostly in tact, minus the usual signs of neglect. However, there appear to be a plethora of traps lain around the home. Various grapple snares have been detected, alongside explosive charges, beam emitters, and microphones. Much of these systems appear to be inert, and once reported directly to Mother Brain. It is clear she anticipated you might return here before confronting her. Given her destruction, several trap systems remain completely dormant. Still, any approach must be made with great caution.”

#metroid #samus aran #chozo #metroid prime #metroid au #ridley metroid #fanfic #old bird #grey voice #Rundas #Metroid Prime 3 #metroid fusion #sa x #x-parasites #mother brain #space pirates #maytroid #Maytroid 2024

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sallymew4 · 2 years

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hiii here are some doodlessss ignore the minor grammar mistake on that one bit lol

i finally drew Lefty so im gonna dump some headcanons here [along with some Pippit and Wolfie headcanons hehe]

ok so Lefty is afro-czech, in its 20s probs, genderqueer, and uses it/its pronouns. it shows its love and feelings through flowers because its really knowledgeable on em, and uses asl because of apraxia causing its muteness. also i believe in vegan Lefty that is so real

Pippit is albino chinese [like Puppet cuz of the copy thing], demigender, cupioromantic, and uses they/them pronouns, has parkinson's disease and sialorrhea. the malformation of their eyes, however, is completely from their father's [FT. Freddy] meddling. also, im unsure what the exact name is but they use the canes that attach to your wrist to help support you !! also also, i headcanon them as like 17 because their arc is kinda teen angst and stuff lol

Lefty sibling adopts Pippit because it can relate to them a lot but Pippit has no clue lol

Wolfie [tw for gore, in relation to the image, maybe ?? its not very realistic though so idk] is brazilian with vitiligo, nonbinary [ok with terms like 'son' though, canonically 16 im pretty sure, and uses he/him pronouns. he used magic for his top surgery cuz i think the idea is neat. also autism and adhd mwahaha

also technically Wolfie and Pippit are step-siblings given they are both FT. Freddy's 'children'. split by timelines, how sad

sorry for not drawing Wolfie's wings btw i was not in the mood :¬(

#the oddities roleplay #tor #minecraft fnaf #mc fnaf #tor puppet #mc fnaf twisted wolf #tor lefty #tor pippit

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bogleech · 2 years

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I think some of you have no idea what the Slimer craze was like in the 80′s or even that there was one. He was absolutely everywhere. His face could sell anything. The Ghostbusters cartoon started out serious and had Slimer as just a minor sidekick but kids loved him so much that the network kept mandating more and more Slimer until eventually it evolved into just the Slimer show, literally its final incarnation was only called “Slimer!” and it was the ghostbusters who were a (now goofier) background presence.

And it’s hilarious because he is objectively such a horrible horrible thing. Yes children love horror and monsters and all but Slimer’s marketing completely REMOVED him from all that. He was not sold to us little 80′s kids as something edgy-gross, he was pushed as something cutesy and wholesome and treated in those later cartoons like he was a child.

I just think that’s really funny both in and out of his canon. A man died, and his soul degenerated into a malformed oozing blob motivated by pure hunger. He barely remembers how to be human and can barely communicate. Everybody thinks this is very funny and they love him, the end.

#cartoons #horror #ghostbusters #slimer

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starfleet-jelly · 3 years

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Some Vulcan Headcanons

They have like no base in canon just things I thought about Vulcans most of them don’t have evidence either. Most of my Vulcan fanfics will probably be based off these headcanons, I’ll be adding and editing this post whenever I feel differently or think of new things~ 💕

* Vulcans can outrun humans with speed, however humans can outrun Vulcans by distance.

* Vulcans are better climbers

* Vulcans have death grips. Once they have you, it’s gonna be difficult to get away.

* They have slightly longer fingers, better for climbing!

* Vulcans can’t jump as high as a human can, however, it isn’t by much, a couple inches at most.

* Vulcans eat a lot more than they are shown. Even though they have slow metabolisms they have dense muscles that need lots of protein, luckily there are lots of high protein grains and vegetables on Vulcan.

* Ancient Vulcans were cave dwellers. The caves provided protections of predators and kept them cooler in the extreme heat of Vulcan.

* Due to the fact that the seas are small and in few numbers on Vulcan, most Vulcans cannot swim, however, in coastal towns, more of them have the knowledge on how to swim, but it seems most Vulcans still prefer to not to go for a dip. There is always the odd duck who loves to swim though.

* Before sonic showers, Vulcan use small bucks of water with a rag, or more commonly sand to bathe with

* Because of their muscles and flexibility, Vulcans don’t take a lot of fall damage, even a Vulcan child could fall from the a height that would easily kill a human and walk away with minor injuries

* Vulcan have very strong leg bones and muscles because of the slightly higher gravity than Earth

* Vulcans in the north prefer spicier food while people in the south prefer food with little, if any, spice. Humans to try the food are often stuck with something that seems boring to them, or just downright painful from the spice

* Because of their telepathic abilities, Vulcan babies need a lot of skin contact in their first few months after birth. It is not uncommon for a Vulcan mother or father to carry their infant child to their bare chest, even in public, usually tucked into their robes

* Because Vulcans are touch telepaths children get a sense of calm from their parents when they are in contact but also form familiar bonds, lack of touch can lead to malformation and damage to new neural networks in the infants brain

* Vulcan toddlers are volatile, they have yet to master their emotions and tend to throw fits over many things. Skin contact, such as hugging, holding and cuddling, from their parents usually calms them down. It’s common for children from ages 0-5 to sleep in their parent’s bed as they need near constant contact. During this time Vulcan parents begin to tech meditative practices such as hymns and monturas. As Vulcan children grow older, parents will begin to slowly step away from skin contact in exchange for led meditations

* On Vulcan, it is common practice for one of the parents to stay home and raise the child or children, however, if one of the parent die, close family such as grandparents or aunts and uncles will also help take care of the child or children.

* Young Vulcan children (5-12) do not completely suppress their emotions, they do however learn not to express them. Bullying, fighting, and rebellious behavior is not uncommon for this age group.

* For older Vulcan children (between 13-25) who have difficulty controlling their emotions, even with led meditations, the child is usually sent to a monastery for education.

* Vulcans aren’t fully mature until after the age of 30.

* Vulcans usually don’t experience Pon Farr until after the age of 30, usually between 30-35, but there has been some outliers. Some Vulcans can go through Pon Farr as early as 26 and as old as 40, but this is uncommon and usually means there is a health problem.

* Both male and female Vulcans go through Pon Farr.

* I don’t care what anyone tells me, Vulcans do and will have sex outside of Pon Farr.

* Vulcan ear shape is hereditary. The more curved ears you see on Spock, Sarek, Taurik are less common than the flat ears you see on T’Pol and Tuvok

* Vulcans with light colored eyes tend to have bad vision and worsens with age. They tend to spend more time inside because the sun can be unbearable at times. But Vulcans with light colored eyes can see in the dark better than Vulcans with dark colored eyes. Light colored eyes was a mutation that only accrued after urbanization of Vulcan.

* Vulcans are cold to the touch, like someone who has been outside without a coat in winter. Because they’re naturally cooler Vulcans don’t need to sweat to keep cool. If ancient Vulcans got too hot they could move into caves to cool down.

* Young Vulcans (under the age of 10) and old Vulcans (over the age of 130) have a difficult time keeping warm. On modern Vulcan it is fixed with indoor heating and cooling.

* Vulcan has many hot springs, most of which are underground, and are popular. However most tourists, such a humans, cannot use them as most are too hot.

* Vulcans have two different types of robes. Robes they wear during the day that keep them cool, and robes for night to keep them warm.

* The silk that Vulcans robes are made of are actually from a plant. The plant produces a silk like substance that is sticky to prevent animals from eating it. It’s very strong and ancient Vulcans scrapped the silk from the plants and ate them. Modern day Vulcans grow these plants near the seas in the north and far south near the pole.

* Other Vulcan clothing is made from wool from an animal that is similar to sheep and alpaca. Their wool is usually use to make evening wear. The wool also used in the making of blankets, pillows, and rugs

* The soles of Vulcans shoes are usually made from a hard woody root, which were better for walking on rock. Vulcan shoes can also be made from a type grass that is common on Vulcan, which are better for walking in sand. Shoes for military are made from rubber.

* The reason why Vulcans in tos have all kind of different hair styles is because at that time period Vulcan youth wanted to rebel against common standers, it’s also why T’Pring did not wear a traditional Vulcan wedding dress.

* It’s common for Vulcan women to cover their hair, whether it be long or short. Not only does it keep their hair clean from sand but it also protects their head from the sun.

* There is actually a wide variety of fashion on Vulcan, differing types of robes, dresses, and suits. Most common colors are usually neutrals but silvers, blues, purples, and greens are common in the south while golds, reds, oranges, and yellows are more common in the north.

* The common Vulcan bowlcut, humans call it, is more common in the government and military of Vulcan. The short hair is easy to maintain and keep care of. Many Vulcan citizens has varying hairstyles and most depend on what region they live in. It is not uncommon for Vulcan men and women to have long hair, especially if they do not work in manual labor.

* Most Vulcan men shave their faces. There are many reasons for it, such as, it’s cleaner, easier to maintain, keeps them cooler, and it looks more professional.

* When it comes to body hair, it is 50/50 on who shaves. The area around the reproductive organs are usually maintained but not shaved, as for legs, arms, and under arms, some areas it is more common to save than others. Young Vulcan men usually shave their chest, but as they get older is more uncommon.

* Vulcan women have on occasion worn makeup. Buying makeup on Vulcan is uncommon, many women on Vulcan grow plants that can be use for make up such as flowers that can be ground for lipstick or a crushed leaf for rouge. These plants usually have other uses such as medical or as food.

* Sehlats are not the only pets Vulcans keep. They also keep small rodents and occasionally a ferret like animal too.

* Vulcan pet names are usually old Vulcan names no one uses anymore or names of monsters or animals from ancient Vulcan literature.

* Sehlats aren’t fed meat, but instead high protein grain and vegetables and eggs. Sehlats are naturally omnivores but the need for meat was bred out of thousands of years.

#Vulcans #star trek #Vulcan headcanons #star trek headcanon #Spock #t’pol #Soval #t’pring #Tuvok #vorik #sorry for tagging random Vulcans this applies to them too doesn’t it?

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 3 years

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Dsmp disability/neurodivergence hcs pog

(Obviously all to do with the characters, not the content creators!)

To start with, the characters with disabled/neurodivergent actors have the same disabilities/neurodivergences- George is colourblind, Tubbo is dyslexic, Wilbur is probably autistic, Dream, Techno, Eret, and Karl have ADHD, ect (in case I forgot anyone lol.)

Callahan is entirely mute due to unknown causes. While all of the original eight and a couple more people on the server know sign language, he primarily communicates with writing in the server's group chat.

Ponk is missing three of her limbs- both of her legs entirely and her arm up to the elbow. He has redstone and gold prosthetics in similar colours to his mask.

Fundy's developed some pretty bad anxiety ever since the Final Control Room.

JSchlatt suffered severe substance abuse issues, along with atrophying muscles.

Eret's cloudy white eyes, while mostly stemming from their descendance from ghosts, does leave them with very light sensitive and slightly blurry eyes. That’s another reason he wears sunglasses, apart from hiding his eyes, to reduce the pain of sunlight.

Jack Manifold lost his tail during his second canon death making it very hard for him to balance (I draw him as a wolf hybrid btw before you wonder). After coming back as a hellhound his firey tails do a bit to help but he’s also left with constant minor chronic pain, along with feeling constantly freezing cold despite feeling fever-warm to the touch.

Along with the obvious amnesia, dying in the explosion in El Rapids left Karl partially deaf, which he talks even louder than before to try and compensate.

HBomb has addiction issues with alcohol.

Ever since his revival with the totem, Technoblade's had frequent headaches and hypersensitivity to touches to his head.

Along with his severe allergies to water and amnesia, Ranboo is autistic (mostly because I like him and I WILL self project onto all my faves bby).

Those behind the cut- an extra warning for fairly graphic descriptions of torture, abuse, injury, and death!

Due to Quackity’s torture, Dream is missing an arm above the elbow. He’s also had most of his claws/teeth removed or damaged, making it very hard for him to move or eat. He’s partially blind, due to having an eye ripped out, and is partially deaf due to having an ear torn off in addition to many, many blows to the head.

Tommy's autistic and ADHD (shut up let me project on this character). He’s also got PTSD and depression. His first death in the Final Control Room permanently crippled his leg, requiring him to wear a leg brace, and his second death having an arrow through his skull left him with frequent migraines. The Glasgow Grin I always draw him with after Exile makes it hard for him to eat or speak, and he very frequently pops off the stitches- he carries a needle and thread with him at all times to help with this. It’s also part of the reason he’s so fond of gapples- their healing properties numb the pain when they touch his mouth. After his revival, he’s hyper mobile- with his limbs that were broken in his death bending at weird angles- and has severe chronic pain due to his injuries never healing (meaning he’s got really bad bruises and cuts over all his body). His wings are atrophied and have been from “birth”, being malformed under the heavy feathers and not even enough to glide with.

Tubbo's got burn scars primarily covering his arms and half his face- he raised his arms to block the first firework but the blast almost completely destroyed his arms and the second blast hit the side of his face directly- but cover basically his entire body. They never healed over properly and get damaged or infected very easily. One of his eyes was so badly damaged in the blast it’s completely blind and clouded over. One of his horns was also destroyed to the base, and its incredibly painful when touched. Tubbo's also developed some issues with substance abuse- mostly alcoholism, though at a MUCH lighter level than Schlatt. He’s also obviously got PTSD and anxiety, ect.

Wilbur Soot always struggled with depression and paranoid tendencies, which worsened as the series went on along with the trauma from the Final Control Room. His wings were damaged by his second canon death, leaving one of them so badly damaged he can no longer glide with them. He developed substance abuse issues, mostly with smoking but also vaping and alcohol. One of his arms was destroyed by the blast of L'Manburg, and this carried over to Ghostbur (with Revivebur, its where his arm bleeds and where I draw his mechanical arm). Ghostbur had severe amnesia, in addition.

Quackity is partially blind in one of his eyes, where Techno drove a pickaxe through. It’s clouded over but he can see out of it a bit. The side of his mouth on the same side is paralysed in its position too, due to again having a pickaxe brutally shoved through it. He also has some substance abuse issues- he did found the cartel, after all!

Philza is autistic (am I making the whole sbi family autistic because I’m autistic and I like them? Yes and you can’t stop me). Obviously the explosion damaged his wings- absolutely tottering them, making them unable to fly or even glide along with making every touch to them very painful, though he still refuses to get them amputated even if it’d probably be the wiser decision- it also damaged the side of his face and his destroyed his eye closest to the blast, revealing that under his skin is just a void of stars.

#dream smp #dsmp headcanons #dsmp #dream smp headcanons #disablity headcanons #neurodivergent headcanons #tw substance abuse mention #tw missing limbs mention #tw chronic pain mention #tw scar mention #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw death #tw child death #tw murder #tw child murder

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novantinuum · 5 years

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Shattering Atlas (a corrupted!Steven one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (TW: depression and body horror)

Words: 4.2K~

Summary: A boy can only carry an entire galaxy upon his back for so long before the weight of it all finally becomes too much.

Folks, here it is! I’m finally finished. AO3 link to be posted in the reblogs.

Disclaimer: This is absolutely far darker and more drastic than I believe canon would EVER tread if this theory had the faintest chance of being anywhere close to the truth, but sometimes you just feel like being super angsty for angst's sake, y'feel? It was an interesting writing experiment nonetheless. Not gonna lie, this is kinda a vent piece. Please do heed those tags. This delves into some difficult territory both mentally and otherwise, as it's written entirely from Steven's POV.

_____

Steven knows he’s messed-up.

It’s not something he tries to advertise to all the sweet, innocent people who somehow after all this time still choose to stand by his side, but he can’t lie to himself. Spending a significant chunk of your childhood actively doubting your own personhood shatters you in ways no amount of unconditional love can ever hope to mend. And sure, he’s not his mom. He knows that. Been there, had the mental breakdown, seen it, done it. The proof’s in his gem half. He knows. But as much as everyone in his life coddles him, gently tries to reassure him while he tirelessly works day and night to realign the foundation of an entire ancient civilization...

“You’re almost an adult now, isn’t that exciting?”

“Don’t worry about the future, the futures I see for you are as limitless as they are bright.”

“Take a break if you need to, ‘kay? You totally deserve one, little man.”

“Y’know, Schtu-ball, the wonderful thing about adulthood is that you can choose to fly wherever the wind takes you!”

...it’s clear none of that matters anyways. Because it’s not true, not for him. Because beyond his identity as a Crystal Gem, beyond that bottomless desire for belonging he’s been chasing all his life, ever since the fateful moment early in his childhood in which he finally realized— small, pudgy hands clutching at the oversized hand-me-down shirt right over the pink hand-me-down gem in his belly— that he isn’t like anyone else and never will be, the truth is that he genuinely doesn’t know what he wants. Who he is.

Everyone else does.

Connie has plans. Hopes, dreams. A future. She’s already thinking about college, and aims on double majoring in political science and environmental science. (A combination only she’s daring enough to pursue, but if anyone’s got the drive to succeed in that it’s her.) Dad’s still manager for Sadie Killer and the Suspects, and they’re going strong. Amethyst has been playing tour guide to all her fellow Prime sisters lately, galavanting with them all around planet Earth. Garnet is currently on the search for terrified cross-fusion Gems still in hiding across the galaxy. Pearl, Bismuth, and a number of the boardies have spearheaded a campaign to help slowly teach and integrate the humans of the Zoo into modern day society. Lapis and Peridot recently built another barn in the outskirts of Little Homeworld, and are enjoying each other’s company.

But him? When all is said and done, as the restructured Gem society stabilizes and soon no one will need him for anything anymore, when Gems and humans alike stop knocking on his metaphoric door with handfuls of their problems for him to drop everything and solve, he has nothing left. He’s no one. No future, no clue. He’s been drained empty.

He’s just drifting through life with the parking break on, continuously waiting— his nerves jittering at every quiet moment— for the next big crisis to crash into his universe and drop feed him even the tinniest shard of purpose.

After all, what is one to do when they’ve spent their entire life training to save the world, but the world has already been saved?

_____

He can’t recall exactly when his current predicament began anymore.

Time’s been hard to keep track of as of late— the days and weeks blending together in an incomprehensible fashion— and yet simultaneously, he might as well have lived a lifetime in the span of the blink of an eye. That being said, he’s pretty sure his most recent gem troubles didn’t truly kick into gear until after the incident with the, erm... cactus monstrosities.

He genuinely didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he didn’t. He only wanted to help... to heal. To try and repair but a shred of the damage Homeworld wrought on this innocent world. It worked when Earth was poisoned, so it should work in the Kindergartens too, right?

Wrong. Very wrong.

His stomach churns as he catches a glimpse of a silly photo of Peridot and himself hanging on the wall by the stairs. A static monument to his shame. Lapis is (still, days later— or is it weeks?) taking care of her gemstone at this very moment, sure, but remembering what happened before that... holding Peridot’s cracked gem in his quivering hands, biting back cries of hopelessness as he ran to the nearest warp pad, escaping from the malformed, hurting creatures born of his own magic... it‘s the kind of horror that he’s sure will linger in his dreams for a long time yet.

It’s like he’s broken. Like his powers just aren’t coming as naturally to him anymore. It’s not quite like that time with the rejuvenator. There’s no sickly glow flickering in and out of existence. No external force acting upon it. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s not a gem sourced problem, it’s him. He’s just... wrong. He’ll try to use his healing ability and it’ll backfire, he’ll summon his bubbles and shields but they’re noticeably less durable, he’ll birth life from his very soul and it’ll grow bitter and corrupt, every bit a mirror of his present mental state. He’ll jump up high in the sky to burn out years of repressed stress in semi-peace and before he can actually do so gravity will grab ahold of him like he’s a petulant, disobedient child and drag him back to the shore. It makes him want to scream, to grind his fingers into the sand so hard his knuckles go white as he sobs out every last one of his stupid, meaningless frustrations, but instead his house is always swarming with people, and his bedroom has no real door, (and he’s too embarrassed to ask for one), and in sum he can never find enough time alone to freely be his genuine messed-up self. It’s fine, though. He doubts he’s capable of crying at this point anyways.

“Dude, you okay?” Amethyst asks with brows furrowed in concern, snapping him back to reality.

His GameStation controller rests precariously in his loose grasp, entirely forgotten in the previous moment. The game they’re playing is paused. He must have blanked out again, and completely ruined their co-op fight. He lets out a shaky breath as he tightens his fingers around the plastic grips, digging into them as if they’re his sole handle on reality.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says swiftly, plastering a smile on his face with the ease of someone who’s been growing adept at this endless charade for months and months. “Didn’t sleep too well last night. Muscle cramps from training, y’know?”

He watches her closely, catalogues every minute shift in her features. Her eyes narrow so slightly that anyone else might’ve missed it. But he doesn’t. He’s observant. He’s gotta be. It’s the only way he’s kept going for this long, the only way he can ensure no one else knows. They don’t need any more worry. Regardless, Amethyst’s lack of subtlety betrays her, because it’s clear she’s searching his expression and body language right back. His chest pounds. Hastily, he holds up the controller, feeling his face go pale under her scrutiny.

Geeze, how pathetic.

No matter how hard he tries to mask it, he‘s already falling apart.

“So... we gonna play another round, or?” Right as he says this, his stomach chooses to let out an inopportune gurgle. He bites at the insides of his cheeks, inwardly cursing at the bad timing.

It’s thankfully enough to divert Amethyst’s attention from... other matters, though.

“Yo. Ste-man. Your stomach’s straight up monologuing. Have you even eaten today?”

He dimly considers this as he tries not to focus on how empty and faint his body currently feels, mind turning to fuzz. “Uhh...”

She frowns, and promptly pulls herself to her feet. “Yeah, so I’m gonna take that as a no. I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Gonna get us some cheese!” she declares bombastically, putting on a mock announcer voice.

He watches her leave his room, prancing downstairs like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A faint huff of sheer relief passes through his nostrils. Absentmindedly, his thumbs jiggle the controller’s joystick, unable to strike the earlier image of Amethyst— concern engulfing her usually carefree self— from his mind. He really should be more careful about what he says. How he acts.

He honestly couldn’t live with himself if he slipped up and became yet another emotionally taxing problem for them to deal with. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl... all his family, his friends. They deserve peace. They deserve to be satisfied, they deserve their happily ever after. They certainly don’t deserve him, self-destructing all over the bright and shining future they’d won.

Or nearly shattering them.

Putting them in needless danger, danger that’s all his fault, because he’s broken.

His throat grows tight, airway constricted, images of black beady eyes, razor sharp fangs, and malformed limbs invading his thoughts, clawing away at insecurities long scabbed over until they ooze a bitter red. Peridot’s shrill yelp as she’s overtaken in an instant. That dreadful, immediately recognizable sound, a cracking Gem, seared onto his heart for the rest of time.

He... he can’t deny it anymore. His magic’s gone toxic. He’s toxic, bringing suffering and decay where once he brought healing. All his Gem powers are fading, maybe forever. And with them fading, he’ll soon be of no use to anyone, and when they realize why they faded they won’t want him around anyways, and y’know, it’s probably for the better they’ll have a concrete reason to finally push him away. He’s not stupid. He’s always known what an emotionally taxing strain he’s been on everyone, ever since the day Mom died for him to be born.

Steven grips the controller so hard that his fingers grow numb, mind stewing in the dark fantasies of what he’d like to do with himself when he’s left behind for good.

And then... his heart leaps in his throat as he dimly hears Amethyst begin to whisper to the others (they’re back? They’re back?? When did they return, why didn’t you notice them, how could you just miss—) downstairs.

“Y’guys,” he hears her say frantically, under her breath, “I think we really gotta talk with Steven. Something’s seriously wrong, and he won’t tell me what.”

“What, you mean to say he’s in danger? Garnet, do you see anything?”

“Hmm. I don’t foresee any external threats to Steven’s safety in the near future, but...”

“Amethyst, he’s clearly still upset about Peridot. And once she reforms in a few days, when she’s ready, he’ll be fine! Trust me.“

“No, trust me, I genuinely think this is more than just Peridot! It’s getting me super worried. He hasn’t been eating like he should, y’guys. I don’t think he’s showered in days. Sometimes it’s like he’s... I dunno, like, he isn’t even fully present. And y’know, thinking about it now? It’s been like this for a while. Since before all the cactus stuff.”

“Well, if he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not sure how we could—“

“We need to call Greg over,” Garnet interrupts Pearl, a new, thinly veiled panic rising in her voice. “Right now.”

His eyes stretch open wide.

Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no... Not here, not now, not— please, not now!

His breath hastens, his body outright shaking now. He curls tight into himself, the game controller dropping from his slackened fingers onto the floor as he clutches his knees to his chest. Sweat beads in droplets on his forehead. He outright yanks at his hair.

Amethyst, she can’t just waltz downstairs and!—

I don’t want to—

Peridot, getting cracked, I- it’s all my fault and she didn’t—

I- all of this- I’m so useless, careless, l- I’m losing my mind, what’s even wrong- why are you panicking!- I don’t—

T-they can’t know, they can’t know, they CAN’T—

He can’t fully bite back his cries as his gem flares burning hot, a rush of pure, unadulterated agony spiking through his hard light veins in an indescribably eternal split-second, the very experience of hypocrisy. Every single muscle in his body seizes. His ears ring, filled with a cacophonous clamor of sound that slashes through his mind with the deadly force of a long blade. Crippling. Debilitating. All-consuming. Hell. This is hell. Because then his head is pounding, and his limbs are all weak and shaky, and for a moment he’s bathed in a faint wash of pink, the glow enveloping him like his own corona of sickness as he succumbs to the pain he’s sequestered inside, bitterly festering for all these years.

Hell eventually recedes, both its note and its physical touch, but the dark clouds looming over his mind do not. Slowly, he loosens his grip on his curls, trying desperately to bring balance to his breathing. His ears are still ringing. His head is still cotton. Questions abound. For instance: what on Earth was that?? Stars, is something else wrong with his gem now, too? Thoroughly disorientated, he yanks up the hem of his shirt.

“Steven?!” Pearl calls frantically from downstairs, right as his trembling fingers gently trace the exposed facets of his gem. “Are you okay up there?”

He squints, features compressing in his sheer confusion. Visually, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. No imperfections, no flickering light, nothing. So then what’s—

“Hey, Steven? Yo?? You, uh- maybe wanna come eat downstairs, or?”

A shudder runs clear through his form, starting from his gem and coursing outwards to the furthest extremities. He grits his teeth as he rides through the stabbing discomfort, clutching at his stomach. It’s like he’s about to vomit. Sure, so maybe he was really hungry before, and maybe that has a little to do with what he’s experiencing now, but... this... still doesn’t feel right. Spots swim in his vision as he glances down again.

And that’s when he sees it, slowly creeping across the skin of his bare forearm as clear as day.

It’s a patch of dull, pinkish hide. Not human skin, hide. He runs his index finger along its perimeter, all of reality screeching to a halt as his brain performs somersaults in a desperate last-ditch attempt to contextualize the information his eyes are sending him right now.

“What?” he whispers in disbelief, (even though he has a few terrifying theories), frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

“I’m checking on him,” Garnet says, just loud enough that he knows for certain she intends him to hear. Solid footsteps creep across the floorboards, advancing towards the foot of the stairs.

It’s frankly impressive how fast a single stimulus can turn panic to outright paranoia.

He almost trips over himself diving to retrieve his jacket off the floor, forcing his arms through the sleeves faster than any of the Gems could ever summon their weapons. Hide it. Hide it away. They can’t see you, they can’t know you’re corru- NO! Stop.

Bathroom. He needs to get to the bathroom.

His bare feet solidly connect with the floor, toes curling inwards as he shudders again. A pulsing ache settles into the bones of his skull. Then a prickle at his neck. Reflexively, he slaps his hand against the affected locale. There’s another spot steadily growing there.

Alone, NOW.

The whole world’s spinning as he turns on his heels and flies across the length of his bedroom— sprinting past the TV, shoving past Garnet, who’s already halfway up the open stairwell, and leaping clear over the couch from midway down the last set of steps. (Everyone’s shouting in blind panic as he enters their sight. Fear. Needless, unwanted worry. Calling his name, calling for peace, but his ears are still ringing and their voices are overlapping and he can’t distinguish any of it.) When he reaches the bathroom his hand grips the knob so hard that the metal almost crumples under his force, and he swings himself through the doorway, slams it shut, and turns the lock with pink-splotched fingers faster than any one of the Gems can move to stop him.

For a split moment, things are okay. He’s alone. Moreover, he’s safe.

(But are you really?)

His head is pounding again, the pulsing at his temples soon coalescing into a constant inescapable misery. Letting his eyes flutter shut, he lets his forehead lull against the door. Flexes his knuckles, imagines the splotches disappearing from sight as easily as eye bags under makeup. He tries to calm his breathing in the meditative way Garnet once showed him. In for four counts... and out. In... and out. Come on, just ride it out, Universe. You’re a Gem- a diamond, for cripe’s sake! Control it. Conceal. Move on.

“Steven?!” Amethyst calls from outside. “Please talk to us, what’s goin’ on?”

"Whatever it is, you don't have to be alone!" Pearl adds. He doesn't even have to see her face to know that she's crying.

A renewed burst of panic spikes through his veins at this realization.

“Stop worrying about me, I’m fine!” he bites back on impulse.

“No, you’re NOT!” Amethyst hollers, and then... after a thoughtful pause, her tone softening: “I- I know you’re not.”

He stares down at his hands, brows threading together, watching as the patch of hide continues to inch across his skin. The genuine concern interlaced in every syllable of her speech is enough to make his gut churn with guilt.

“Steven, I... stars, I know you probably overheard me talking to everyone jus’ a second ago, and I know I probably betrayed every scrap of trust we ever had ‘coz of that, and I wanna say I’m sorry, but I can’t just stand aside and watch you treat yourself like garbage. Please, the door’s jammed. Let us in. We just wanna help!”

His lip quivers, despite himself. “I don’t need any help!” he insists, stubbornly pushing past the crack in his voice. “I’m just—“

He’s interrupted by a rush of crippling agony radiating upwards from his gem once more, the ache at either side of his head intensifying into three points. Hands rush to the site on automatic. Fingers grasping, searching. Discovering.

There’s something growing at his temples, he realizes with a rush of horror. Something hard, faceted. Disturbingly cold to the touch.

There’s no way to bite back his screams as the growths fully protrude, none at all, even with his mouth clamped shut, and even though he can’t see them he can sense their weight as they wind upwards and back, up and out of his curls, and he’s shaking, oh stars is he shaking, chest heaving up and down so hard he’s not sure he’ll ever be free of these awful tremors ever again, and— A hoarse sob forces its way to the surface as a third growth crowns his forehead. Trembling fingers scrape down the length of the door as he collapses to his knees, nails sharpening into gnarled talons as they sink further and further into the wood, carving through it like butter. He clenches his jaw back together so hard that with any greater pressure he might shatter his own teeth.

Still quite woozy under the threat of hyperventilation, he slowly turns his head. Extricates those dreadful claws from the door. Dares himself to look. Forcing himself back up to his feet, he gazes deep into the depths of the mirror. And as the creature trapped on the other side stares back through sickeningly pink irises— blotches of color steadily creeping up their jawline and across their cheek, inching to meet the base of those glistening crystalline horns— all known reality shatters into smithereens.

Not me, not me, not me, is the mantra he chants to himself like a prayer, stubbornly clinging to any vestige of normalcy as if this is all but a vivid nightmare he can stir awake from.

(As if deep down, a tiny, beaten-down part of himself still wants to believe he deserves a future too.)

But the darkness reflected in that mirror is following his every jerky, erratic movement as all the despair and guilt and self-hatred festering within continues to consume him like a matchstick to fire.

Not real. It’s not real! I don’t need help. I don’t need the Gems, they don’t need to know, I’m fine, I’m FINE, this isn’t corru - NO, DON’T THINK ABOUT IT! YOU CAN’T—

They’re yelling outside. Arguing, probably. (And true to form, Pearl‘s cries are the shrillest.) But he can’t be certain of anything anymore while smothered under the fog’s thickening surface, with the rest of the world relegated to mere static and stimuli. Not a word, not a clue. No way to know if it’s an argument about him or with him.

And in his mind their distress stands as yet another sign. Just another slice of proof that they truly are at their happiest without him, that his continued existence only serves as a complication. He can’t deny it anymore. He can’t lie, can’t tiptoe around the inevitable truth; like this, he’s nothing but a liability. A ticking time bomb, set to shatter everything and everyone in his path. Shaking like a leaf, he unfurls his fists, watching as the dull pink hide overtakes the last clear patches of flesh upon his misshapen, monstrous fingers.

They’re better off without you.

The passing seconds cease to exist as he convulses again, this time centralized at the base of the spinal column. He doubles over, leans into the pain. Rides it through vertebrae by vertebrae, raking his claws deep into the wood floor as a fifth limb emerges from where the spine left off, steadily lengthening— fortifying itself with jagged crystalline spikes as it grows ever longer. Its weight is entirely foreign, yet it shifts upon his slightest command. Panic overruling all logic once more, he thrashes about, the tail swinging across the bathroom counter like a whip. His toothbrush, comb, and other various toiletries he hasn't made use of in days clatter to the floor, abandoned.

R u n.

The thought rampages through his shattered soul like an avalanche. Yanks him by the horns. Consumes his mind and body like a trance. He has to escape from here, from the house, the Gems, has to run quick, before it’s too late and you can’t do anything more but wordlessly scream.

He doesn’t stop to question this impulse. Doesn’t stop to peer at that poor tortured creature in the mirror again. For a moment his claws struggle to grasp the crumpled door knob, fumbling in failure’s wake.

When he finally forces the door open, the whole world holds its breath.

Pearl’s eyes blow wide upon the no-doubt horrifying sight. Her hands fly to her mouth. “Steven?!”

Even Amethyst reacts in an adverse manner, stepping back towards the support of the wall. “Holy...” she breathes, face paling.

And just knowing he’s out here now, every gnarled, nightmarish feature exposed in front of his family like a raw nerve, makes his blotchy, spot-covered skin crawl.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME, I’m FINE!” he hollers as he sprints to the warp pad, barbed tail whipping wildly behind him. Pearl yelps in alarm as she only barely dodges its mace-like swing. Unable to hold back his sobs anymore, he collapses to his knees on the hard crystal. Coils his tail around himself by sheer instinct. Hides his face away behind arms. Hot tears spill from his eyes, vision blurring and sharpening in rhythm to the unbearable ache pounding in his head. “I’m fine,” he whispers pathetically, voice catching.

He can practically feel the vibrations through the floor as someone approaches. It’s Garnet. He doesn’t know how he knows, but it can only be her. His breath hastens against his better wishes. Can’t stop, won’t stop, can’t stop... The vision of the temple door begins to pirouette in dizzy circles around him as he arches his back, and with a sharp gasp feels something tear its way through his shirt and jacket right above his spine, all jagged and spiked and— NO! He grinds his jaw together, shrinking further into himself. Not real. It’s not real, not real, not—

“Steven,” she says in a measured tone as he heaves for air. (No, with hesitation. Fear. She’s hesitating because she’s afraid of you, she’s afraid because you’re a monster NO.) “I know you’re hurting, but I need you to take a deep breath with me, and try to calm down. Please, let us help you...”

A heart wrenchingly familiar hand reaches out to him, adorned by a ruby gem and a golden wedding band. His fingers clamp around thick, greasy curls, brushing against the horns protruding from his temples. A keening cry slips out from his mouth against his better wishes. They want to help. They only want to help...

He peeks at her through the crook of his arm, his most likely reddened, blotchy eyes meeting hers. She’s taken off her visor. She’s crying too.

For a glimmer of a second, he considers reaching out. Taking her offered hand with his own clawed one. But then...

Haven’t you been a burden enough already?

His face screws up, and his hands clench into fists.

“NO,” he shouts, slamming them down upon the warp pad. It activates, (blessedly still accessible at this early stage of corruption NO don’t think about it!!), glowing a bright cyan as he envisions where he wants to go: no particular destination in his mind but away, away, away.

After all, he already knows he’s a monster.

So... he might as well become one too.

_____

Notes:

Some days you just gotta have an entire mental breakdown and go full wyrm, y'hear?

HCs I tapped into for this fic:

After being healed, formerly cracked Gems take longer to reform than Gems who were only poofed. Peridot will be okay eventually, she just hasn’t reformed quite yet.

Steven is still able to warp because he hasn’t quite passed the threshold of corruption that prevents a Gem from accessing the warp stream. I imagine it's very much a matter of mental connection, and having the right presence of mind to tap into it. Probably a few minutes after this, if Steven were to continue going downhill and his mind fully fell into the fog of corruption, he’d no longer be able to warp. He got super lucky here.

This potential future blindsided Garnet because previously- like how Steven’s newfound maturity threw her off as discussed in Pool Hopping- she hadn’t factored in the idea of Steven being in such a low mental state. Amethyst was the first to really see past his attempts to mask it because she personally had dealt with depression like this before and knew what it looked like.

Maybe one day after SUF airs I'll write more on this topic, but as for now this will remain a one-shot. I 100% imagine Steven would ultimately be okay in this timeline, though. They'd be able to help him, stop the corruption. Steven goes to heckin' therapy. He'll live on, he'll begin to recover and cope. But that's a whole 'nother story.

Thank you for reading!

#su #su future #steven universe #corrupted steven theory #su fanfic #garnet #amethyst #pearl #su fanfiction #corrupted steven #corrupt!steven #body horror #my writing stuff #the mighty 500

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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June 2: 2x21 Patterns of Force

Took a nap after work today!! Perhaps a bad idea.

Anyway, some thoughts on the... awkward Patterns of Force.

Another story about Jim looking for his hero, I see. That never (always) ends badly.

Definitely getting an image of little Spock (teenage Spock? young adult Spock? all little Spocks) reading about Earth history.

Oh no, an armed drone. That does not bode well. Why do Kirk’s heroes always betray him?

A subcutaneous transponder. That seems like a useful device to introduce into the narrative. (Slash remember for future purposes...)

Also it reminds of me “He’s a...a... a transponster!”

Spock in a hat. I guess the Ekosians and/or Zeons don’t have pointed ears, then.

“It’s our old enemy...fascism.”

Well this guy literally was not subtle in his references to Nazi Germany. (I’m referring in universe to what’s-his-face but this also applies to the episode writer.)

“The evidence is clear... someone did interfere.”

“You look quite well for a man who’s been utterly destroyed, Mr. Spock.” This man canNOT stop flirting for one second.

Lol, using Spock to distract the Nazi.

“It’s logical to pretend to be a Nazi? Okay, I’m convinced. You said the magic word.”

“Look! I captured him!” So proud.

Kirk’s face when Spock says he would make a convincing Nazi. Bb, you’re not doing the compliment thing right. (I’ll actually be quite honest... I find the humor in that moment but it also makes me uncomfortable given both these actors are Jewish.)

That said, Kirk is canonically better at blending into undercover scenarios than Spock is. He thinks better on his feet, creatively.

How do these people NOT recognize two whole-ass aliens.

...Maybe they do.

I do like when Kirk is being interrogated and still tries to be charming..

That Nazi really lost a lot of authority after being dressed down by his superior in front of the captives.

I like this Zeon.

“The flaw in the plan is this locked door.” Thanks Spock. It’s this subtle humor that I think people often miss in him. Like where you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not.

Kirk is so smart!!! He never gets credit for being this smart.

Hmm, taking out the transponders is such a weirdly intimate scene.

The Zeon wants to be included in this adventure so much but they’re obsessed with each other, like “What Zeon?”

“I’ll be your platform, Mr. Spock.”

This is such a weirdly humorous interlude for a story about Nazis. Kind of reminds me in a way of that conversation with the police man on City on the Edge of Forever. I mean that ep was much better but just like the sudden switch in tone.

Spock’s like “Oh, that was cool. Made a laser.”

I heard Kirk say, “You, over there,” as in directing Spock to stand over there, but the subtitles say “Beautiful. Over there.” As in, “we did a beautiful job getting out, now Spock, stand over there.” But combine them...?

Not gonna get a disguise for Spock huh? Just gonna let him be shirtless a little more for no apparent reason.

Poor Zeon. These aliens are inscrutable and not letting him in on anything.

“Alien pistols.”

“Who would win? the entire military force of this planet or two phaser-less space husbands?"

I probably shouldn’t laugh every time Kirk impersonates a Nazi but I do. "Don't mind me... completely believable Nazi here..."

The unsubtle of the Hebrew names. And of course.. .Zeon.

“We’ll be just as bad as the Nazis.” No, actually, you’re not and never will be that’s not how it works. BUT you definitely should help the aliens. Like, that phrase grates because it’s usually used to refer to, like, use of violence, use of “censorship” but here’s it more about turning away people who are different or minority and so then it does make sense but....the connotations.

Spock’s like, “May I... get away from this emotion? Has enough time passed for me to ask that?”

More Nazis! Following them everywhere!

Oh, psych. Not Nazis after all.

Spock’s like “Betraying your own father, you say? I have never thought about that.”

“The Fuhrer... is an alien?” Actual real line AND a correct summation of the situation.

This ep does not paint the Federation in a great light. Although to be fair... John Gill was breaking the rules so.

Documentary corps... I love it. Great disguise. Flash lights in people’s eyes, have an excuse to stay in a group, no on looks at you. Genius.

Spock is honestly so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about EVERYTHING. He cannot be tamed. Again, really an aspect of him I miss in the reboots.

Kirk really is the captain of everyone in his vicinity.

“Think positively, Spock.”

Uhura is unflappable. “A Nazi Colonel’s uniform? Of course, Captain.”

Send him down naked if you have to!! Yes, please, send him down naked.

Spock giving McCoy detailed instructions on how to put on boots... Why was dialogue like this not in the reboots?

McCoy is so polite. Polite first, confused later. “Nice to meet you, Nazi--wait, Nazi???”

I love how McCoy immediately put on his drunk face and Spock was like, "An opportunity to insult McCoy?? Awesome.”

So I assumed the Chairman was either dumb or didn’t recognize them with their shirts on but apparently he was yet another mole, so. At least it’s not a plot hole.

“The speech has no discernible pattern or logic.” Hmmm, I wonder what it feels like to have a leader who speaks with no discernible pattern or logic?

Guys. Pals. Awful people. Did he really give orders, or did he just say random shit? People will flock to anything. I'll be honest, I actually think this is one of the subtler and better parts of this episode: how chilling it is to contemplate how people will rally around any non-speech that has the right tone and a few key words. This is garbage language. But it incites people to kill.

McCoy and his stimulants again.

Spock and his mind probing again.

Wow Spock really messed with his mind there. “He can answer questions but not otherwise speak?” What kind of crazy shit is that?

They are being so mean to Spock. “Malformed ears.” “Low forehead.” That’s not a low forehead, that’s bangs.

Nice triumivirate scene at the end. Feels good, feels organic. Kirk likes to hear his two BFFs bickering because it feels like all is right with the universe, and I agree. Nature is healing.

This episode has a very weird (and very hard to swallow imo) backstory. Like, who primarily associates the Nazis with efficiency? And even if you do, if you think there’s something to the way they put together the country so fast post-WWI, all of this “efficiency” is directly tied to hatred and violence. Like Isak said, the Ekosians have nothing to hold them together BUT hating Zeons. That's at the center of the design. It's not like Gill’s plan backfired it was just... a horrible plan?? It doesn’t even make sense to me that his “effective regime” was co-opted by one hateful person because what was at the center of the “Nazi” regime before the hatred of Zeons? What could it have been? There are no other alternatives provided. Also, even if it could have been somehow accomplished without the use of a scapegoat.. is fascism really an ideal? Like the story never reckoned with that concept at all, which I find disturbing.

Here’s the thing about Gill. He is a certain real type and I appreciate his inclusion up to a point. He’s the Naive, Hubristic Intellectual. He thinks because he’s studied something, academically, he knows more about it even than people who experienced it, and he can fix all of its problems. “I can do this, but better. I am so smart, I am so well-informed, I have no flaws.” I can even see this sort of person being someone a young Kirk would admire because there’s an optimism and idealism to this naivete. I don’t think Kirk is arrogant but he is very idealistic, and when he was a young man, still in the market for heroes, or at least idols or mentors? Yeah, someone with that kind of attitude toward life--that we can deeply understand and then improve upon history--would have appealed to him. It’s possible that Gill even was the “compassionate, gentle” person that Kirk thought, or that he had that side to him.

Where I think the episode erred is in absolving Gill of most of his guilt for this state of affairs. He does die and he does admit he was wrong, but his biggest sin is allegedly in introducing a regime that could be co-opted for evil rather than one that was inherently bad. He is literally drugged (tortured in a way), to emphasize just how non-culpable the narrative thinks he is. Also, while he does apologize for interfering at all, even this is fairly brief and not expanded upon in the rest of the narrative. The truth is he shouldn’t have interfered in general, because that’s not his place or his right, and he shouldn’t have interfered in this way specifically. Even if Malakon hadn’t risen and taken over, the ideal Gil was imposing was one of unthinking uniformity, lack of autonomy, worship of a leader over the rule law--these are not the values of the Federation, the show Star Trek, or me. But he’s used more as a device to explain why the show is so unsubtly Nazi, rather than a real villain or object lesson. Even though Gill is a much better object lesson than Malakon.

And what about Malakon? The ending presents him, literally and in so many words, as the “one evil man” responsible for all of this. I think we know both from studying history and, unfortunately, from our own times, that this is untrue because impossible. One evil person is just a lunatic ranting on the street corner. One evil leader became leader because others agreed and gave him power, or agreed in part, or made a deal with the devil, or disagreed but said nothing, or spoke but were overwhelmed. It’s a disservice to the subject matter to say that dictatorships or authoritarian regimes are that simple. I get that the episode is only 50 minutes and it needs to wrap up, and it’s simpler to say “Okay, killed the Villain, now we can go back to being Not Evil, all the Ekosians will be as happy as the Zeons because we never really wanted this.” But Hitler and his henchmen weren’t the only Nazis. Regular people--and in this context, regular Ekosians--weren’t Nazis too.

Overall, the episode was okay. Very awkward though. Very blunt. I think it would have been better off not using the Nazi symbology so literally. Like the idea that a human would come into a society and purposefully create something from our history is interesting (and “what if Earth but alien?” is certainly something TOS likes doing and finds various ways to do--like the gangsters in A Piece of the Action or Neo-Rome in Bread and Circuses or even literal Greek Gods in Who Mourns for Adonais?) but not worth it given which society was being emulated. It seemed to be too much an excuse to dig out the old WWII movie costumes (and put Jewish actors in Nazi regalia which... is very... distressing) and not so much an excuse for some kind of commentary along the lines of what I said above re: the hubris of historians, the hubris of time. That aspect leaves a bad taste. It had some good ideas but I think, again, it was hindered rather than helped by how literal it insisted (for some reason) on being. Compare it to A Private Little War, which was just about as obvious a Vietnam allegory as you can get, and yet still didn’t literally transport anyone to Vietnam, and this ep looks all the more clunky. I’m probably judging it more harshly than I have on previous viewings, but I really feel like... you can use sci fi to make a commentary on the rise of authoritarianism, but the delicacy of the subject matter requires you to be particularly thoughtful in the way you do it and the actual statements you’re making.

Anyway, the Enterprise Defeats Nazis is a good episode summary at least.

I think in my last attempt at a whole rewatch I stopped at around this point. I seem to have watched the next two episodes, according to Amazon, but I have a weird feeling I only watched one, the next one, By Any Other Name, and then stopped. I don’t remember either of them so we’ll see how that goes! Will they seem familiar or not?

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: star trek #star trek tos

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lost-eternity · 4 years

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Match Up Requests: CLOSED Please read the pinned rules before requesting

Match up for: @ happythoughtfulstarfish

Okie dokie. I match you with...

Peter Parker/Spider man!

First of all, girl, you're very pretty :). Just thought that I would say that. Right. On to the match up.

Like, from appearances alone. You two would compliment each other so well. 🥰

With heels on, you'd most likely be taller than Peter Parker.

Like. How dare you! He would do his best to one up you.

You occasionally catch him standing on his toes to try and match your height. And you look over at him like "???"

Cue mumbled excuses and awkward laughing

Then one day your heels go missing. And as you're looking around, you notice Peter is standing surprisingly tall. Upon further investigation you notice that he put on your heels.

Would this guy actually steal your own heels just to one up you? He'll, yeah he would. It's all in fun and games though and he isn't too serious about it.

But personality wise? Even better.

You are both serious nerds

It's not technically official but I head-canon that Peter Parker is a theatre nerd as well. I could just be Tom Holland seeping through but he gives off those theatre kid vibes.

You know how I mean.

He'd be wholly supportive of your hobbies. He would love to go and spontaneously buy random tickets to musicals on Broadway, even if you two don't get the best of seats.

Just be prepared to watch a lot of cult classics with him.

Like. A lot.

Especially Star Wars. You two will watch those movies so many times. And every single time he will be dramatically (poorly) mouthing the lines along with the film because let's be real- he has all of the movie scripts memorized.

He would also love to learn how to play an instrument from you. He'd be really bad at it. Honestly, he would be playing horrendously with this puppy-like jubilation that makes up entirely for his horrible pitch. It's adorable, really.

Your morals also align perfectly and that works out very well because the both of you are incredibly stubborn and steadfast in your resolve. You both strive to see the best in people, even if it puts you in jeopardy. Critics would call it gullibility. But you would be able to keep each other in check.

Sometimes.

You would be a massive headache for those in SHIELD or anyone assigned to manage you.

I can imagine Peter roping you into one of his elaborate schemes after getting hyped on caffeine and the two of you raising hell together. With the best of intentions, of course.

Like, "no. You cannot kidnap an ice cream truck and drive it to the orphanage for the kids. That is called theft and that's illegal."

"I don't care if it will make the children happy!"

You both have an incredible drive to help others. Peter's just manifests in a way that is a lot more... potentially lethal. Whereas you are content enough to simply volunteer your time.

Just. Don't ask to go with him on one of his super hero missions.

Trust me.

Peter has already lost people in his life. The poor boy would never forgive himself if he lost you as a result of his ineptitude on a mission.

Don't put him through that

Because he is awkward as well, you two would do very well to motivate each other and encourage one another to step outside of your comfort zones.

Meet to new, make new friends

Honestly, you’d be perfect together

You probably met Peter's sophomore year of College.

It's a funny story actually.

You volunteered with a charity service who was hosting a musical, "The Adams Family" The ticket revenue collected during the performances would be put to relief and conservation efforts in foreign countries.

Everything was extremely low budget. All of the cast members were volunteers and very few actually had much theatrical experience.

But you did not mind too much. You were cast to play the role of Morticia. So no complaints there!

The venue you were performing in was actually lent to you for free. It was on a college campus, and the auditorium was actually decently sized.

The previous performances went off rather smoothly. The turn-outs had been decent as well, thankfully.

It was closing night. Your final performance for the night. The audience was slowly filling into the room, that was when it happened.

One of the crewmembers on hair and makeup, completely new to the theatre environment actually asked out loud: "Wait, why can't we say 'Macbeth' again?"

Silence

Dead Silence

So quiet that the muted chatter of the audience could be heard from behind the heavy oaken doors of the female changing room.

The shit storm that followed would have been absolutely hysterical if everyone were not so panicked.

Those in the cast who actually had experience in theatre arts were whisper-shouting at the offending crewmember.

The others looked on, an expression of complete confusion plastered onto their brow

It's not like you could have sent her out to run around the entire college campus. You were on in 5.

Collectively, you all decided to let it go.

It was just a legend after all.

"We'll be fine."

At least, that is what everyone told themselves.

The night, surprisingly, went off without a hitch. There were a few technical difficulties with the lighting (the spotlight "affectionately" named Big Bertha refused to fully open its iris) and a few missed cues, but otherwise, the performance did not terribly fail as many feared.

You and the rest of the cast were now hurriedly darting back from the bathrooms after intermission. It was a frenzied sprint around the back of the building to avoid the audience catching a glimpse of you.

That was when you heard something that caused you to peel off the rest of the group.

It was this peculiar scuttling sound, followed by a darting figure.

You initially thought it was an audience member who had lost their way and turned down the winding path.

The narrow road itself was completely innocuous and actually just led to a dorm site. However, under the dark of the new moon, illuminated by few stray streetlamps, it felt kinda ominous.

Having to remind yourself that you weren't actually in a horror movie, you continued down the path towards the figure, asking him if he were all right.

Then he stepped into the flood of light from a lamp, his movements kinda janky and angled.

This "person" was not a person at all. Rather it was a humanoid beast covered completely in rippling grey fur. Like 'Cousin It' jumped right out of the play and appeared on the street. But this wasn't your cousin. You knew the little girl who played him and she was much... much shorter. This thing cleared 213 centimetres!

You wisely decided to run.

And it gave chase, scuttling after you like some malformed beast.

So here you were, still in complete costume, being chased down the street but a Cousin It lookalike and screaming your lungs out.

You didn't get really far because Morticia's sprawling mermaid dress did little to help you move your legs.

Cousin It caught up to you, a clawed appendage swiping against your ankles.

With a loud rip the dress tore and you fell. Pain flared through your elbows made contact with the grated pavement.

Rolling onto your back, you gazed up at the creature. Its purple fur glowing dimly under the backlighting of the street lamp.

For the first time you noticed its eyes, multiple gleaming plates meshed together to form one bulging eyeball, like a fly or moth. Its mangy hair, overgrown and matted, reeked with a permeating stench you can only describe as rotting eggs.

So maybe you were in a horror movie. And the horror movie was 'Mothman'... or maybe the curse of Macbeth was here and this creature was coming from retribution.

Regardless of the reason, you did not have too long to think about it as the creature took a lumbering step towards you. Then another... and a third... then it paused.

It pulled against something, like a dog heaving against its leash. But it couldn't move another step

"Stay where you are, Mothra." A trilling voice called.

Blinking, you noticed a figure perching on the top of the lamp post, hanging upside down from a glistening web. Another web was attached around the creature's waist, preventing it from advancing.

The blue and red was unmistakable.

This was spider man!

But why is he here?

Cousin it gave a roar of complaint and swiped for the spider. He nimbly dodged out of the way, laughing the entire time.

It was not long before he had Cousin It wrapped up in a thick cocoon of webbing, and was absently dialing something on his phone.

You heard him mumble something about how much of a nuisance "A-Chiltarians" were.

A-Chiltarians?

What was that supposed to be?

Spiderman seemed to notice you for the first time, and apologetically offered to escort you back to the play.

Which was practically ruined as intermission was over and no one seemed to be able to locate you

The audience was beginning to get antsy

To make up for lost time, Spider man grabbed you round your waist

Before you knew it, the two of you were flying

Swinging from tree to lamp as you glided across the ground back towards the theatre.

He dropped you off, literally dropped you, onto the stage, just in time for your next scene.

You could hardly act through the confusion of WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO ME

The rest of the night, you were understandably preoccupied

After the performance, the cast stood along the hallway, allowing the audience to meet and greet with them and pass out gifts.

A young man garnered your attention in particular

With hazel eyes and mousy hair, he introduced himself as "Peter" and handed you a bouquet of flowers

And you find yourself looking at him like "Do I know you?"

He seemed rather apologetic for whatever reason and praised your performance

Getting suspicious, especially after the events of that night, you had a feeling that he knew something he was not letting on to.

So you asked for his number.

And to your complete shock, he actually gave it

So. Over the course of one night, you were saved by the legendary spider man and got the number of a cute boy.

Maybe the curse of Macbeth is not so bad after all

#marvel #tom holland #matchups #peterparker #ship #match up #ships #ship request #matchup #matchup request #requests #shipping #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spider man x reader #marvel matchup #marvel ship #marvel match up

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vanimeldes · 5 years

Note

Hey, sorry if this question is bothering you, but can you explain why you don't like Sansa and what makes you have this opinion on her? Hope I'm not sounding like I'm attacking you and I get why you'd choose to ignore this question, but I am curious to know your opinion. Have a nice day and sorry again if I bothered you with this question.

Hey. At first I wanted to just ignore the question, because I tend to keep some of my opinions far from this blog. Then I wanted to suggest you to check my main blog, @marta-elentari , but my main blog is *dark and full of dumb shitposts*, and you asked me too nicely.

So I decided to answer here, since, after all, Tumblr is meant to be a safe space for every opinion who isn't harmful or offensive to other people. So I'll try to articulate my own personal opinion as objective and civil as I could.

So, regarding Sansa, I would lie if I would tell that the fandom didn't have a say in my perception to her, but truth to be told, I read the books long before I started to interact with the fandom and I can't say that my opinions changed as radically as I thought.

I was totally unimpressed with Sansa since her first chapter and she didn't grow on me for various reasons:

I have never been a tomboyish girl myself, I like most of the things girls like Sansa likes such as clothes and boys but I really dislike talking about these things all day long as if these are the most important thing in my life. Even in ASOS, after all she's been through, when LF builds her new identify as Alayne Stone, she still asks him if her father can be a valiant knight who died in God knows what war, and I was like ?????? After how those very knights beated her repeatedly because Joffrey told them so, she still dreams of valiant knights, and this random thought came to me more than shallow, given that, by that time, Sansa had beem through some stuff. Also, this is a personal preference, but when I want to read fantasy, I want to read about girls who, yes, kick asses and discover magic and build kingdoms or even normal, ordinary and human girls that achieve this sort of epic-fantasy greatness such as Eowyn or a sort of epic-fantasy greatness that don't involve swords, because this is possible too; I don't want to read about the same damsel in distress that I found so often in the non-fiction romance books. Neither I am saying that Sansa is a damsel, just that I percieve her as such.

I personally acknowledge her strength, I kbow I would have never been able to live with the people who killed my father, I admit she is observant and receptive; but, in the same time, I was always under the impression that she survived mostly because she was a valuable hostage. If she wasn't, she most likely would have faced the same fate as poor Jeyne Poole. But she survived in KL with her own weapons, namely the "courtesy" that she wears like an armour. Does it make me like her more? No. Not because I am a dumb mysoginist and despise everything feminine and I consider "strong female character" a woman who acts like a man and kicks asses, but because she is not the type of female character that I would root for. These were my opinion before I interacted with her fandom.

And then, her fandom happened. I am sorry for those few Sansa fans with whom I interacted and who are truly amazing people that really thought me to see things in a new light, but 95% of her stans think and act like this: if you don't like her and criticize this, you are a dumb misogyinist who doesn't understand her character, seemingly unable to understand that just because a female character is a delicate feminine girl, it doesn't mean that she doesn't have to be criticized, when critique has nothing to do with her being a girl and being a feminine girl. Casual readers note how she has a part in Ned's death and bullied Arya. Tell this to a stan and get ready for a hate tsunami, because their Sansa can do no wrong. But she can!!! It's in the books!!!!

To deny that she bullied Arya seems like you deny the mere definition of bullying. And as someone with a brother, this sort of behaviour coming from a sister is something I can't tolerate. When she told Arya that she should have been killed instead of Lady, my jaw dropped, and I wasn't impressed in a good way.

Tell them she doesn't look down at smallfolk, another thing I can't tolerate. Speaking of which, I don't dislike her because she is pretty and comes from a privileged backround. I don't dislike a female character because she is pretty and acknowledged as such. My parents aren't the wealthiest people, But they managed to offer me and my brother what we needed and I never lacked anything. I also consider myself pretty and I was told multiple times that I was pretty. Being pretty doesn't make me and shouldn't make me and anyone dislike a character. But it turns me off when being pretty is the only quality through which you managed to go on. And I always was under the impression that The Hound and LF wouldn't have saved her from shit if they hadn't had a creepy crush on her. Yes, LF uses her from his own interest blah blah blah but if You're telling me that he would have been just as interested in her, if she hadn't been pretty and looked like Catelyn, you're not convincing me. At all. Because it's not true.

And as for Ned, no one says that she is the only one responsible for his death, but to deny her involvement is to deny the canon:

Heck, the author himself explained her part in Ned's death:

And while she wasn't completely aware of the implications, her intent was pretty clear, and I was just appalled because even if I was 12, if my father told me that we have to go in secrecy and that our lives depend on it and I must keep my mouth shut, I would never betray his trust. I would know he only wanted what's best for me. I would never sell him.

She looks down at smallfolk and bastards.

She only truly thinks of Jon when she herself is forced to pose as a bastard:

Jon raised alongside her, yet she still regards her "only her half brother".

And, on top of that, She is willing to be accomplice to the poisoning of a little boy!!!!!!

And her stans are bullies. Some of them dared to talk shit about Emilia Clarke herself, calling her responsible for convincing them to make J0nerys happen and she was the culprit all along for Jon and show's treatment of Sansa?????? Ok, let's assume that Emilia had some influence over David and Daniel. Wouldn't you think it would have made more sense if she had tried to convince them NOT TO KILL OFF HER CHARACTER?????????? Just saying.

But they are so willing to twist the other characters (mostly Daenerys, but not only), just to prove that Sansa is the only valid and worthy character in this series. They were hoping for Daenerys to MISCARRY HER BABY AND DIE OR GIVE BIRTH TO A (ACTUAL QUOTE) "MALFORMED INCEST-BORN LIZARD BABY" AND DIE OR KILLED BY JON (which happened) but still......is this ok?? Is ok to wish this for a woman? Is miscarriage or a malformed baby and death in childbirth ok as ling as this put your fave in a good light?

Again, I admit that book!Sansa is not dumb or a weakling, as some people used to claim, but she's not my type of character. She has many moments when she is shallow and vain, and straight-up cruel.

But it wasn't just about Daenerys, really. I saw a lot of ugly things these people wrote about Arya just to bring Sansa up. They wanted Bran, a little boy, to die, so that Sansa become Lady of Winterfell.

Other stans cheered for Missandei's death because she DARED TO CRITICIZE SANSA, not giving a fuck that Missandei's death was just the most racist thing D&D ever did?

And then there's *that* part of the fandom, who goes to such lengths that they distort canon and the other characters just to show that Sansa is and has been the main character all along and she is the only one who suffered and she is so young but she deserves everything. Last time I checked, Jon was 15-16, so was Dany, Arya was 10-11, Bran was 8-9. They act, however, like Sansa is the only one who is young and who suffered in this series, a statements which is, in the context of a series like A Song of Ice and Fire, just - and I won't apologize for the word - dumb.

And then there were my own experiences.

A couple of months ago, I posted a fanart with Jon and Dany because I am confident Jonerys will happen in the books and it was forshadowed. This is the fanart, if you are interested:

Three stans DM me; telling me that this pic was ugly....not because it was some form of constructive criticism (which I am always open to), but because I painted Daenerys and not Sansa.

Other artists who did some Jonerys fanarts told how a Stan took her fanarts, changed Dany's hair from blonde to red, to make her Sansa. This is ART THEFT. This is the majority Sansa stans that I had the "pleasure" to interact or know about. With these sort of stans, It's really hard for me to find a reason why I should like a character.

It's long, I know. There are my reasons and hope I answered your questions.

As for the rest of you who'll see this post, I would kindly ask you to notice that this is my opinion. This is what I think and I'm not shading anyone here (apart those stans whom I interacted and were an unpleasant occurrence). Hate messages won't make me change my opinion.

#ask #anonymous #fandom opinions #anti sansa stark #only tagging this as such to avoid her stans

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lokiarsene · 5 years

Video

youtube

today’s super dramatic music post brought to you by this wardruna song that is most definitely the thematic heart of my akeshu fic, and i wanna share it because i want people to be emoTIONAL ABOUT IT WITH ME

English lyrics and a mini analysis under the Read More

The song’s title is “Joy.” Translation taken from here.

The ashes have fallen The earth grey and barren Sprouts spring from their grave Victorious they spring To their first day

I may not be big But my time on earth I shall use and I shall reach Into the blue sky Tears fall freely From joy and from sorrow For all that took place For all that gave place

For the sprout which flowers For the beating heart Tears fall freely From joy and from sorrow For all that gave place For all that took place Tears fall freely From the grey clouds

Up from the soil Rise towards the sun Pure is the feeling Joy!

Little feet Shall roam the earth Without stopping, Dancing in rings Joy!

Up from the soil Rise towards the sun Pure is the feeling Joy!

Little feet Shall roam the earth Without stopping, Dancing in rings Joy!

I may not be big But my time on earth I shall use and I shall reach Into the blue sky Tears fall freely From joy and from sorrow For all that took place For all that gave place

For the sprout which flowers For the beating heart Tears fall freely From joy and from sorrow For all that gave place For all that took place Tears fall freely From the grey clouds

“Wunjo” is a Nordic rune which are often used in heathen divination. It has several meanings, including joy, happiness, wishes, friendship/bonds, group harmony, and can also stand for their inverse (strife, sorrow, alienation, deception, betrayal).

All of these things, and thus the Wunjo rune, scream Akechi to me.

What makes the song stand out to me is that it’s sung by children and an adult. That contrasting duality (youth, age) is also present in the very concept of Wunjo, and of joy/sorrow as different emotions expressed in the same way (tears).

It is also, ultimately, a rune whose meaning is about love:

It is here we find the force of Love curing the warrior who has hate in his or her heart. Because the Northern tradition was abruptly cut short in its evolution of conceptualizing Love as a cosmic force, we have to search for ideas in the Elder tradition that would indicate its latent potential. We find this idea especially in the rune meaning of Wunjo, for Wunjo carries all the elements of Love between and among human beings. Wunjo is the rune that guides harmonizing human energies into a whole. It is the alignment of individual will with the will of the community and ultimately with the divine will.

I’m also pretty hype about the idea of Wunjo as wishing, wishes being the manifestation of one’s will (the Law of Attraction), and the dangers of cognitive distortions as Persona 5 handles them.

The art of correct ‘wishing’ is perfected by seeking your unique purpose in life and aligning your thought and action with it. It is the motivation to act upon your true will which opens the path to completing your personal purpose in this lifetime. Step by step, life by life, we fulfill our cosmic destiny. This is the essence of the Law of Attraction, and a core magic of the Northern tradition.

Laws of Attraction state that what you think of, what you believe, will manifest as true--even if they aren’t things you like or want. So for example, if you think that you have nothing but bad luck and nothing will go your way, that’s what your will manifests. The positive inverse is also true (in that if you sincerely believe that you will get what you want, then that thing will manifest in your life). While it sounds like magic stuff--and it is--it is also a way to apply the therapeutic benefits of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to treat mental illnesses.

Advocates generally combine cognitive reframing techniques with affirmations and creative visualization to replace limiting or self-destructive ("negative") thoughts with more empowered, adaptive ("positive") thoughts.

Adhering to the positive impact of Laws of Attraction can therefore be said to clear a therapy patient’s cognitive distortions through the application of cognitive restructuring.

Applied to the idea of P5′s cognitive distortion, the negative side of the Law of Attraction then becomes a malformed perspective of the truth, or a warped wish inside a person’s heart. What they want and why they want it is flawed and twisted, and must be changed, because how the person goes about manifesting it leads to harm.

... Which just makes me think of Akechi and how badly I wish they had kept his Palace in the game. I want to know what the true distortion is in his heart, and if there’s a way to heal it. I want to do for him what the PT did for Futaba, which is precisely why I’m writing Krákrgaldr to begin with, but still... Nothing quite beats canon validation.

And I’m just... so so so Here for the idea of healing the child in Akechi’s heart, the little boy who believed in justice and wanted to fight for it; the little boy who wanted to be accepted and loved; the little boy who grew up hating that he was born at all and could never think of himself as someone who deserved to live at all. I’m So Here for the idea of finding a way to bring that child through all the hurt and hate that cradled him into his young adult life, without Akechi losing his anger or his vicious, hellbent determination to make his own will and justice manifest.

And idk if P5R’s gonna find a way to do it, so I’ll have to write that in the fic myself somehow

To me, the song “Wunjo” celebrates the fine line between joy and sorrow, not as a grimdark or bitter way to show how life is without happiness, but to show that there’s a balance between them. Even something like tears comes from the same emotional wellspring (joy, sorrow) and can’t easily be separated. We express happiness and sadness in the same way (tears), and if I had time to unpack how that makes me think of the final shot of the movie Midsommar, when Dani is crying in agony and then slowly starts to smile, as well as the final tearful, sobbing smile of Laura Palmer in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, I would, but instead I just leave y’all to go look up those images yourselves.

... Although now I kinda wanna commission someone to draw Akechi scream-smiling in the Midsommar flower dress.

#mod krist #endless goro playlist #meta #galdr AU

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colorofmymindposts · 5 years

Text

Hope for the Stars

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairings: Twelfth Doctor/Missy

Warnings: Major Character Death, Alternate Ending to series 10, Major Canon Divergence, Description of a Corpse

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Status: Complete but part three of my The Doctor Falls series. Reading part one is pretty optional but I definitely recommend checking out part two before reading this.

Word Count: 2134

Chapter: 1/2.

Summary: A final goodbye between the oldest friends in the universe seems as though it's the last chapter. But with the Doctor, every end comes with a beginning.

Tags: Heavy Angst, Messy Feelings, Coping with Death, Funeral, Grieving Missy, Twelve is very dead

I don’t know if the tagging system is still messed up, but you can read this work on ao3 under my username colorofmymind! Kudos and comments will be much appreciated!

The silence is deafening, save for the intermittent low hums of the TARDIS. Her hands drift and glide over the console as she circles round it, making no effort to start for any destination. A destination would require a plan. Missy has none.

What was the original plan, exactly? Redeem herself in everyone’s eyes, and then? No more tentative friendship. Renew their pact. Midnight, with the stars and him. It had been absolutely too vague, almost totally meaningless. And yet it was something. Now, there is nothing, no friend, without hope, without witness.

“Without reward, indeed,” Missy chokes out, voice hoarse from disuse and grief, realizing now she never precisely knew what that meant until this moment. Her death at least would have allowed her to escape from the shallow, crude reality of it all. Missy makes the mistake of looking down at the Doctor’s lifeless body. The sight alone is enough for her hands to tremor, knees to buckle, eyes to water and weep openly, now that the privacy allows for it. It takes much more time than she’d like to find the lapels of his jacket, fisting them in her hands for purchase. It doesn’t do much other than prevent her from strangling him, or herself.

“You absolute imbecile!” she cries out, venom behind each word. “I would have stayed here, the Vault, anywhere you would have liked for the rest of those thousand years! Two thousand even. You’d be there at least. You’d be alive.

But we were always so impatient, weren’t we? We couldn’t keep to the confines of Gallifrey or the Vault. We just wanted the universe. I wanted you.” Those last three words fall out her mouth without her permission, and she knows full well what she communicated with them. The humans always wait, desperate for that confession, that one word: love. There isn’t even a comparable translation for it in Gallifreyan; what is the need of such a word to Time Lords? Time Lords are supposed to have two hearts that are full of nothing.

She wants to rip her hearts right out of her chest, stamp them into mincemeat under her boots, and wail with the confidence and indignity of a newborn babe until she keels over. Or maybe she could cut her hearts out, carefully, scientifically, and transplant them into the Doctor, make him breathe, live again; he could cry over her body, but at least that’d be familiar for the both of them.

Death is for other people, dear. Missy said that, once. She never dreamt that the Doctor would number among the others.

The grip she has on him slackens. With complete gracelessness and depravity, Missy collapses on top of him, her chest on his, face burying into the crook of his neck. The endless propulsion of loss and guilt wracks her body; the tears flow out as quickly as the notes to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor K. 466 - 1. Allegro, one of the Doctor’s favorites that she used to play on the piano. The piano he gifted to her. Missy cannot form words even if she tries. So heavy is this sense of finality, and she’s drowning under it. Her friend is dead. Time levels and undulates and then ceases to be around them, and all Missy is aware of is the uncontrollable shaking and the gasping and crying like she’s being gutted from the inside out for existing at all and the fact that he’s gone, gone, gone forever and she’s the only one left...

It’s some time later that Missy finally awakens next to the Doctor, colder than he’s ever been. It’s not really him, she reminds herself. His essence, the playful and wonderful mind, they’re gone. Could she reclaim them, she would. She should, really. It’s the least she can do when this whole monumentally stupid test to prove herself was the very reason they had found themselves in that disaster, created by her former self, no less. Resurrection has its risks though, this she knows. The potential for a miscalculation or chemical imbalance is extremely high, and his entire body could irrevocably malform; of course the safer alternative, transferring the consciousness into a living host, is something the Doctor would have never even entertained whereas the Master had, ever so frequently when in a tight spot, regrettable now in retrospect.

The stinging pain in her back and abdomen from the Laser Screwdriver has lessened slightly with her rest, but her eyes feel terribly sore and dry from what was probably the greatest lapse into emotional breakdown of her life. There are no more tears to cry, now. Missy picks herself up, squeezing the Doctor’s hand before standing only to find it has become extremely stiff with the onset of rigor mortis. The realization leaves her nauseous and quite wishing she hadn’t done that.

That does bring up the present dilemma. What to do with his body. A Time Lord’s body, particularly the DNA, would be a precious asset to almost any alien species. Burial and cryogenic freezing are right out then. The Doctor will have to burn.

Somehow, she still manages to hobble over to the TARDIS console with that thought on her mind, pulling on the levers and buttons by mere muscle memory. Already, Missy has the perfect idea for the location for the Doctor’s funeral, a strange thing to be sentimental about, but if he were still part of the universe, she thinks he would appreciate it.

“I’m almost certain you never prepared for this, my dear,” Missy begins, completely aware that the Doctor can no longer hear or respond to her. “I’m not talking about death, no, you practically begged for it when you were feeling particularly morose. What comes after is what I mean. Did you really think you could lie on a battlefield and that just be the end? It should take no more than a few centuries for a human exploratory crew or some other ship to find you with all your DNA and unleash terror on the universe. That just won’t do, not when you’ve put so much work into the place.”

The whole monologue was meant to calm her down, but she’s made an all too rational point. This is a universe without the Doctor, and it has been such a very long time since that was the reality. What will happen now, without that man roaming the stars, trying to bring kindness and goodness to the places and people he visits? As flawed as he could be while doing it, a small voice inside her offers.

“Because one day everyone's just going to need you too much.” Bill was right. The universe will never survive without the Doctor.

The TARDIS hums somewhat admonishingly, and suddenly the psychic link is made between her and the ship, and a flurry of images and memories are the sole occupiers of her thoughts: the TARDIS landing unannounced and needing help for some unknown reason, Missy’s constant maintenance of the TARDIS, Missy trying to find a way out of the TARDIS doors to help the Doctor and his companions when he was about to sacrifice himself to the Cairn gate, and the moment she stepped out of those same doors declaring confidently “Hello I’m Doctor Who.”

Oh. Oh.

Missy smiles and tuts quietly at the now reicent sentient machine. Being, she corrects herself mentally. After, she and this Type 40 are going to have to get along if this is to work.

“You knew well before any of us, didn’t you? Oh, you clever girl,” she purrs.

The ship creaks and groans upon arriving to their destination. In all fairness, this is the most hectic point in time and space besides the literal end of the universe, and Missy’s been there before. Placing the stabilizers on as a precaution, Missy retreats down one of the corridors, hoping she’ll find what she’s looking for.

“Ah, there you are,” she says upon finding it. The casket’s exterior shines just as brightly as the wood from whence it came: the silver trees of Gallifrey. Adorning the side panels are the traditional Gallifreyan rites for the deceased. Measurements in this case are not necessary; Time Lord technology has once again thought ahead to accomodate for any particular regeneration--the dimensions are bigger on the inside. It’s a difficult task for someone of her stature and injured status to not drag the damned thing on the console flooring, but she manages it for the Doctor’s sake alone.

Upon placing the casket next to him, however, she cannot seem to find the strength in the moment to lift him into it and send him away for good. A hand of hers secures itself on one of the handles on the console to ascertain that she does not collapse again.

“Well, this is it then. Me, Missy, your oldest friend, assisting you with your death. Goodbye, effectively for the two of us. What am I even saying,” she finishes under her breath, beginning the process of lifting the Doctor’s body into the casket. For appearances’ sake, she brushes off the lingering dust and debris off his coat and trousers and face, though it won’t matter for much longer. No one else besides her will be viewing him, and he’ll be crisper in just a few minutes than she ever was back in the old days. From underneath the console, Missy locates four hover discs, placing one at each end of the casket to ensure his departure is as seamless as possible. For some inexplicable reason, she is unable to close the casket lid. There is something she must say first.

“We made a pact once, you and I. We were going to see the stars together and abandon all the trivial troubles of Gallifrey. But something went wrong in the plans. We went on separate paths. Well, you went on your own path, and I followed you. I followed you everywhere I could,” Missy confesses, tangling her fingers in her Doctor’s curls. “In some ways, I wish...I wish I hadn’t woken up from that shot, the one I should have died from. We both could have been dead martyrs together. Wouldn’t that have been nice? But I understand now why I couldn’t...join you. I never got the chance to, did I?” Her voice escapes her for several moments, and she blinks away the forthcoming tears she previously didn’t know she still had.

“Standing with you...was all I ever wanted, too. Thank you, Doctor, for trying. It worked. I am standing for something now, after this and evermore, and I’m sure it will kill me someday, for good.” Missy pauses to collect herself. If she’s giving him a closing testimony she’s making sure it’s a damn good one.

“This is the last chance you have to announce you’ve miraculously survived before I send you off into Dante’s Inferno, just so you know.” The silence that follows is answer enough to her request.

“It actually isn’t Dante’s Inferno. That place isn’t real. You wanted the stars, so I brought you to them. Every single one.”

In a few quick steps, Missy is able to pull the doors open, revealing that they have indeed reached the intended destination. Gas clouds are just beginning to circulate and weave their ways, nebulas are brewing stars within their wombs, and galaxies expand their territory among the vast devoidness of empty space. The constellation of Kasterborous is just a few hundred million light-years away from forming.

“It isn’t the moment, not the singularity that started it all. Although, it’s reasonable enough to presume you’ve already been there. We’ve entered the structure formation period of the Big Bang, when stars began existing,” she explains.

“No star ever existed before this point or would be able to exist without this moment. Your casket will fly into one of those stars and burn with its light and passion, and your atoms be dispersed all around the universe and help bring life to all of creation. I think without a doubt this is the best surprise party I’ve ever thrown for you,” Missy claims, placing her hands on her hips with a certain sense of self-satisfaction in this truly bizarre and dizzying ceremony.

The casket hovers just by the TARDIS doors. All she has to do is guide it out, and discs will direct it over to that red dwarf star, his final resting place. With a certain solemnity and poise Missy has never reserved for anyone in her lives, she seals the casket shut.

In a whisper, hushed so only the infant forces of the universe behind the two of them can hear, she gives the Doctor her final farewell.

“Goodnight, my dear friend.”

#my writing #fanfiction #twissy #thoschei #space spouses #best enemies #missy #the master #gomez!master #twelfth doctor #the doctor #doctor who

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reye-chan · 5 years

Text

A Meeting

i wrote a thing about how Ripley’s parents met, here you go

(not confirmed canon all the way but probably?)

'Well, this wasn't how I was expecting the night to go.'

Five university students sat in a malformed circle around a ouija board, all giggling like the buzzed morons they were save for one. Setting down her beer, the redhead leaned backward.

"Can't we just watch a movie or something, this is stupid." she groaned. "These things don't actually work, y'know."

Another student gave her an appraising look. "You don't have to play then! What's wrong, you're not scared are you?"

And there it was. The reason so many stupid people got murdered in horror movies. Instead of taking the bait, however, she rose to her feet, swiping up her beer can. "Nah, these things are just boring." she replied. "You guys have fun, think I'll crash for the night."

There was a chorus of disappointed 'aww's and a few 'good night's as she made her way upstairs to the bedroom. Despite her best nature to stick with everyone else (even if they wanted to involve themselves in some all-American stupidity), the lone student really did want to just wind down with a good movie as she could feel her eyes growing heavy behind her glasses.

Once getting to the top of the stairs, however, the feeling that she was being watched skittered up her back like a spider. Chewing lightly at the inside of her cheek, she rounded the corner and opened the bedroom door. Two bunkbeds and a sleeping bag greeted her on the other side -- they hadn't been able to secure a vacation house with five beds, sadly -- but she knew better than to breathe a sigh of relief. The student flopped onto one of the lower bunks, closing her eyes and pretending to sleep as her leg dangled idly down to the floor.

'This is stupid, but...'

That thought was cut short as a cold hand wrapped around her ankle. Biting back a scream and steadying her voice, she reminded herself not to say anything stupid and murmured, "Hi."

A moment of silence passed between herself and whatever was under her bed. Part of her prayed it was one of her stupid friends, though she seriously doubted it. All chances of that were dashed as the thing spoke, it's voice more like the sound of wind in the beginning before becoming more clear as it continued,

"That's it? Not even a scream?"

Chuckling weakly, she shrugged and shoved her glasses up her nose bridge. "I'm not very shriek-y." she said, sitting up and placing her other foot down on the floor as well. "You comin' out?"

More silence met her from the other end of the conversation, then a beleaguered sigh. "Fine." A dark mist seeped up from under the bed frame and formed into the figure of a man scratching nearly six feet with a dark coat and a wide brimmed hat. His form shifted and sputtered for a bit before snapping into focus.

"Impressive." the student said in a teasingly playful way to mask the five levels of freaked out she was at the moment. "Are you here because of, uh," she motioned to the lower level of the house, to which the man grunted noncommittally.

"It's fun to mess with kids who play with those toys, but I was kind of just waiting in the wings for them to pass out. Drunk teens are easy targets."

She clucked in mock offense, placing a palm to her chest. "I'll have you know, we're all getting plastered completely legally." Her eyes flicked to an open bag of cheetos propped against the leg of the bed frame and then to the television in the corner of the room before returning back to him. "Hey, so, I'm actually probably gonna be up for a bit longer," because you scared me awake, "Wanna watch a movie or something, unless weird shadow creatures run a strict schedule?"

Under the brim of his hat, she could just make out his eyes widening. "Uh, sure I guess." he grumbled. "I make my own hours, so a bit of slacking off would hardly matter."

"Ooh, nice. You some kind of monster-under-the-bed bigwig?"

"Something like that." he snorted, removing his hat and plopping down on the bed beside her.

Standing only to pop a tape in the player, the student tried her luck by snatching up his hat before taking a seat once more. "You dress pretty nice, for a spook." she said, placing the hat on her head. "How do I look?"

Hazel eyes under messy brown hair flicked toward her, at first narrowed in irritation but then softening in amusement. "It suits you."

She grinned back at him before fiddling with the remote. He grabbed the bag of cheetos and took a handful. "So, what's playing?" he asked, popping one into his mouth.

"Alien. It's a good movie if you haven't gotten the chance to catch it." she replied, swiping a cheeto from him.

"I haven't."

"Awesome."

#familiar ties #madloveshipping #sort of #reye does the writing thing #my art

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ask-joeydrewstudios · 6 years

Text

@storm337 submitted: Let’s drop some ANGST on this CUDDLY BITCH!

Based on Joey’s reaction to finding out about the canon verse.

Other Joey based off yunisverse’s Joey design from their Rubberhose AU.

TW: Body horror, gore

“You….you actually did it!”

Joey takes a wobbly step back, bumping into the toons. He herds them against his back, barricading them from the form stepping out of the broken mirror on the other side of his desk. Black drips from the man’s grey bushy beard, as dark as the look in his wild green eyes. Desperation clings like the ink stains ground into his disheveled suit. His perfect white teeth shine, bordered by a smile that stretches painfully at his cheeks and puts Bendy’s grin to shame. Joey has never seen such wild hungry need before. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What did he do wrong?

“They’re perfect!” the man shouts, grabbing at his greasy hair and making a grand gesture to Joey’s children. He gets ink in the graying strands on the side of his head, sticking them out with his constant pulling. Bendy grips tighter onto Joey’s pant leg, tail snaking around his ankle. Boris presses into his back, paws hooked over Joey’s shoulders and muzzle just peeking out from behind his arm. Alice twists the edge of his vest in her hands, body trembling so badly her halo wobbles and drips. Joey is acutely aware of how trapped they are, blocked from the door by his own desk and the deranged man that will not stop advancing. He stalks towards them, an unstable and unpredictably jerky motion. The effort looks painful, like he’s ready to collapse at any moment and held up by nothing but his own twisted form of spite.

Someone will come. Sammy will storm in any minute now, covered in ink and screaming about another pipe bursting. Wally will sheepishly slide through the cracked door to ask if Joey has seen his keys. Henry will shuffle to his armchair for a nap after too many cups of coffee. Someone, anyone. Shawn, Norman, Grant, Thomas, Susie-

“Please,” his copy begs, stumbling the last foot forward and lunging to grab Joey’s vest. He yanks Joey forward, siding him on top of the desk and ripping him from the toons’ hands. Alice shrieks. Bendy’s tail stretches stubbornly before snapping back like a spring. A teacup shatters on the carpet, crushed by several books. At least one script is ruined by an inkwell tipping over. Joey can feel his body shaking, fear making his blood run cold. They are nose to nose and the envy emerald of the man’s eyes are hypnotizing - Joey can’t make himself look away. An animalistic panic rises, freezing him like helpless prey in the sight of a predator.

“You have to tell me how you did it. I tried so hard, I did everything- I need to know!”

Joey can’t speak. There’s a lump in his throat, blocking his words, making it hard breathe, let alone speak. He is scared of this man, but his fear has nothing on the absolute terror radiating from the toons- his children. They need him, they need him to do something.

“Tell me,” the Other Joey hisses, fingers digging painfully into Joey’s chest. “Tell me, or I’ll find out myself.” His eyes slide past Joey’s, attention slipping to the toons. Alice makes a hiccuped sob noise and Boris whines loudly. Impossibly, Other Joey’s grin widens, teeth bared in a feral snarl - ready to feast, ready to consume and satiate his need. Reflected in his eyes is Bendy, wrapped around Boris’s leg and crying. He’ll start with the star. No one is coming, no one knows, and if Joey doesn’t do something- He would rather die than let this thing touch his kids.

The inkwell is just within reach, the glass slippery with ink and cold in Joey’s palm. He grips it hard enough to make his knuckles ache, praying that it won’t slip from his hand. The Other Joey begins to lean over him, looking ready to crawl across Joey to get at the toons, one black hand dripping ink outstretched towards Bendy. The little toon squeaks pitifully and Joey swings his arm up, slamming the inkwell as hard as he can against his copy’s temple. Glass shatters in a sparkling array, dancing through the air. Black ink explodes from his attacker’s temple like a burst pipe. A high-pitched inhuman screech escapes the Other Joey’s mouth, revealing pointed teeth and a forked tongue. He topples over, hitting the floor with a splat and dragging Joey down with him, knocking the glasses from his face.

“Run!” Joey screams, scrambling on top of his counterpart and putting all of his weight onto keeping the other man from getting up. The form below him begins to undulate, solidity failing as the body liquefies and shifts. “Go, get Henry!”

The toons bolt, Boris carrying Bendy as the little demon thrashes in his grip. Joey watches his children flee, black tears gushing from Bendy’s pie-cut eyes, his white gloved hands reaching out to Joey desperately. Alice hesitates in the doorway, reluctantly holding the knob.

“I love you,” Joey says, wondering if he’ll ever get to repeat himself again. “Keep them safe.”

Alice gives Joey a jerky nod before slamming the door shut with all her might. Over the pounding of his own heart Joey can hear their footsteps getting fainter until they completely disappear. Henry will protect them. Henry will get them out of here. Henry will fix this. He has to.

The Other Joey throws his head back and roars, the sound making the room shake with its defining vibrations. Joey’s heart skips in his chest and he scrambles back on instinct, his mind telling him to flee, to get as far away from this threat as possible. Shards of glass dig into his aching palms. Half of his double’s face has melted into ink with the consistency of molasses, dragging his eye and nose down into a malformed amalgamation. His grin has transformed, a much sharper version of Bendy’s stretched smile, the edges abnormally close to his dissolving ears. A gooey stub that was once a hand shoves Joey with enough force to send him flying across the room and crashing into the opposite wall. He can’t help but cry out on impact, his old body shrieking from the abuse.

Shadows swim across the office walls, long tendrils of black growing across the furniture and sucking the light from the room. Joey can’t hear anything over the beating of his own heart. He watches in horror as the Other Joey morphs, fingers reforming into hooked claws and arms stretching long enough that he drags his knuckles on the floor. His body elongates and thins, hunching over as the top of his spiked spine touches the ceiling. Horns, twirled and crooked, curl up to halo his head in a mockery of Bendy’s silhouette. One eye remains, glowing an unearthly red, the last reminder that the thing before Joey once resembled a human.

Joey knows how useless an endeavor this is, but the longer this monster is preoccupied with him, the farther the toons can get. Diving for the door requires speed that Joey lost decades ago. He doesn’t even get close to the knob. Retaliation is expected but the massive hand pinning him to the ground and bruising his ribs is still startling. Even more so are the fingers that curl around him, lifting him into the air and squeezing just to hear him scream The last shreds of Joey’s strength evaporate and he goes limp, gasping and wheezing. The world goes fuzzy and nausea flips Joey’s weak stomach.

“I will find them,” the Other Joey hisses, forked tongue writhing like a snake. His breath smells of rubber ink and death. “They will be mine.”

He drags Joey in eye-to-eye again, then impossibly closer, the red too bright, burning, then all consuming. For a moment there is nothing but red until shadows, getting darker and more defined, creep from the ether. Forms take shape, people, and the red dims. A scene emerges, walls erecting, boards aligning, ink pumping. A man writhes helplessly in a demonic circle, trying and failing to escape the ink that clings stubbornly to his body. It climbs him, drowns him, seeps inside of him, and turns him. This is Sammy Lawrence, something tells Joey, another version of Sammy Lawrence. Time skips and speeds forwards, decades gone in seconds, and Joey watches the madness descend. The Other Sammy tries to hold on, but all too soon he loses his mind, loses himself, and the descent is as fast as it is brutal. A shadow of the former music director wanders the halls, humming senseless tunes, praising the creature that destroyed him. So desperate for release he follows the whims of the demon, an obedient pet with none of the love.

The world shudders and reforms itself, swirling like watercolor paints mixing together. The Other Susie walks willingly into the circle, coaxed by the Other Joey’s sweet words and tantalizing promises. Her shrieks are shrill and demented, betrayed. The version of Alice that forms from her is broken like her trust and wails in deformed agony. Its misery does not last long, unable to sustain its form it puddles and disappears. When it emerges again, Joey sees near perfection and feels nothing but pity for the girl who still, somewhere deep inside of her, remembers who she was. She hides, and Joey wonders what horrors hide with her.

Another jerk, a spin, the click of a projector rewinding before it stutters into motion. The Other Norman almost gets away. He makes it to the exit, fingers just grazing the door, before the Searchers catch him and drag him away, kicking and screaming, begging to return to his family. The Other Joey stands over him, projector held high above his head, and makes sure the Other Norman is watching when he drops it. The way the body jerks and the crunching splat sound bounces off the walls makes Joey want to hurl. The ink claims the Other Norman as a sacrifice, twisting and reanimating his mangled remains until a mindless monster emerges from the mess. Its unrestrained rage is as untamable as the deep sorrow it feels, grasping for the pieces of its former life. The Other Joey releases it into level 14, left to wander and search for the people it loved, that it knows it loves, but can’t remember.

Red overwhelms again and Joey furiously blinks the tears from his eyes as reality reshapes itself. He is back in his own world, in his office, sobbing in the tight grip of an abomination, but the demented universe of his copy continues to flash behind his eyes. The cries of the studio employees play in his head, over and over. The Other Sammy’s twisted singing, the Other Susie’s sharp screams, the Other Norman’s head cracking open. The Other Henry, an old man like Joey himself, tentatively hopeful and walking right into a death trap.

Joey knows what happened. He knows this version of himself, the real version of himself, intimately. He knows this monster’s struggles, his strife, his desires, and what he did to all who cared about him. This was him, more Joey Drew than Joey was apparently, and the guilt drops like a stone into Joey’s stomach. Him, his studio, his employees, his world, are a diversion of the norm. The Other Joey- the Real Joey is what is right, is the true destiny for the man that is Joey Drew in any universe. It is a sickening realization, one that leaves Joey numb to his core. He knows, logically, that he is not this thing, but at the same time he is. They are Joey Drew, and Joey Drew is supposed to be a mad, demented, selfish animator that will do anything to make his sick, twisted dreams come true.

“How dare you,” Joey hisses, narrowing his sore blurry eyes. The Other Joey manages to look taken aback at his fiery statement, grip loosens ever so slightly. It is just enough for Joey to take a painful but refreshing breath, fuel the flames, and let it spill from his heart. The red that overwhelms him this time is all his own.

“How dare you do that to them. How dare you use them like that. They cared about the studio, about the cartoons, about everything! They were loyal to your dream and you-you-you killed them! You deserved to fail. You deserve this.”

The creature that was the Other Joey Drew hisses and looms over Joey, opening its sharp maw and unleashing a torrential shower of ink. It coats him, clinging and slithering over his skin, devouring and absorbing him. There is nothing but the dark and the cold of the all consuming ink.

Joey fears for his children. He fears for his employees, his studio, for himself, but not for his life. No, Joey knows where and when he will die and it is not here and it is not now. This creature will not kill him. It has done worse already by revealing the truth. Joey knows it will make him hurt, it will make him cry, it will make him bleed. It will try to break him, just like it broke the Other Sammy, the Other Susie, the Other Norman. It will try to corrupt him, to turn him, to destroy him, and Joey knows he must do everything in his power to fight back.

No one is coming.

((HOLY FUCK this was spectacularly written, like… jebus. i was literally on the edge of my seat, the tension was so real you could cut it with a knife. the descriptions of The Other World and joey’s reaction to it all– and the way the Other Joey is written is so terrifying I was actually spooked from my desk even though it’s just a fanfic. and that ending… god damn :’D well done, and thank you so much for the fic!! <3))

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #boris the wolf #alice angel #joey drew #submission #fanfic #crossover #storm337 #also whats amusing to me is i think yuni's joey is the most fitting to the voice and personality of canon joey #like if i had to pick a look for canon!joey THAT WOULD BE IT #so you really made a great choice for who should represent a 'real' joey y'know?#at least in my opinion anyway

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scarwasright · 7 years

Text

Countering the Copy Theory: An argument for FMA2003′s intention to communicate that the homunculi were once human.

I think about this moment a lot.

When I was 14 and... a little dense(er), it flew straight over my head just like every other pre-episode 40 hint at Lust’s past, but looking back, it is central in understanding the homunculi’s nature + how they fit into the hierarchy of characters and relationships throughout canon.

This is the only memory Lust has in which she actually speaks. If I remember correctly, it’s the only homunculus flashback that features any talking at all. It is also notably different because it takes place after Lust has already been transmuted, and it is clearly not a direct image from her mind, but a symbolic framing of Lust flashing back to the moment of her creation, for which she was, given her dialogue here, entirely conscious and aware.

In the original Japanese audio, she simply shouts “Don’t go!” The English dub makes the scene’s intention a bit more explicit: “Don’t go, please! No, I love you!” It’s more obvious that she knows who is in the room with her. This isn’t the only time the dub rephrases Lust’s dialogue to place an emphasis on the romance in her human life: In episode 47 of the dub, she refers to her former self as “an Ishbalan woman, deep in love.” In the original Japanese, the line was simply “I was an Ishbalan woman.”

Back to the original point, though: when a homunculus is born, they are awake and cognizant.

This scene also indicates that Lust remembers her former identity. This is further supported by Sloth later telling Dante about her own memories. It’s the first thing she does when she can speak. Even though their bodies are twisted and malformed, their minds are functional enough to express emotion and to remember. (Tangent question: This raises the question as to why Lust’s human and homunculus flashbacks are grouped together in such a way. It seems to indicate that both were forgotten in her homunculus lifespan, then remembered at a later time. As if they were artificially washed away. Hmm...)

This is all leading up to a point I’m trying to make about how the show seems to want us to view the homunculi. On multiple occasions, I’ve seen it debated and discussed as to whether or not homunculi are actually broken reincarnations of their former selves, or if they’re just living copies of the dead. A lot of fans seem to not even question the “copy theory” and accept it as absolute truth. Why?

Backtrack. This is a topic of heavy debate among the characters as well as the fans, but what is the actual source of said debate? Edward. The protagonist.

Edward’s fierce denial of Sloth’s identity (and, to the counter, Al’s acceptance) is arranged as early as episode 15, when Alphonse is actually willing to suggest that he might have heard his mother’s voice when Sloth spoke. Edward makes a quick comment about Al going unstable, and it’s dropped for the moment. Fast forward to the Yock Island arc when the truth of the homunculi is revealed. The brothers aren’t stupid. They are already aware, on some level, of what they brought to life. Alphonse actively attempts to face it. Edward repeatedly and aggressively changes the subject.

It is from this point forward that Edward and only Edward begins to vehemently insist to all who will listen that a homunculus is a “fake.” Not the real thing and certainly not a revived human. Why would he be so quick to insist this to himself and others, regardless of his brother’s suggestions and his highly learned teacher’s obvious attachment to Wrath? Denial is a powerful drug. Edward already has so much guilt on his shoulders regarding the transmutation that taking on the possibility that he has permanently twisted his own mother beyond repair is too much to handle.

So he never faces it.

At least, not until it’s already way too late and Sloth is dissolving before his eyes. Whether Sloth’s last words (motherly and kind in nature) were meant as one last fuck you to the boys or as an actual break of humanity, we’ll never know. But it is extremely clear on Edward’s face that he’s been hit. Hard. The mask of denial breaks. He’s horrified. He’s consciously considering for the first time the possibility that he’s just killed what’s left of his mother.

What of the other characters who are related in some way to homunculi? Dante simply says whatever is convenient for her motives at the time. Given her role as the mass manipulator, nothing she says can be taken at face value. Everything that comes out of her mouth has an agenda. She tells the homunculi that they do not have feelings or parents. Izumi’s arguably flawed logic eventually reaches the same conclusion as Edward’s after Wrath is brainwashed: He has to die. This originates in their mutual school of alchemy that focuses heavily on the flow of life and the assumed perfection of equivalent exchange. Wrath should not be alive. This was her wrongdoing. She has to right it. Before that, though? Even though she always knew the truth of Wrath’s existence, (she states so) she takes him in, protects him, and feeds him. Because on the deepest level, Izumi believes that Wrath is her son. Izumi can’t bring herself to carry out the final act of ending his life. Because Wrath is her son.

What about Scar? It is shown from episode 18 that Lust’s existence troubles and confuses him. He has nightmares about her. Bear in mind, this is an extremely unstable man who has been living in essential solitude for upwards of ten years, unaware that there are survivors of his own people and unable to seek help from Amestrians. But his mind immediately and irreversibly identifies Lust as a dead woman. Despite his vehement denial, the proof is in the pudding when he’s willing to protect her with his life (eyerollll).

Hohenheim. Arguably knows more about alchemy than any other character in the series. Directly refers to Envy as his son in CoS. His cowardly abandonment of Envy is a direct parallel to his abandonment of the family he built with Trisha. Papa Hoho cuts and runs as soon as there’s a snag. When he confesses what he’s done to Envy, he isn’t even saying it to Envy. He’s saying it to Edward. FMA never hesitates to parallel Hohenheim with his middle son, and I think that’s what it’s doing here, as well.

Which leaves Edward to be the only character who actually believes ‘his’ homunculus is nothing more than a copy of his mother onto which his own feelings were projected. Dante reinforces this idea as well, but as I mentioned before, nothing she says is reliable. Forgive my reach, but I think the fandom-wide assumption that homunculi are “copies” and that nothing truly “comes back” during a human transmutation stems partially from the ever-presence of Ed’s opinion throughout canon. Even though we get compelling testemony from characters who would naturally know much more about the subject than he (Lust, Izumi, Hohenheim), it’s still Edward’s idea, perpetuated by Dante, that is accepted as common truth.

With all of this in mind, I don’t think it can be definitely stated that homunculi are or are not shards of human beings who once lived. And I don’t think it’s a question that’s supposed to have an explicit answer. Lust, who is significantly more in touch with her origins than any other, insists that hers is the identity of the Ishbalan woman who died some ~15 years prior to canon. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Envy, who wants nothing more than to wipe away the past, is completely convinced that he is Hohenheim’s child.

Dogma of alchemy claims that this is completely impossible, but the main thesis of the show is that the central idea of the alchemy Edward and Alphonse knew, Equivalent Exchange, is not absolutely true. The whole point is that Ed was wrong. That the books were wrong. Personally, I don’t think it’s much of a stretch at all to think that FMA 03 wanted us to consider the possibility of them being wrong about homunculi, too.

#fma #fma 2003 #meta

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