#you gotta give folks the grace you would want to be given

[ptolemia]

“Love itself is revolutionary and if you can’t see that then you should replay the game” oh yeah it’s pretty blatant and obvious I mean a fucking blind mole could see it. There’s a difference between playing it and understanding the message and then playing it through a shipping lense in order to make up shit that never happened so you could make mid fics + art while also ignoring the character’s actual traits.

Some people just like to frollick through media cuz the characters are hot and they need some masturbation material.

… yeah? Life is short I hope everybody who wants to frollick and jack off has the opportunity to do both as often as possible.

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

With the occasion of @bougainvillea-and-saltwater doing the wip Wednesday challenge now, I'm gonna use this as a perfect excuse to post a little sneak peek of chapter 9 from WYGTYA *and* maybe see what my writer friends are doing 👀

~

After crossing the bridge carefully and walking the distance, the fellowship finally arrived at the Skaal village and was greeted warmly. Upon entrance, they were all given snowberry crowns and a shot of some of the strongest alcohol that has graced Ravonna’s lips. Tradition, the Skaal called it.

“That is absolutely amazing. I would like to know the recipe.” She says, holding the small glass to her heart, tears forming in her eyes from the strength of the drink, while Lucien and Miraak have a cough access.

“You’re going to have to talk to Elmus for that. He’s the one that does the brewing. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.” A Skaal woman says, smiling at them, while an older nord is laughing at Miraak and Lucien’s agony.

“Seeing folks drinking that for the first time never gets old!” the old nord laughs.

“I need water!” Lucien says, his face now as red as a beetroot.

“By the Gods, the All-Maker, and everything else that people believe in these days…” Rumain says, wrinkling his nose after taking the shot.

“I’m already drunk… I think” Inigo says, tilting his head at the empty glass.

Teldryn is trying very hard not to show it, but the strong alcohol impressed him too. It’s left him speechless, even, so he resorts to nodding and giving them a ‘not bad’ look. Miraak, on the other hand, walked up to the nearest house to lean on it.

“You okay?” Ravonna asks him.

“I – uh – I’ve never had anything this strong in my entire life. My throat feels like the way Red Mountain looks!”

~

SHOTS FOR EVERYONE!! It was very hard to choose which fragment from chap.9 to post, because I love them all so much. I was this 🤏close to posting two very big moments, but I gotta keep y'all teasing so you don't gIve up with this clusterfuck of a fic :)))) I'll just say this: they get drunk. Like, all of them.

Tagging @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @thelavenderelf @notoriousbastardlover only if you want to, of course.

[kim-ruzek]

I've tried to keep my mouth shut and show empathy were I can in this CP fandom, especially since I have been an avid watcher since season 1 but I can't hold it in any longer. I will miss Jesse a whole bunch and this is a very sticky situation. But reading tweets from people telling Burzek stans to let fans grieve a character that is leaving, to stop being judgemental and to not trash what someone else loves.

But excuse me, this goes both ways. The amount of nasty tweets from Upstead stans is unbelievable! Just some of the things I've read about Burzek from Upstead stans - "rinse and repeat ship", "Burzek winning by default", "sloppy second ship" and "Upstead is the superior ship".

The advice also applies to them, you can be angry all you want but don't trash or demean what others in CP fandom love.

Asking Burzek stans to show empathy and grace while we are given none in return is what makes this fandom not a nice place to be a part of. I support Jesse and I wish him the absolute best but this experience has left me mentally drained and exhausted trying to stay positive about the characters, ship and show that I love. I can't imagine the words that are going to be said as the season progresses.

Ugh I mean a huge amount of upstead stans are just (yknow probably won't put words to this, that's for my dms only ascghjkgh gotta have plausible deniability after all lol) but twitter + upstead stans... they're the ones that brings out the petty in me (if you know you know).

I think it's just so ridiculous that it's hard to grasp what other fans not of upstead are frustrated by. Like I give them a lot more benefit of the doubt than I would ordinarily because like grief makes your emotions weird but also I don't have much good faith left in me because of their frustrating attitude for the last year and a half (when I joined the fandom fyi not saying they've only been like that since then). Like if they're attitude was different earlier on I'd have a lot more good faith but eh.

It is utterly ridiculous as well because by far and large they are what makes this fandom not nice (although there are so Wild burzek stans out there, on twitter) and like just I know that if it was marina or paddy leaving they wouldn't even give an ounce of empathy or grace that has been shown to them. And everyone's given them a LOT of empathy... We just want also to be able to be excited about this show still.

The nasty tweets are really so Out There, especially all the ones you quoted, like what gets me is the innate competition built into them. Like the concept of a ship winning isn't actually meant to be an actual competition, and when it is it's only when there's a common character in common (but even then I'm like don't make it one), and calling one ship superior (in this context) is just,,, that's not what fandom is about. Everyone has their merits and demerits of ships and it's just not able to be compared in that way. Like I personally don't see the point of upstead (I do technically but imo a lot of it has been tell not shown) but that doesn't make it inferior, especially because I know how much it means to others.

Also I just find the whole attitude towards burzek fans insane and ridiculous and I'd say I'm shocked that it hasn't changed during this whole news thing but I'd be lying. And Im not looking forward to what is going to be said during the season, and it's going to make me petty, I know it is, and I hate that bc I love Jesse and I don't want to be counting the time down to when he'll leave (although the attitude probably won't stop after that).

Thank you for this ask!! 💖 Sorry for the rant a little, I cut myself off before I went too in depth, but I guess I'm feeling a little grumpy today (I was going to answer with more decorum especially as I've been interacting with some lovely folks of late but I'm a bit of a grump-- despite, lol, me watching taskmaster clips to get myself in a better mood before answering ascghjkgh)

[maskyartist]

Hi yes I have questions about your Mux family AU.

Firstly, who do you think would 'befriend' them and why? Secondly, how do ya think the family reacted to the hazing?

well...for the first one, "befriend" is definitely a word for it. the Aquato's definitely have connections all over, from other circuses, to important people in cities n such, they kinda got their hands in everyones pockets yknow? most of the reason people DO connect with the Mux family is because of the amount of protection you're given.

the Mux family is powerful, and not just in words. they've got muscle behind them, and plenty of it to spare. you give them what they want? and they'll be happy to keep you safe from any unsavory folks who seem interested in wanting you 6ft under. you just gotta make sure you can keep delivering on whatever promise you made. be it delivery in weaponry, money, documents, information, things like that.

they're kinda connected to a lot of stuff, which is why they're so interested in getting in the Psychonauts good graces. that and because Raz really wants to be one. who are they to not support his dreams?

|

as for your second question, oh the family's not happy. but the MOST unhappy about it as Frazie and Dion. see, Raz's clothes when he ran away were hand-me-downs. the pants were from Dion, while the sweater was from Frazie, so theres stuff on the line for that!

but its also the principle yknow? thats their baby brother! little Pooter! getting bullied on his first day for shits and giggles. its almost an insult to them, seeing as they ARE the eldest (at least next to Raz). its just rude to assume they'd let this go away scott free.

hell, i even got a whole comic about it that ive been meaning to finish but may as well put here-

so yeah, basically? they aint too happy about this slander. but its mostly on Dion and Frazie's part.

Dona and Augustus aint too worried since they can just kinda....buy him new clothes, or he can change into some spares.

Mirtala and Queepie are too young to really care, but Tala still thinks it was a very rude thing to do >3>

And Nona's...well, she's Nona. if Raz was actively upset she'd do something about this, but he's more disgruntled then upset so she's not too worried. the siblings can handle this just fine.

[kumkaniudaku]

Atticus smut at a drive-in movie theater, maybe?

A chill in South Florida was almost as unusual as you being shoulder-to-shoulder with a man on a date, but things were due for a change.

“You cold?” You looked over at Atticus Freeman, who sat peering at you over his glasses. A genuine look of concern graced his beautiful features, robbing you of the ability to form an answer.

“Huh?”

“I was wondering if you were cold. I have a jacket in the backseat if you need it.”

“Yeah, that’d be, uh...that’d be great. Thank you.”

Atticus returned your sheepish grin before reaching in the backseat to retrieve his worn Army coat. Your eyes scanned the immediate area while you waited. On both sides of your brother’s Ford were cars filled with other moviegoers enjoying the night’s feature. In the car ahead of you and Atticus, a younger couple had completely abandoned watching the film in favor of connecting on a more physical level.

Atticus followed your gaze as he draped the coat across your shoulders.

“Looks like we get a show at the show.”

“Sometimes, a little bit of lovin’ is more interestin’.”

“You speaking from experience or wantin’?”

“A little of both.” Though you didn’t look to your left, you could feel Atticus smiling at the side of your face. You smiled and adjusted your position in the passenger seat. “Watch the movie, Freeman. You asked me here, not the other way around.”

Atticus considered probing for more information but decided to take what he was given and settled into his seat. Creature from the Black Lagoon played across the screen in black and white, but you didn’t pay much attention. You’d seen it enough times to recite the lines forward and backward, anyway. Instead, you waited for the perfect breaks in the action to steal a glance at Atticus’ profile and admire the slight curve of his lips as he dove further into the story. When looking became insufficient, you leaned over the center to kiss his cheek. “Now, I thought we were watching the movie,” he joked with his eyes still forward.

“This is the first time we’ve been off my aunties porch on a real date. Forgive me for wanting to kiss you. I don’t get the chance otherwise.”

“Well, you ain’t ever asked, either.”

“I’m askin’ now.” Atticus finally tore his attention away from the screen to look down at your lips before meeting your dark eyes. “You gon’ kiss me or what, Freeman?”

“I-I mean...I can. I can-I can kiss you if -”

Your lips against his effectively quieted Atticus as he matched the pressure and pace you set. Both of you pulled away breathless, grinning and sporting two sets of crooked glasses when you’d had enough of each other.

“Hopefully, I won’t have to ask next time.”

Atticus’s smile dropped as he moved further away to lean against the door. “There won’t be a next time, Minnie.”

“Why? Was it that bad,” you asked, laughing.

“No! It was perfect, actually. More than I could’ve hoped for.” Atticus watched your facial expression begin to sag and rushed to fix his mistake. He captured your lips in a second, shorter kiss before pressing his forehead against yours. “I gotta go back home. To Chicago.”

“Won’t you be back right after?”

“I can’t say for sure. It’s a family thing, and my folks ain’t the type to let me come and go with no issues.”

“Then, maybe you should stay for a little longer.”

He used his thumb to caress your jawline and closed his eyes. “I’ve heard that a time or two. But, I gotta go see about my father.”

“I understand.”

You didn’t speak as you shimmied out of Atticus’s jacket and tossed it in the backseat. He shook his head in response and attempted to grab your arm. “C’mon, Minnie, don’t do me like that.”

You shrugged off the contact and climbed over the center console to reach the backseat. He watched you in confusion until you finished creating a pillow with his clothes. After removing your glasses and placing them in the now empty passenger seat, you fluffed your curls and closed your eyes.

“Don’t have me back here by myself, Atticus. If you’re gonna leave me for Chicago, you might as well leave me with something to remember you by.” Atticus quickly grabbed your outstretched hand and contorted his body until he was hovering over your body in the backseat. You reached up to remove his glasses, handling the broken frames with care until they rested on the glove box. His lips brushed across your jawline and then your cheek before settling over your mouth.

Time didn’t allow for the intimate exploration that the first crack at sex deserved. There was no space to completely stretch out and feel the weight of Atticus’s body on top of your or to have him take care while undressing both you and him. He couldn’t fully appreciate the first viewing of your bare, brown skin that any man had ever had.

You didn’t mind, though. If this was what your first time had in store, you were happy it was with the sci-fi buff that walked in your uncle’s store one morning.

Atticus helped lift the hem of your skirt to your waist before undoing his belt and pants. The mixture of moonlight and light from the movie screen reflected off of his skin, giving Atticus an ethereal glow in the night. You smiled and stared at him while he ran his fingers up your thighs to pull off your undergarments. He was a sight to behold and a memory you wished to keep.

Your name had never sounded so beautiful until it fell from his lips as he entered your body. An audible hitch in your breath made him pull out and look down to gauge your reaction.

“Keep going. I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

You nodded and lifted from the backseat to kiss his bottom lip. “I’m sure. Keep goin’.”

With your permission, Atticus continued. He set a slow pace while keeping an eye on your face for any indication of your discomfort. You tucked your teeth between your lips to stifle a moan at the sudden stretch and fullness of being physically joined to the man that had captured your attention in late Spring. Atticus handled you with as much care as fucking in a backseat would allow. His pace remained slow and steady while the sounds in the area intensified.

Shared hot and heavy breathing created a thick fog on each window with tiny droplets blazing a trail from top to bottom. You could’ve sworn you saw two of them take deliberate paths to join each other in the center just as Atticus dipped his head for a kiss. Every inch of your body was warm and wet to the touch. Sweat from his forehead transferred to yours while he took on the brunt of the work. As his pace quickened, an unfamiliar coiling in the pit of your belly caused you to groan with his mouth still attached to yours. You felt ready to explode and scream all at the same time.

Clutching the back of Atticus’s t-shirt, you allowed the strange sensation to roll through your body naturally. Your muscles seized, and your toes curled in your shoes, suspending you in the most beautiful dream your brain could create. Was this what your older cousins meant when they talked about seeing stars with their boyfriends?

Atticus gripped you into a bear hold and drove into your body with renewed energy while you came down off your mountain top. The feeling was indescribable, somewhere between soft-serve ice cream in the summer and a warm blanket on a cold day. Each thrust sent your head thumping against the car door, making both of you laugh until Atticus finished with a stutter in his hips and your name on his lips.

When your breathing evened out, Atticus helped you sit up and redress before pulling his pants up to his waist. One after the other, you returned to your places in the front seat. You both placed your glasses on the bridge of your nose in sync.

The car was silent for several minutes before Atticus leaned over to kiss your cheek. He waited for you to turn and face him to place two rapid pecks on your lips for good measure.

“Something to remember me by.”

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober Thirty-One

On Halloween night, at a costume party on the edge of town, you find a Lost Boy to keep you company.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, vampire Mirio, drinking, mentions of smoking, blood, vampirism, deception, a little bit of mindfuckery and manipulation.

Notes: This is it, folks! Day thirty-one of Kinktober is here and with it, a very special little Halloween fic. Today’s prompt was “Dressed Up,” which I sort of did but also sorta didn’t.

This one is a little bit longer than my usual Kinktober fare, (~3.4k) but hopefully it’ll be worth the ride. It’s also, in the spirit of Halloween, a little on the darker side, so please do heed the warnings and don’t be afraid to skip this one if spooky stuff isn’t your thing.

This hmmmm didn’t show up in the tags when I posted it this aft (even though I couldn’ve sworn it did :C) soooo reuploading! gotta love tumblr

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s a bright, cold, clear Halloween night, and the parties are in full swing.

You’re at the only decent bar in town. Just like every other joint within a hundred-mile radius, tonight they’re throwing a costume party. Originally, you showed up with a friend, but she’s long gone now- drifted off with some punk sporting a chintzy werewolf costume. Ears covered in plastic fur, limp tail dangling from the back of his coat.

Whatever. At least she managed to find something fun to do.

You’re dressed like an angel, in a delicate white slip with feathered wings spreading from your back. In lieu of a real halo you’re wearing a dainty silver circlet. You’re sipping punch- pumpkin punch, says the chalkboard signs pinned up all over the bar- but to you, it tastes like vodka and orange-dyed sugar.

At least you can confirm it’s alcoholic.

You don’t recognize the song that’s thrumming through the rented, oversized party speakers, but it’s sort of catchy. You’re tapping your foot to the beat- or maybe you’re just jonesing- when there’s a lull in the surge of the crowd and you see him.

He’s a complete stranger to you- a rare commodity, in your isolated little town. He seems to tower above the other patrons, standing a head taller than most of the men on the dance floor. It’s humid and sticky inside the crowded party, but he’s wearing a leather jacket with the collar popped. His hair is a shock of mussed gold, and you almost miss the glint of a dangly earring in his right lobe.

He’s got something red smeared across one corner of his mouth. Fake blood, maybe? You’d like to find out.

His eyes are dark and deep. You know they are, because he’s staring intently at you, right across the party. Like he’s spotted you through the skulls of the crowd that separates you. Your gaze is drawn by his steady eyes. It feels like he’s not even blinking when you share a look.

You glance away. But he’s still looking- you can feel the pull of his gaze like a magnet. You lift your syrupy punch to your lips as you drag your eyes to the opposite side of the room.

No dice. When you look across at him again, he’s still there. Still looking.

The crowd passes between you. And when you find that empty spot on the bar, heavy disappointment settles into your gut. That’s what you get for wanting a little excitement.

“Hey.”

The low, unfamiliar rumble of a voice directly behind you shocks the base of your spine. You whip around with the weight of your wings bobbing against their elastic shoulder straps.

He’s even taller than you realized up close. His eyes still have that dark edge to them, but he’s grinning now. That’s not an expression you might have imagined him capable of, given the solemn way he’d stared across the bar at you.

His teeth are immaculate. He seems entirely flawless. You’re pretty sure you could cut your fingers on the sharp corners of his jaw.

“Vampire,” you quip, homing in on the smudge beneath his lip. “Very original.”

It’s definitely supposed to be fake blood. The leather jacket and dangly earring might not be a dead giveaway to anybody else, but it’s working for you.

He slips one hand into the pocket of his jeans, shooting you a low chuckle and a quiet little smirk. He reaches for you- you flinch, wings giving a telltale twitch as your shoulders bob. He catches the edge of one synthetic feather between his fingers and gives it a little rub.

“Almost as original as you, angel,” he teases. You can’t bring yourself to roll your eyes.

There’s something about him that makes everything feel more sincere than usual. He’s got an easygoing, sunny disposition, but he’s intoxicating to look at. The closer you stand, the headier you feel.

You put your cup down on the bar behind you, having had more than your fair share of vodka-with-orange-Jello-crystals Halloween punch.

“So, angel,” the vampire sighs. Both hands are in his pockets now, forcing you to come to terms with the broadness of his chest. He’s built like a brick wall, but it’s all firm muscle underneath his tight t-shirt.

Your chest goes tight as he digs one palm out of his pocket, extending it to you.

“How ‘bout a dance?”

You can’t turn him down. You can’t say anything, since your voice has died somewhere in the cavity of your chest. All you can do is give a muted little nod and slide your fingers into his.

His palm is devastatingly smooth and brisk to the touch. It’s impossible to picture anything cool at all, stuck under the relentless lights of the bar and crowded among so many sweaty, polyester-clad partygoers.

When he pulls you onto the floor, his body trickles over yours like water.

He holds you so delicately, and yet pulls you so close. Lifts your hands between his palms-massive- and draws you in by the waist.

You’d dare to say he’s graceful, dancing to the uneven beat of The Time Warp and Thriller and a half-dozen other songs that are only catchy through the month of October. His leather jacket is supple and soft beneath your touch, and you’re happy to finger the sleeves, grip the lapels as you sway and swirl.

He doesn’t pull his eyes from you once. Again, you’re overcome by that strange sensation. Like he hasn’t blinked the whole time. You can’t quite bring yourself to be freaked out by it.

“So,” you gasp, breathless and sweating by the time the music dulls enough to warrant conversation. “It’s not every day you meet a guy who can dance like that. You gonna tell me where you picked up your tricks?”

He laughs. It’s a rich, full sound, but musical. Enchanting. You’re spellbound by everything about him.

He seems entirely too good to be true. You’re just waiting to find out how.

“Practice,” he gushes, slipping a hand under your chin. You’re smiling. You’re woozy. He’s drawing you in.

He kisses you, so soft and unassuming you’re surprised he didn’t ask your permission first. His lips are as cool as his hands are, fresh and soft like a smooth mountain lake.

You dive in.

You kiss him back as best you can, twining your arms around his neck and letting him drag you close. The longer he kisses you, the hazier you feel, but there’s a taste of something on his tongue that you can’t quite figure out, and you’re determined to find out what it is.

Your vampire tangles his fingers in your hair and wrenches your mouth to his. He kisses you harder, bruisingly so, sucking and biting at your lower lip and pulling away, garishly wiping the back of his palm across his mouth.

“Come home with me,” he croons. He could have asked anything of you. Your response would have been the same.

You turn a vacant, woozy stare to him with the sound of his voice swimming in your ears. Your eyelashes bat heavily. You smile.

“Okay.”

He takes you to find your jacket, thrown over a stool somewhere. You shrug out of your wings and tuck them tightly against your chest. When you do, he eyes you with a sideways little grin.

“Damn,” he teases. “I thought those were real.”

You duck out of the place with his arm slung around your shoulders like he knows you.

The cold outside does nothing to sober you, but full moon is so bright, the cars in the parking lot cast stark shadows across the gravel. So bright, the light of the stars is drowned by it.

He leads you to a shiny Harley, parked in the last spot next to the grass.

“Whoa.”

Your vampire turns, eyebrow cocked. You realize you said that out loud. You also realize that you’ve never actually been on a motorcycle before.

“That… that’s yours?” You ask dumbly. He smirks, and your stomach goes icy.

“Hop on.”

He produces a glossy black helmet from somewhere along the bike’s gunmetal chassis and passes it to you. You slip it down over your head. The thick padding pushes your circlet painfully against your forehead. You’re sure it won’t be a long ride, though.

He stoops, reaching for your throat. For an instant you flinch, but as his fingertips brush the underside of your chin, you realize what he’s doing. You flush with heat.

He buckles the strap securely beneath your chin, making sure it’s tightened properly. His flaxen lashes give a little flutter as he finds your eyes, and he gives the side of the helmet an affectionate little tap.

You swing one leg over the rear of the bike seat as he climbs on in front of you. The leather presses cold and firm between your bare thighs. You slide a hand self-consciously over your back, making sure your dress gets tucked underneath your pelvis.

All good.

“Hold on tight,” he prompts, kicking the bike off its stand and starting the engine with a noisy rumble. You fall forward against his solid back- stronger than you anticipated- and wrap your arms firmly around his waist.

Your heart beats low and warm against his back, so solid you’re sure he can hear it. He peels out of the parking lot and onto the empty highway, and you close your eyes, warm and dark in the safety of your massive helmet.

There’s something immensely thrilling about the way the wind whips past your legs and through your clothing. It occurs to you just how stupid you are, climbing onto the back of a motorcycle with a man whose name you don’t even know.

Holy shit. You don’t even know his name.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the Day ‘n Night Motel on the edge of the highway, you don’t think to ask.

“This doesn’t look like home,” you brush. You fumble to get the strap of your helmet undone and tug it straight off your head. Your halo comes with it, bouncing across the pavement and rolling to a stop at his feet.

“It’s home for now,” he replies as he stoops. He picks the silver circlet up in both hands and presents it to you like a crown. You take it, self-conscious but not quite unsettled. There’s something about him that doesn’t seem to let you get that far.

He takes you up to the second floor and unlocks a door somewhere along the middle, shouldering it inwards. You feel a strange sort of comfort as you step over the threshold. You glance behind you, like the rest of the world might have been swallowed up as soon as you followed him.

But it’s still there. It even stays when you nudge the door closed behind you.

The curtains are drawn tightly shut, but he leaves you to throw them open now, letting silvery moonlight spill through the dirty glass like mercury.

“Let me have you,” he rasps as he comes back to you. He’s shrugging out of his jacket- his arms are way bigger than you anticipated- and he’s pulling you tightly to him. “Let me have you, let me taste you, let me wreck you, angel.”

“Okay,” you gasp. The only word you seem to manage with him around.

He kisses you just like he did at the bar, tight and urgent and needy and bruising. He walks you toward the bed, laying you down in a stark, gentle contrast to the rough way he’s kissing you.

Your coat’s fallen open and he helps you out of it, letting the fabric spread beneath you like a cloak. He doesn’t waste time at all- kissing his way down the curve of your jaw and pushing his palms under the hem of your dress.

Your skin is chilled from the wind, but it warms quickly beneath his cold fingers. You part your legs and he snags the top of your panties, tugging them harshly down your thighs. He discards them quickly and comes back to you, burying his face into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh!”

His tongue is surprisingly cool as he swipes it along your slit, but he’s gentle and attentive with his mouth, and you tangle your fingers eagerly into his mussed hair. Your pinky brushes over the edge of his pointy little earring as it bobs against his neck, and you let your head fall back against the mattress so you can lose yourself in the pleasure he offers you.

He braces icy palms against your thighs- sending goosebumps racing up your legs- and keeps his head buried beneath your skirt as he eats you out furiously. His tongue swirls coolly around the nub of your clit, then flicks it deftly.

“Stop,” you gasp, toes curling tightly in the blankets. “Please, I-I’ll…” You trail off. You can’t hold out any longer. But he heeds your warning and draws back from your body, licking his lips garishly.

There’s a carnal glint in his navy gaze that sets your nerves alight as he crawls atop your body. At some point, he’s shed his clothes- you didn’t even see him strip- but he’s wearing only a pair of tight black undershorts, and his cock stands prominently against the front of them, hard and heavy across one thigh.

“Angel,” he rasps, bending over your torso. He nuzzles the crook of your neck, nosing at your pulse point as he nibbles your flesh. For the first time he seems to lose himself, blowing a deep huff over your chest and shivering hard as his hips rock forward into yours.

“Let me feel you. Let me fuck you.” He growls. Unbridled and feral.

You tug furiously at the hem of your dress.

“Take it off,” you insist. He wedges his palms beneath the flimsy fabric, tearing a new slit up the side of the skirt in his haste to get it off you. But you’re not paying attention. You’re consumed by him. Drowned by him. In this moment, he is all you’ve ever needed.

He strips out of his shorts and comes back to you bare, palming the base of his thick shaft. He settles between your thighs and draws a thumb up your slit. Your body sings. You gasp.

A dull chill settles over your body as he lines himself up.

He slides home in one easy stroke, composed all over again as you fall to pieces beneath him. As he starts to fuck you- smooth, steady, easy- he gives you nothing more than soft huffs of effort. He’s thick and stretches you well, but his body seems to flow in and out of yours like a river. His touch spreads cool relief through your gut.

“There you go, angel,” he rumbles into your ear. He braces a hand on your belly, rutting into you and letting the gentle slap of your flesh punctuate every thrust.

Beneath him, you’re a mess. The pleasure is more than you’re prepared to handle. With every push of his hips, you feel yourself falling deeper and harder. You don’t even know his name, but with him stroking your side so tenderly, it feels like you could love him.

Somewhere along the way, his rhythm shifts. He becomes wild and brutal and relentless, fucking you deep and hard. You relish in the way the bed creaks beneath you. You cling tightly to him, mewling and howling your overstimulated pleasure into the night. Your nails rake hard over his back as you hit your peak with sobs of tight ecstasy.

Your pussy clamps down hard around his cock and he fucks you through it, pushing you further and further until you come apart, a trembling mess in his arms.

With a feral roar he draws himself back from you suddenly, spilling sticky spurts of cum across your belly and over your chest.

Your eyelashes flutter open. He’s staring down at you, cupping your cheek with that same intense look from the bar. You blink, letting your brain swim back to life.

“Your fangs,” you gasp, noticing the sharp glints as they protrude from the underside of his lip. You chuckle. “You never took them off?”

You reach up, thumbing the edge of his jaw. They align seamlessly with the rest of his teeth. The fact that they didn’t pop out on their own is impressive, if a bit strange.

“They’re good,” you confess. “They look real.”

He purses his lips tightly shut and folds his body over yours. He finds the curve of your jaw and nuzzles it. Finds the bare thrum of your pulse point and tongues it. He grins. You feel the sharp point of them against your skin- strong, surprisingly so.

He snarls.

“They are.”

You’re blinded by pain before another thought can cross you. He sinks his fangs into the flesh of your neck and you scream, clinging and clawing at his back. But he’s strong, inhumanly so, and his grip is iron as he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. He’s patient, holding you fast.

There’s an ecstatic, heady sort of bliss bleeding about the edges of your suffering. You thrash and struggle, but eventually, you succumb to it. It’s sweet and distant and so, so, serene, and as he pulls his fangs from your neck and licks tenderly at the wound, it lingers.

“That’s it, angel,” he sooths. “That’s it. C’mere.”

He slides a hand under your back and lays you properly against the pillows. He smooths his palm over your forehead, tugging the sheets over your bare body. His face is doubled in your vision, but his lips and chin are stained garishly red. His fangs are even longer than before, but his dark gaze is peaceful.

“Sleep for me, angel,” he croons. He smooths your hair, and you’re too far gone not to listen.

When you come to, the room is empty. There’s a motel-issued glass sitting on the nightstand, filled with a thick liquid like raspberry compote.

It’s still dark out. The pain in your neck and shoulder is immense. You bolt upright, remembering all at once where you are. What you’ve seen.

It can’t have been. Your fingertips scrabble over your neck. The wounds are already starting to scar.

So it was.

You climb cautiously out of bed, grabbing your dress and hugging it tightly to his chest. The bathroom door is open and the lights are out, but you poke your head in anyway. He’s not there.

You tug the dress violently over your head. The fabric is split almost to your hip, but your jacket’ll cover it. With your shoes clutched tightly in your hand, you make for the door while you still can.

The filled glass stares from over your shoulder, halting your hand on the knob. You turn slowly toward it. Your limbs go cold.

You know what it is.

That doesn’t stop you from craving it.

You can smell it from here, sweet, rich, irresistible. You lick your dry lips and press your back hard against the door.

It’s not too late. You can leave. Right now. You can make it home, you can call somebody, you can get out.

You’re not going to.

In two strong steps, you cross the room. You grab the glass so quickly and so firmly that it cracks in your hand, but it does not shatter.

The blood of your vampire is just as sweet as you’d hoped. You take long, desperate gulps, draining the glass in an instant and swiping your palm across your stained mouth.

The door to the room sweeps open behind you. With the empty glass in your hand you whip around to face it, paralyzed and half-caught in desperate bliss.

“Angel,” he purrs. He smooths a hand over his hair and kicks the door shut with a hollow thud. He grins wickedly at you, setting ice and cool, firm desire into the deepest reaches of your heart.

“I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Lucifer/Satan

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Please allow me to introduce this villain. He’s a man of wealth and taste...

Satan, or Lucifer, or whatever of the hundreds of names across multiple religions, folk tales, urban legends, movies, books, songs, video games, and more that you choose to call him, is without a doubt the biggest bad of them all. He is not just a villain; he is the villain, the bad guy your other bad guys answer to, the lord of Hell. If there’s a bad deed, he’s done it, if there’s a problem, he’s behind it. There’s nothing beneath him, and that’s not just because he’s at the very bottom of Hell. He is the root cause of all the misery in the entire world.

And if we’re talking about Satan, we gotta talk about Lucifer too. They weren’t always supposed to be one and the same, but over centuries of artistic depictions and reimaginings they’ve been conflated into one being, a being that is a lot more layered and interesting than just a simple adversary for the good to overcome when handled properly.

Motivation/Goals: Look, it’s Satan. His main goal is to be as evil as possible, do bad things, cause mischief and mayhem. Rarely does anything good come from Satan being around. If he is one and the same as Lucifer, expect there to be some sort of plot about him rebelling against God, as according to modern interpretations Lucifer fought against God in battle and was then cast out, falling from grace like lightning. When the Lucifer persona is front and center, raging against the heavens tends to be a big part of his schemes, but when the big red devil persona is out and about, expect temptations to sin, birthing the Antichrist, or tempting people to sell their souls.

Performance: Satan has been portrayed by far too many people over the years to even consider keeping count of, though some notable performances of the character or at least characters who are clearly meant to be Satan include the nuanced anti-villain take of the character Viggo Mortensen portrayed in The Prophecy; the sympathetic homosexual man portrayed by Trey Parker in South Park and its film; the hard-rocking badass Dave Grohl portrayed in Tencaious D’s movie; Robin Hughes as a sneaky, double-crossing bastard in “The Howling Man” episode of The Twilight Zone; the big red devil from Legend known as Darkness, played by Tim Curry; the shapeshifting angel named Satan from The Adventures of Mark Train who will make you crap your pants; and while not portrayed by anyone due to being entirely voiceless, Chernabog from Disney’s Fantasia is definitely noteworthy in regards to cinematic depictions of the devil.

Final Thoughts & Score: Satan is a villain whose sheer scope dwarfs almost every other villain in history. It’s not even remotely close, either; Satan pops up in stories all around the world, is the greater-scope villain of most varieties of three major religions, and his very name is shorthand for “really, really evil.” Every other villain I have ever discussed and reviewed wishes they could be a byword for being bad to the bone. Even Dracula, one of the single most important villains in fiction, looks puny in comparison to Satans villainous accomplishments.

Satan in old religious texts tended to be an utterly horrifying force of nature, until Medieval times began portray him as a dopey demon trying to tempt the faithful (and failing). Folklore and media have gone back and forth, portraying both in equal measure – you have the desperate, fiddle-playing devil from “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and the unseen, unfathomable Satan who may or may not exist in the Marvel comics universe who other demons live in fear of the return of. Satan is just a very interesting and malleable antagonist, one who is defined just enough that he can make a massive, formidable force while still being enough of a blank slate that you can project any sort of personality traits onto him to build an intriguing foe.

One of the most famous examples of this in action is the common depiction of Satan as the king of hell. This doesn’t really have much basis in religion; he’s as much a prisoner as anyone else, though considering how impressive a prisoner he is, he’d be like the big guy at the top of the pecking order in any jail for sure. But still, the idea of Satan as the ruler of hell was clearly conceived by someone and proved such an intriguing concept that so many decided to run with it.

I think that’s what truly makes Satan such an interesting villain, in that he’s almost a community-built antagonist. People over the ages have added so much lore, personality, and power to him that is only vaguely alluded to in old religions to the point where they have all become commonplace in depictions of the big guy, and there really isn’t any other villain to have quite this magnitude on culture as a whole. It shouldn’t be any shock that Satan is an 11/10; rating him any lower would be a heinous crime only he is capable of.

But see, the true sign of how amazing he is is the sheer number of ways one can interpret him. You have versions that are just vague embodiments of all that is bad and unholy, such as Chernabog from Fantasia, you have more nuanced portrayals like the one Viggo Mortensen played in The Prophecy, you have outright sympathetic ones like the one from South Park… Satan is just a villain who can be reshaped and reworked as a creator sees fit and molded into something that fits the narrative they want. I guess what I’m trying to say is that not only is Lucifer/Satan one of the greatest villains of all, he’s also one of the single greatest characters of all time.  

Now, there are far too many depictions of Satan for me to have seen them all, but I have seen quite a lot. Here’s how Old Scratch has fared over the millennia in media of various forms, though keep in mind this is by no means a comprehensive or exhaustive lsit:

“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” Devil: 

I think this is one of my favorite devils in any fiction ever, simply because of what a good sport he is. Like, there is really no denying that Johnny’s stupid little fiddle ditty about chickens or whatever sucks major ass, and yet Satan (who had moments before summoned up demonic hordes to rip out some Doom-esque metal for the contest) gave him the win and the golden fiddle. What a gracious guy! He’s a 9/10 for sure, though I still wish we knew how his rematch ended…

Chernabog: 

Chernabog technically doesn’t do anything evil, and he never says a word, and yet everything about him is framed as inherently sinister. It’s really no wonder Chernabog has become one of the most famous and beloved parts of Fantasia alongside Yen Sid and Sorcerer Mickey; he’s infinitely memorable, and really, how can he not be? He’s the devil in a Disney film, not played for laughs and instead made as nightmarishly terrifying as an ancient demon god should be. Everything about him oozes style, and every movement and gesture begets a personality that goes beyond words. Chernabog doesn’t need to speak to tell you that he is evil incarnate; you just know, on sight, that he is up to no good.

Quite frankly, the implications of Chernabog’s existence in the Disney canon are rather terrifying. Is he the one Maleficent called upon for power? Is he the one all the villains answer to? Do you think Frollo saw him after God smote him? And what exactly did he gain by attacking Sora at the end of Kingdom Hearts? All I know for sure is that Chernabog is a 10/10.

Lucifer (The Prophecy): 

Viggo Mortensen has limited screentime, but in that time he manages to be incredibly creepy, misanthropic… and yet, also, on the side of good. Of course, he’s doing it entirely for self-serving reasons (he wants humanity around so he can make them suffer), but credit where credit is due. The man manages to steal a scene from under Christopher Walken, I think that’s worth a 10/10.

Satan (South Park): 

Portraying Satan as a sympathetic gay man was a pretty bold choice, and while he certainly does fall into some stereotypes, he’s not really painted as bad or morally wrong for being gay, and ends up more often than not being a good (if sometimes misguided) guy who just wants to live his life. Plus he gets a pretty sweet villain song, though technically it’s more of an “I want” song than anything. Ah well, a solid 8/10 for him is good.

Satan (Tenacious D):

It’s Dave Grohl as Satan competing in a rock-off against JB and KG. Literally everything about this is perfect, even if he’s only in the one scene. 10/10 for sure.

Robot Devil:

Futurama’s take on the devil is pretty hilarious and hammy, but then Futurama was always pretty on point. He’s a solid 8/10, because much like South Park’s devil he gets a fun little villain song with a guest apearance by the Beastie Boys, not to mention his numerous scams like when he stole Fry’s hands. He’s just a fun, hilarious asshole.

The Howling Man: 

The Twilight Zone has many iconic episodes, and this one is absolutely one of them. While the devil is the big twist, that scene of him transforming as he walks between the pillars is absolutely iconic, and was even used by real-life villain Kevin Spacey in the big reveal of The Usual Suspects. This one is a 9/10 for sure, especially given the ending that implies this will all happen again (as per usual with the show).

The Darkness:

While he’s more devil-adjacent than anything and is more likely to be the son of Satan rather than the actual man himself, it’s hard not to give a shout-out to the big, buff demon played by Tim Curry in some of the most fantastic prosthetics and makeup you will ever see. He gets a 9/10 for the design alone, the facty he’s Tim Curry is icing on the cake.

[p-artsypants]

I Do...I Guess (2)

Mushroom Rock

Ao3 | FF.net

--

The chocobo eater was a great team building exercise, though Yuna’s new Aeon did a lot of the leg work. 

What was the name again? Ifeert? Oh well, Hot Dog it would be to Tidus. 

Zanarkand was really missing out on those Chocobos though. They were fun to ride, and pretty easy to handle...though they were a little smelly. 

Of course, Tidus tried to imagine riding one around back home, among the motorcycles and the cars...and thought that maybe the chocobos were fine here in Spira. 

The birds allowed for much quicker travel of the High Road, and they made it to the crusaders blockade before lunch. 

“A blockade?” Wakka wondered aloud. “But how else are we supposed to get to Djose?” 

“I’m sorry folks,” one of the nearby crusaders explained. “The road will be closed off during our operation. We’re very sorry for the inconvenience.” 

“We have to get through,” argued Lulu. “This is Summoner Yuna, and you are hindering her pilgrimage.” 

“I’m sorry. Summoner or not, I have strict orders not to let anyone pass.” 

It was then that Wakka made the startling discovery. “Hey, there’s Al Bhed here.” 

“The Al Bhed and the Crusaders are teaming up?” Asked Yuna. 

Wakka frowned. “What kind of operation needs the Al Bhed a part of it?” 

“I find myself asking the same question.” A wispy voice interrupted. 

The party turned to see Maester Seymour joining the fray. He seemed none too bothered by the presence of those so-called heathens. 

He almost looked excited. 

“Lady Yuna? Is there something the matter?” 

Tidus felt an uncomfortable crawling sensation in his veins. This blue haired clown really made his skin crawl. Jealousy, the others might say. But no, he could read those sleazy bedroom eyes from a mile away. 

How old was this dude anyway? Should he be allowed to look at Yuna like that? 

Why did he care? He wondered. He was a guardian now, so obviously he was watching out for her. 

And a pending marriage proposal, his subconscious reminded him politely. He had managed to forget about that all morning. 

“We need to get through to continue my pilgrimage,” Yuna said simply. 

Tidus really admired that she didn’t try any persuasion at that moment. No beating her enchanting mismatched eyes, or pitching her voice up like so many girls had done to him.

She didn’t even say please. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Seymour smiled. 

Tidus mimed a gagging motion at Kimahri, but the joke was wasted on the stoic ronso. 

Miraculously, Seymour did take care of it. They were waved on almost immediately, much to the chagrin of Dona, who was asked to stay back. 

They were prompted forward, down the Mushroom Rock trail, to the beach and the command post, where everything was going down. 

The Mi’ihen Highroad was lush with greens. A perfect day with ideal blue skies, with happy chocobos fluttering around. 

But the closer they got to the operation, the grayer the sky, the drier the ground, and the more fierce the fiends. 

Yuna shivered slightly as they entered a valley. 

“You okay, Yuna?” Tidus asked. 

“Oh, yes. Just got a chill up my spine.” She came a little closer to him and admitted. “I don’t know why, but I got a sense of dread all of a sudden.” 

“What’s the operation all about, anyway?” 

“I’m not sure. But I suppose we’ll find out more when we reach the command post.” 

They found out plenty when they crested the hill and found a half a dozen machina canons all lined up and pointed out to sea. 

The horror on his teammates faces proved that whatever was going on was likely very heretical. 

“What are all these Machina doing here?” Asked Wakka. 

A crusader answered. “We Crusaders and Al Bhed share the same dream. To be rid of Sin forever! And if we can take the burden away from the summoners, we’re going to try!” 

It was a noble cause, Tidus thought. He had seen the devastation that Sin was capable of. Were these little canons good enough?” 

They were explained the situation. A huge canon sat on the cliff side, easily big enough to wipe out a city if they weren’t careful. And there was an army on the beach, ready to fight and distract with swords. 

He hoped this would all work, maybe then Yuna could stop her journey. 

Maybe Sin would come to shore and he would go home, and then he wouldn’t have to come up with an answer for Yuna’s marriage proposal. 

He felt like maybe all these things were unlikely, and that only the worst was to come. 

The army was still preparing, and there was no sign of Sin, though the bait was set and waiting. 

Tidus spotted a familiar merchant standing back, behind the cliff wall. 

“O’aka, right?” 

“Ah, so my name is catching on, eh?” 

“Well...maybe. We rode in the boat over from Kilika, remember?” 

“Oh yes. I never forget a face! You lent me a pretty penny, and for that, I’m grateful. Are you after anything? I have a special rate because of the operation.” 

“Do you...have any rings?” 

“Rings? Ah yes, all sorts of magic wards. And they’re pretty too!” 

Tidus had been given an allowance for such an occasion. 

O’aka displayed his tray of jewelry, with about a dozen different choices on it. Golds and silvers, with all sorts of jewels. 

“What about this one?” He pointed to a silver and blue one, with a very intricate design. 

“Excellent choice! A real heavy hitter! Stone, water, fire, and lightning proof, and it's blessed!” 

“How much?” 

“For you my friend, only 9999!” 

Tidus opened and closed his mouth in shock. “Uhhh...” 

“What are you doing?” Auron asked, coming up behind him. 

He yelped in surprise, and then tried to school his expression into something that didn’t look like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Uhh...just looking at rings.” 

“For Yuna?” 

O’aka’s eyes widened. “For Lady Summoner Yuna? My my, how interesting!” 

“Mind your own business!” Tidus scolded with a blush. 

“So you decided to say yes?” Auron asked. 

“Not...completely. I’m still thinking things through...I just want to be prepared. You know? I thought, maybe having it would help me think.”

“A wise decision.” Auron took out a sack of Gil and handed it to O’aka, then took the ring, and a thicker, plainer band. “You get one too.” 

“Oh. Right.” For now, Tidus just pocketed them, and decided to concentrate on the mission. 

A mission that was doomed to fail, according to Maester Seymour and Kinoc. 

“Let them keep dreaming.” They said. It was almost an admission to a genocide. 

Everybody here, crusaders, Al Bhed, and a few Yevonites, they were all fighting for peace. For calm. 

And yet, these ‘Holy Men’ had laughed behind their backs. 

Tidus had nothing against the temples. Faith and prayer were vital in keeping hope in such a dismal world. But these Maesters smelled heavily of nepotism and flagrant thirst for power. 

In Zanarkand, such men would find places of power. In government, in business, on boards and councils. But of the religions back home, he thought of them as pious and self sacrificing. 

Not whatever these two men were. 

How many others were like this? How many others were willing to sacrifice people? 

Why wasn’t anyone speaking up? 

They shouldn’t have come. They should have stayed at the blockade, or gone back to stay another night at the Travel Agency. 

But no. Now Tidus was in the water, rapidly chasing down his old man. The beach was littered with bodies and shrapnel of destroyed Machina. The operation had failed catastrophically, and yet, all he could do was swim on, chasing. 

He wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. 

But Sin was gone. Just as Jecht had vanished from his life, so had the beast once again. Giving no answers, leaving more questions, and leaving oblivion it's wake. 

How long had he been passed out for? Minutes? Hours? He wasn’t sure. The wet sand pressed against his back as he washed ashore. All his chasing and he was back. 

“There you are! You good, brudda?” Wakka hurried to him and pulled him to his feet. 

“Yeah. Just...I just fell.” 

And he had. He had been up top fighting that Sinspawn before he fell below. So it wasn’t a complete lie. He just didn’t want to explain to Wakka that he had tried to chase down the biggest menace on Spira because of a childhood grudge. 

“Where’s Yuna?” He asked instead. 

“Talking to Maester Seymour.” He pointed up towards the ridge. Yuna stood there, head bowed as Maester Seymour stood too close, speaking to her. 

“I gotta go.” 

“I don’t know man, seems like a private conversation.” 

“Like I care!” Tidus staggered to his feet and hurried over to her. He stood below the ridge, just out of sight, but not out of earshot. 

“…so you mustn’t cry.” Seymour preached. “You must be a beacon of light to Spira, you must be strong for these survivors.”

“I know,” Yuna said, in a tender voice. “But some of these people were my friends, and I want to grieve their loss.” 

“Yuna, being a summoner means removing your emotions from those around you. You can care, but not too much. You know that, right?” 

Tidus wanted to grab that cretin by the robes and push him into the sea. Maybe Sin would come back and swallow him. Was that too much to ask?

“I understand. Thank you, Maester Seymour.” 

The man patted her head, like she was a dog, and moved on. 

Yuna stood there for a moment, just staring at the ground. 

“Yuna?” Tidus spoke behind her. 

She turned, and saw him just below her on the ridge. She nodded with resolve and sat down on the edge. “Will you help me down?” 

He held his arms up for her, and she took hold of his shoulders. She slid down, to stand with him, keeping her eyes locked with his. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime. You okay?”

She just nodded. Then added, “I have a sending to do.” 

So he let her go, and watched as she began her dance. 

A dance devoid of joy, of fun, of merriment. It was still graceful, and haunting, but the tightness in her face contrasted with the fluid movement in her body. 

Sobs and wailing filled the air, as survivors of the massacre witnessed their friends and family rise as Pyreflies into the air.

If it was up to him, she’d stop dancing. So she could stop hiding her sorrows. 

Her strength did amaze him, though. He watched as she danced up and down that beach, long after the sun had set. She wouldn’t allow one soul to not be sent. They already suffered, they didn’t need to remain as fiends. 

Long after Seymour and Kinoc left, long after the other guardians set up camp, Tidus still followed Yuna down the beach. All the way to the other end, before she collapsed in exhaustion. 

“Yuna?” He asked softly. 

“I just need a moment,” she breathed.

She sprawled out on the sand, and Tidus wondered if she cared about it getting in her hair. 

She looked exhausted. Her lips pulled into a tight line, and her eyes were shut hard. 

“Why did this have to happen?” She asked aloud, mostly hypothetical, but loud enough for him to hear. 

“Because people were sick of Sin. And death was a better alternative to sitting and twiddling their thumbs.” 

She sighed. “My mind knows that, but my heart...”

He sat in the sand beside her, just a hands length away. “You know, it’s okay to cry.” 

She shook her head.

“Even I let out a few tears back there, and most of these people were complete strangers. You knew some of them.”

“I have to be strong. Summoners are a pillar of strength to the people of Spira.”

“So I heard,” he shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t ever cry.” 

“I don’t want to.” She protested. “I want my journey to be full of laughter, and you’ve been so good about helping with that. Don’t tell me to cry.” 

“Fine. I’m not going to make you cry. Just...sometimes, being happy isn’t possible. Then it’s the best to just be less sad.” 

Yuna turned to look at him, but didn’t say anything. 

“Maybe I don’t know anything about Yevon, or hardly anything about life. But I think grief is when you love too much, and you can’t give it. I think if I saw a summoner cry from loss, I would feel better. My future, my world, is in the hands of someone who loves.” 

Yuna hummed softly, garnering his attention. She had streaks on her cheeks, but he politely chose not to mention it. “What happened here was a tragedy, but for a moment, everyone was United and working together, and I thought it was really beautiful. So maybe it was bad...but not all bad.” 

“Feel better?” 

“Yeah...not happy, but less sad.” She sat up, dusting the sand from her clothes. She admired the stars above and the crashing of waves before pushing to stand. “We should get back soon, before they worry.” 

“We will,” Tidus assured. “But I want to ask you something first.” 

“Alright?” 

With resolve he hadn’t felt in a while, he took the ring out of his pocket, and got down on one knee. “You know, it might feel like weird timing, but I want to help.” 

“Tidus?” 

He held the ring up to her. “Yuna, will you marry me?” 

She just stared at him for a long time. 

“I know you asked me, but back home, it’s kind of tradition for the guy to ask. Hope you don’t mind?” 

“So...you’re accepting my proposal?” 

“Only if you accept mine.” 

She laughed, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. “Alright. I accept!” 

He smiled too, and pushed to his feet. Then he held out for her hand and slipped the ring on for her. 

“I never thought I’d propose to a girl I wasn’t dating.” He joked. 

“Already getting cold feet?” 

He shook his head, before gathering her into a hug. 

Yuna was startled for only a moment, before snuggling into his arms. 

“Whatever you need, you come to me, okay?” He asked. “If you need to laugh, or cry, or a hug. I’m your man.” 

Yuna smiled into the embrace. “Yes, you are my man.”

[outlier-rookie]

Of Blood and Greatness - Chapter 1

Chapter 1/?? - The Kid In The Camp

AO3 Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305741/chapters/64050937

***

“Who’s there?” John’s rough voice called out as Arthur rode back into camp.

“It’s Arthur! You dumbass.” He yelled in reply, receiving a huff in return.

“You’re back. Dutch wants to speak to ya.”

“What’s he want this time?” Arthur asked, drawing his horse to a halt in front of the other man.

“Ask him yourself.” The scared man replied, walking right past Arthur to continue his patrol.

Grumbling under his breath, Arthur guided his horse, a proud Andalusian he’d taken to calling Admiral on account of the stallions headstrong and commanding nature, over to the hitching posts. As he rode over his eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar horse hitched by the camp entrance, waiting patiently and grazing on the tufts of grass at its hooves. It was a gorgeous Missouri Fox Trotter with a clean golden coat and a rich dark mane streaked with blonde. He didn’t spend long studying the horse and instead picked up the buck he’d stowed on Admiral’s back and began trudging over to Pearson’s wagon.

But for the second time in as many minutes, an unfamiliar sight drew his attention. Sitting at the circular table and looking very out of place was a kid. Arthur took a moment to study them as he passed wondering what a young one such as themselves was doing in the middle of a camp of outlaws. The kid couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen and was on the thin side. They weren’t that tall either, wearing a shirt too big for their thin frame with the sleeves rolled up in an effort to make the ill-fitting garment more wearable. In their hands they fidgeted with a ratty old hat and their hair was mattered and dirty giving the impression the kid hadn’t had so much as a bedroll to sleep on. An old memory of when Hosea and Dutch first took him in, and later John, drifted into Arthur’s thoughts as he passed. He’d barely handed the buck over to Pearson when Dutch approached him.

“Arthur, good to see you back, son.” The dark-haired man smiled as he clapped Arthur on the shoulder, directing the younger outlaw back towards the kid sat at the table.

“So what’s going on?” Arthur asked, “John said you wanted to talk to me ‘bout somethin’.” As the two men approached, the kid raised their head and locked eyes with Arthur. Arthur was nearly at a loss for words as the kid stared right into his soul. Their eyes were an almost unnaturally vivid shade of blue; much more intense than his own. What stuck him as odd was the weary look they held. It was the same look he’d sometimes see in Hosea’s eyes. Tired, haunted eyes like that had no place on some kid. Standing, the kid placed the ratty hat on their head and continued to stare at the two men as Dutch started to introduce them.

“This here is, uh.”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N).” The kid filled in.

“Yes, this here is young (Y/N).” Dutch continued, leaving Arthur’s side to stand between him and the kid- (Y/N). “Bold little thing. Road right up into camp saying they wanted to talk to the leader of this gang and wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer.” He explained, chuckling lightly as he did. Arthur nodded as he hooked his thumbs into his belt, shifting his weight into a more casual stance.

“Why you coming out here to talk to a bunch of outlaws like us?” He asked watching with a critical eye as the kid hesitated for a moment, their eyes flicking to the ground as they brought their hands together and started picking at the skin around their nails. It took a few false starts before they finally got the words out.

“I want… I want ta join the gang.” Their hands dropped back to their sides and once again Arthur found those piercing blue eyes staring intently at him once more.

“I dunno Dutch.” He started, barely managing to break his gaze away from those haunting blue eyes. “They’re awfully young to be, runnin’ with folk like us.” He said, waving his hand and gesturing to the likes of Bill and Micah.

“I ain’t that young!” (Y/N) snapped.

“Kid, you can’t be more than fourteen at the oldest.”

“I’m fifteen! And I can take care of myself!”

“They why you want to join up with a gang? We ain’t some orphanage kid and we ain’t good people.”

“Now now Arthur.” Dutch cut in, raising his hand between the two. “You were the same age when Hosea and I took you in. And John was much younger.” He argued, drawing an aggravated sigh from Arthur.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea Dutch. Look at em. They’re just a kid. And the world’s changing, cracking down on folks like us. It ain’t safe-”

“I ain’t safe on my own either!” The kid interrupted. “I ain’t been safe since the day I was born. And besides,” They continued, crossing their arms and leaning back on their heels, doing their best to stare down their nose at Arthur, “I don’t come untrained. I can shoot any gun and hit any target and I don’t miss unless the gun fails.”

Arthur stared incredulously at (Y/N) as Dutch let out a hearty laugh.

“And that ain’t the only thing I have to offer.” They continued. “Them fellas, uh. The special lawmen, the uh, the um-”

“The Pinkerton’s.” Dutch supplied.

“Yeah them! The Pinkerton’s are looking for you and are crawling all over Blackwater. But they ain’t looking for me.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and crossed his own arms.

“Whatchu getting at kid?”

“They’re saying, Arthur, that they can get into Blackwater and get our money. We can get out of here and be on our way!”

“I don’t know about this Dutch.”

“I’m with Arthur.” A fourth voice joined the conversation as Hosea strolled up to the three of them. “You’re an avid reader Dutch. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is’?”

“Come on old friend, think of what this could mean for us! All that money we lost at Blackwater, back in our hand. Valentine is only a temporary stop and we need to move soon. With the money from Blackwater back in our hands we can do a hell of a lot more than what we were originally hoping!”

Hosea sighed and continued to argue against it with Dutch when the kid cut in once more, drawing the attention of just about everyone in camp.

“I already got it!”

Dutch and Hosea froze mid-argument.

“What?” Dutch asked and Arthur swore he heard a note of confusion in the older outlaws voice.

“Your money from Blackwater. I already got it, so even if you sent someone back there and they managed to avoid running into the law, you won’t find it.”

Dutch’s earlier lax and cheerful demeanour disappeared as he stepped closer to the kid, his voice low and dangerous. “And how, exactly, did you find out where we hid it if we are to believe you.”

“Adults don’t pay a lot of attention to kids. Even less so if they’re street kids like me. Heard some of them, fancy-looking fellas, talking ‘nd saying they was investigatin’ you and thought they might know where you hid your valuables in case something happened.”

“And you just happened to get there and find it first?” Arthur growled, arms dropping to his side, right hand hovering by his gun. (Y/N)’s eyes followed Arthur’s movements as they too came to rest on the handle of Arthur’s gun.

“Yeah. I did.” They replied sharply, raising their own eyes back to meet his.

A tense silence filled the air as the camp went quiet.

“Stay. Here.” Dutch’s voice finally broke the silence. “Hosea, Arthur, with me.” The three men trekked away towards Dutch’s tent leaving the teenager alone at the table; a quick signal to Javier had the Mexican man nodding as he set himself up to watch the (h/c) teen while the others talked. Once the flaps to the tent had been drawn and fastened, Arthur exchanged a worried glance with Hosea while Dutch rubbed at his chin, his eyebrows creased with thought.

“What’s the plan Dutch?” Arthur softly questioned a hint of worry colouring his words.

“I’m not sure just yet Arthur. Hosea, what do you think?” Hosea huffed before replying.

“I think we continue with the plan to get away from Valentine. We’ve just about outstayed our welcome and it’s time to move on. I think it far more likely that this kid is part of a Pinkerton trap set to catch us.”

“And if they are telling the truth? If they really have gotten our money out from Blackwater and it’s now within our reach? It a lot of money Hosea, if we had that back then we could get the hell out here.”

“Is the slim chance that they are telling the truth worth the lives of everyone in camp Dutch?” The older outlaw returned. “We’ve already lost the Mac, Davey and Jenny. If this kid is luring us into a trap, who else will we lose?” Dutch brought his hand up to his mouth and nodded solemnly at Hosea’s words, though the crease in his brow suggested he was less than happy with the answer he was given.

“And what do you think Arthur?”

Arthur scratched at his stubble, drawing a hissed breathe as he thought about their options. He strongly sided with Hosea. This whole deal of a random kid wandering into their camp, claiming to have possession of their money was already a wild tale. Add on to that the fact they were apparently willing to just hand it back over to them in return for a place in the gang was just confusing. Anyone with half as much brains as Marston who found the money would have taken it for themselves, and yet this kid was here and offering to give it all back to them with not a lot in return. And yet something was stopping him from outright refusing to consider the kid might be telling the truth.

“I want to ask the kid something first.” He finally said. “They gotta have a reason for wanting to join up with folk like us. This kid could have set themselves up for life if they were smart with the money but instead, they’re trying to return it and get in our good graces. I want to find out what that reason is first.” He finished.

Dutch and Hosea were silent for a spell before the eldest outlaw smiled and clapped Arthur on the arm. “And you claim you ain’t a thinker boy.” Arthur tugged his hat a little further over his face as he averted his eyes, muttering a half-hearted argument under his breath before making his way back toward (Y/N). The teen looked up at Arthur as he stopped by the table, silently regarding the young teen before him. Silently, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he kicked a leg up on the short barrel that acted as a chair. The two stared silently at each other as Arthur puffed away before taking the lit cigarette from between his lips and addressed them as Hosea and Dutch watched a short distance behind him.

“Why do you want to join the gang?” He asked slowly, his drawl weighing his words down heavily as he spoke. “You could’ve taken all that money for yourself so why go to all the trouble of bringing it down to us? Worse people than us could have found you and they wouldn’t have had any qualms about robbing and killing some half-starved fifteen-year-old kid sleeping out alone in on the plains.” He paused, taking another drag and lazily blowing out the smoke. “Whatever you want from us must be worth a lot more to you than money.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer straight away. They squeezed their hands tightly and Arthur could barely see them biting their lip from under their ratty hat.

“M’ Dad.” Was the soft reply. Arthur stayed silent and watched as the kid drew a shaky breath. “My auntie. She said that my Daddy is an outlaw. Said that- that he knows the Van Der Linde gang. I just. I want to meet him.” They finished with a shrug.

“What’s your Daddy’s name kid?” Dutch asked, coming up to sit beside the teenager who was suddenly looking much smaller than they did when Arthur first spoke to them.

“I- I don’t-” Again the kid tightly wrung their hands as if it would relieve the emotional pressure they were feeling. “I know what he looks like. That’s all I need. I don’t care if he wants nothin’ ta do with me. I just want him to know that I exist, I suppose.”

Arthur stubbed the end of his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground, turning to look at Hosea and Dutch who shared a mildly surprised look. Arthur mulled over the information in his head. Fifteen years ago when (Y/N) would have been born, it was mainly Dutch and Hosea finding jobs that he’d sometimes join, while Susan and Bessie looked after John. Uncle might have been around then too but Arthur failed to see any similarities between the drunken old man and the kid who currently looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them.

As Arthur was mulling over everything, Hosea stepped up and took a seat by the teen.

“You mentioned your Aunt earlier, but what about your mother?” he asked gently.

“Don’t have one.” Came a barely legible mumble. Silence once again fell over the group but no one seemed eager to break it this time. Just as he was about to say something, anything really, Dutch beat him to it.

“How far away did you hide the money?”

“W-West of Valentine.”

With a nod, Dutch turned his attention to Arthur. “Arthur, I want you to take Javier and Charles with you and the kid.” Turning back to the kid he continued. “I trust that you aren’t going to lead my boys into a trap.” He said. “If you stay true to your word then there’ll be a place for you among us.”

The kid's face lit up at Dutch’s words. “Yessir!” They cheered; face aglow in the afternoon sun as they turned to Arthur. “We should leave as soon as possible. To be back before the sun gets too low, ya know?” Arthur grunted in response and waved for the kid to mount up. They only took a few steps before spinning back around. “Can I get my gun back?” Dutch shrugged and nodded.

Arthur strolled back over to Admiral, running a hand along the steed’s neck as the horse noses at the satchel hanging by the man’s side. Feeding the stallion a fresh apple, Arthur doubled checked his saddlebags for ammo and supplies while he waited for Charles, Javier, and the kid. Not even five minutes later he was joined by the kid, repeater slung across their back, with Charles and Javier at their heels. They boldly strolled up to the Fox Trotter, smiling brightly as the horse nosed at their offered hand before the kid swung themselves up onto the saddle.

Sparing a place at Charles and Javier and seeing the two men also sat up in their respective horses, Arthur nodded at the kid. “Alright then, lead on.” He instructed with a wave.

“Follow me, gentlemen.”

And with that, they were off.

***

Thank you for your patience! The first chapter for “Of Blood and Greatness” is finally finished!

As a reminder, this is a Red Dead Redemption 2 crossover fanfic as it contains elements of Percy Jackson (you don’t need any prior knowledge of PJO,)

[princess-rosie]

Underneath The Spotlight- A Sanders Sides Fic

Taglist: @sophiexteresa

Ask if you would like to be added!

Chapter 12- The Most Stressful Twenty Seconds of Patton’s Life So Far

(Read chapter 1 here!)

(Read here on ao3!)

Warnings: Nausea, anxiety, stress, mentions of food, cursing, caps

A/N: this is it folks! Everyone wish Patton good luck, he’s gonna need it

Patton swore he was about to be sick. Waiting in the wings for the first of his back-to-back dances, wearing his next costume underneath his current one, not even Janus’ arms around his waist and soothing voice in his ears could calm his nerves. His breathing became erratic as he felt tears well in his eyes. Janus took his face in his hands.

“Here now, it’s ok. Don’t cry, your makeup will run.”

Patton violently shook his head. “Janus I can’t do this. It’s gonna fail, and I’m gonna miss my next dance, and all that hard work will be for nothing-“

“Patton Hart, you listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. I am here, and I will get you through this.”

Patton nodded but didn’t seem convinced, but it was too late for Janus to try and comfort him any further as suddenly the sound of applause filled Patton’s ears. Janus hugged him tight.

“I’ll meet you round the other side of the stage. Good luck, darling.”

Patton nodded as Janus left him. He truly was in this alone now. This had to go perfectly. It was now or never.

Patton pushed all his fears and anxieties down as the music began, plastering on a big smile as he walked on stage, ready to attack this energetic and fast-tempo dance with everything he had. He’d always enjoyed the more upbeat dance styles, they were much easier for someone of his short stature. Because he was so small, he struggled with the more lyrical and graceful styles- he only really enjoyed ballroom due to being partnered with Janus, he had no idea how dancers like Roman made it look so easy. This routine, however, was more up Patton’s street- it was extremely fast-paced and incorporated elements of jive with lots of kicks and leaps- it was probably one of Patton’s favourites he had ever danced... it would be great if all this impending anxiety and dread could just give it a rest. Patton’s stamina had significantly improved since he started rehearsing this routine, although it still wasn’t anywhere near on the level of Roman’s, Patton knew that wasn’t the real reason his heart rate began steadily climbing towards the second half of the routine. He performed the final steps and beamed out to the audience as he struck the final pose, taking in the sound of applause with pride. But as soon as the lights fell all of that collapsed, and he sprinted off stage faster than he’d ever ran in his life.

Janus, Remus, Virgil and a few others were gathered around a chair waiting for him, each holding an accessory for his next costume. Patton dove into the seat, holding out his arms and legs as about six people swarmed his vision, and he felt his shoelaces loosen and his shoes fall off.

“Virgil, take off his bowtie!”

“Who’s got his hat?!”

“Put on that other shoe!”

“Careful with his makeup!”

“Tie it faster!”

“Hurry up!”

“We can’t stall the music much longer-“

“Five seconds!”

The only coherent thought Patton managed to have throughout this process was “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone tie shoes so fast in my life...” When he was in it to help one of his friends, Remus always pulled it out of the bag. Tying dance shoes at hyperspeed was apparently one of his hidden talents.

A tap on the shoulder from Janus signalled to Patton that he was ready to go, and as he arrived in the wing ready for his next dance, looking himself up and down to give his costume a final check, it dawned upon him that he was actually early. He strolled out onto the stage, beaming with pride, ready to dance his heart out once again. Before arriving in his position on stage, he locked eyes with Roman (also in this dance) for a split second who grinned at him and seemed to say “you made it!” And Patton grinned back. Transforming his outfit in twenty seconds, mastering the art of telepathy, Patton seemed to have achieved it all on that night. What had once seemed impossible, helped by his amazing friends, somehow, he had managed it. And now, once again, he was doing what he loved, performing amazing dance routines on a grand stage. Patton had never felt more on top of the world...

Upon return to the dressing room, Patton launched himself at Janus, babbling words of thanks into his shoulders. Janus merely said.

“Don’t mention it, Patton. It was my pleasure to help you, my love. I couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner these last few months.”

Patton beamed up at him.

“Me either. I love you too.”

Janus suddenly looked as if struck by an idea.

“You know what you deserve?”

Patton tilted his head to the side, giving that damn innocently curious look he’d given all those months ago when Janus had first taught him the waltz, when he’d first fallen in love with him. He gave the smaller boy a fond smile.

“Pizza.”

Patton’s face lit up in a bright smile and he began clapping his hands together at some impossible frequency. Then his face fell a little.

“Aww, Janus that’s such a sweet idea, and I am a little hungry but I don’t think we’re allowed to-“

But it was too late, Janus was already phoning the pizza place.

“Hello, can I place an order please?... could I have two margaritas, two vegetarians, one with ham and pineapple... for the tasteless gremlin over here,” Janus mumbled, giving Remus a derogatory glance, “and...” Janus placed his hand over the microphone to call across the dressing room

“Hey Roman what kind of pizza do you want?”

There was currently a full-scale operation going on across the room to get both twins ready for a dance, Roman turned away from the mirror for a second to shout “Pepperoni please!” before bolting it out of the dressing room towards the stage.

Janus picked up the phone again. “And one with pepperoni please. Oh, delivery address... uhm... you can just bring it to the theatre foyer. Yes, the theatre. Yeah, the big one in the town square. No, this isn’t a prank! I just want pizza!”

Patton chuckled into his sleeve as Janus began to look frustrated.

“Thank you, have a nice evening.” Janus hung up. “Should be here in just over twenty minutes... that should be basically straight after the show finishes.”

“We’ll have to get to the foyer quickly, then.”

“We’ll work something out-“

“LOGAN HELP I CAN’T GET MY SHOE ON!”

“Remus what the hell do you mean?”

“I CAN’T TIE IT UP THE LACE HAS SNAPPED!”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S SNAPPED?!”

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID! LO YOU’VE GOTTA HELP!”

“REMUS KINGSLEY I FUCKING SWEAR TO GOD-“

Patton and Janus watched the commotion unfold as Logan took the lace out of Remus’ shoe that was indeed completely snapped in half, while Virgil watched helplessly.

“How the fuck have you done that?!” Virgil asked.

“Lecture me later, this is kinda time sensitive!” Remus yelled. He was somehow never ready for his dances in time, despite him having much fewer of them compared to Roman.

“We’re about the same size, just bloody take mine,” said Janus, throwing his left shoe across the room while Patton swore he heard Virgil say “yeet” under his breath. Logan caught it and gave it to Remus, before going to sit in his chair and lean his head against the mirror while pinching the bridge of his nose and taking deep breaths. Janus couldn’t help but laugh at this while Virgil helped Remus tie his laces before he raced out of the room, now wearing one of his own shoes and one of Janus’. Patton laughed out loud because now he could rest easy, with only a couple more dances to go and the promise of pizza afterwards, and the knowledge that he just did something he once thought to be impossible.

Next chapter

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 508

I mean, shame on me for allowing myself to get my hopes up that the show might have turned a corner last week. I should know better by now.

At least Young Ian’s back. And Marsali had a nice moment. And that’s about all I have to say about this episode that’s positive. I swear to fuck, this show hates Claire as much as the author of the books does. Where the fuck is the lead protagonist, show? Can she come back? Can she get a story line of her own that’s more than just a random scene every few episodes, please? And can Bree please be given something to fucking do that doesn’t involve Roger, Jemmy or rape? Does Fergus still even live on the Ridge?

But yeah, I guess let’s just all watch the episode twice so our dumb lady!brains can understand that Matt’s stupid silent movie gimmick was actually ~ArT~ and not, you know, a stupidly bad creative choice. Seriously, fuck that guy.

I can’t tell you how much idgaf about watching Roger teach. Also, Bree’s like his students’ age since she was in college too. So really all this bit is doing is to make me skeeved out about their age difference.

“Can you tell me why anyone would go to the trouble of burying one?” he said, condescendingly, like the doucherocket he is. Do not disrespect Young Ian like that, asshat.

“People live and die by their words.” *gestures to the beautiful shitposts on this hellsite* sure jan dot gif.

I already want to fastforward.

Would 100% rather sit through a lecture on suspension bridges than watch silent movies, tbh.

Hate the title card. Hate this whole gimmick.

Hate.

HAAAAATE.

Roger got hanged. Roger was dumb, Buck was an abusive and toxic fuckwad. But still, Roger got hanged and this is how we find out he’s alive and how he was saved?

It should be this big emotional moment. It should make me feel a thing in spite of myself. But nope! Gotta do this fucking silent movie thing. Which is hilariously terrible. And I laughed at it the whole time. In a mean and judgey fashion. What a craptastic creative choice. Whoever’s idea that was is a fucking idiot. *stares at a certain pompous af showrunner*

Ok but for real though, does LJG just like live in North Carolina now? Why is he always around, besides, you know, so we don’t forget he’s a character who exists.

For real though, he lives in Virginia and gets more screen time than fucking Fergus and Marsali who live fucking next door.

At least writing this recap is gonnna be quick and easy since they waste so much time re-showing the stupid silent movie footage.

Yes, I know, they’re trying to show Roger’s PTSD. Which involves flashbacks. And gradually turn it to color once he’s like come to terms with what happened and starts to move forward. But the execution is so bad that the whole arc is wasted because it’s just so poorly done.

Oh hey! A Claire and Bree scene! I love those. Except oh wait, it aggressively fails the Bechdel Test.

I JUST WANT THE FUCKING WOMEN ON THIS SHOW TO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO THAT’S COMPLETELY FUCKING SEPARATE FROM THE MEN. ARGH.

Jocasta singing at Murtz’s cairn is a reminder that everyone should check out MDK’s music.

And her wearing the necklace Murtz gave her makes the existence of show!Duncan even dumber. Like oh hey, new husband, don’t mind me, just mourning my dead boyfriend and wearing his jewelry. But it’s totally normal since my niece-in-law still wears her abusive ex-husband’s ring.

Sorry, show!Duncan, but a more pointless character was never included. Show!Duncan wins the prize for most BeCaUsE tHe BoOk dumbassery.

Repeatedly showing what’s basically a snuff film is...a choice.

LJG has no sense of personal space when it comes to the Frasers. And it’s fucking creepy.

Oh look, another scene where all Claire gets to do is comfort someone about a man.

*BANGS FIST ON TABLE* GIVE CLAIRE BEAUCHAMP THE STORY LINES SHE DESERVES.

Jemmy aged like 3 years in the 3 month time jump.

Ok, I totally get why Roger hadn’t spoken yet. But once he did, the seal was broken. Not talking after he yelled to stop Jemmy, even a little bit, is just a dick move. Not that he’d be magically better. But he like refuses to even take baby steps.

CAN WE PLEASE GET THROUGH AN EPISODE WITHOUT A MUSICAL INTERLUDE. I FUCKING HATE THE CLEMENTINE SONG.

GRANNIE CLAIRE AND GRANDA JAMIE ARE MY FAVE.

OMFG AN ARROW. THAT CLEARLY MEANS...YOUNG IANNNNN!!!!!

So glad he’s back. So fucking glad. Yes, it means one more character to dilute how much time we can spend with any given person, but it’s a character that I like so hopefully he takes away from some of the time given to ones I don’t like?

Aaand Roger can’t even bring himself to try to talk to the guy who gave himself up in his place. Fuck Roger.

Claire does a better job at first than Jamie at picking up the vibes Young Ian is putting off, but like, for two people who are supposed to be emotionally intelligence, neither of them do a good job at first of really *seeing* Ian.

John Bell is really good in this episode.

Omfg Marsali has tarot cards. She’s like leaning full on into being the white witch’s apprentice and I fucking love her so much.

Also, the Hanged Man card is representative of self-sacrifice and martyrdom rather than like being actually hanged as a punishment. But whatevs.

Ok I think the reason Jenny yelling at Jamie to snap out of it in S3 bugged me where this scene with Bree yelling at Roger doesn’t is because sibling dynamic is completely different than spouses where both of them have gone through something unimaginable.

That he can’t even say anything here. Or give her any kind of sign that he’s still in there is a dick move. He *can* speak. He knows that now. So does everyone else. He’s actively choosing not to. Even to say that he just needs more time to work through his shit. No one’s asking him to be a chatterbox and totally back to normal.

Young Ian just sitting there while everyone else does grace is literally me at every family holiday.

Oh look, a wild Fergus appeared!

Ok, I never got the surveying thing. Wouldn’t the land already be registered? Since they were given the paperwork and shit for it from the governor? I know there was some bit about it in the book about keeping it after the Revolution but like, who the fuck else are they registering it with that would make a difference? The gov’t is still the English gov’t?

“But there are things you keep hidden from others. You and Claire both.” Ok, can he please be talking about time travel? I mean, I know he’s talking about his wife and their miscarriages, but I just want someone else to know about time travel already please and thank you.

HOW THE FUCK IS MARSALI STILL PREGNANT?! SHE’S BEEN PREGNANT FOR LIKE A FUCKTON OF TIME.

Fuck yeah not-Catholic-anymore-Ian. No grace, talking about the creator in a way that isn’t explicitly the christian god. Good job, kid.

My parents called me to say happy easter and I had to be like, uh, you remember that I don’t celebrate that, right?

Happy Zombie!Jeebus Appreciation Day to all the still christian people. And happy chance to have fun with burner zoom accounts named Elijiah to the jewish folks.

Jokes aside, the scene with Young Ian and Marsali was really nice and Marsali remains a fucking saint. It’s nice that Young Ian has someone who like actually gets what it’s like to find a home in a group of strangers.

Oh Claire, think more highly of your assistant. Also, what a clunky fucking way to be like oh hey, one of the emo!bros is gonna try to off themselves.

Ok but with the paper airplane now too, can we please show Young Ian finding out about time travel? Please?

Ok, but Claire automatically jumping to Roger wanting to off himself with her herbs... It’s making me judge both of them a little that neither picked up on just how clearly Young Ian was suffering. Like come the fuck on, y’all. It wasn’t subtle.

Also, can we please have more Adso?

SOMEONE GIVE YOUNG IAN A HUG! NO, NOT YOU, ROGER! SOMEONE GOOD!

Yada yada yes they both have been through something shitty and call me a biased asshole, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything about Roger and I feel all the things about Young Ian.

So Roger won’t talk when his wife begs, but he’ll talk when someone calls him on his bullshit. Cool. Cool cool cool. Nice dude.

NO ONE WAS ASKING FOR THE OLD ROGER, YOU TWATWAFFLE. THEY WERE ASKING FOR *A* ROGER. INSTEAD OF A ZOMBIE.

Again, there’s more to that tarot card than a literal hanged man, but whatever, show.

Oh thank fuck the episode is finally over. Expectations are back down in the gutter for the rest of the season. Please pleasantly surprise me, show, but I will not make the mistake again of thinking you’re actually gonna be consistently good again.

[afterthelastreset]

Rules Of One’s Soul Ch 2 A Game of Souls

(Mak belongs to @coffincrawler )

It was a miracle. It was a d*mmed miracle barely anyone saw the scrunched up, sobbing mess of the Duke of Puzzles surrounded by Heart attacks from a certain insane jester. Only the night guard wondering the halls had seen. Curious by the noise of the elevator being used. The same second he saw the duke, he was threatened to be put on 'feeding Jevil' duty if he said a word of what he saw to anyone. Terrified him enough to keep his mouth shut at least. The rest of that awful night was a blur as he couldn't remember stumbling back to his room or managing to even fall asleep with the loud storm or the lingering mixed emotions from the encounter he had less than a minute ago, but he chalked that up to being too emotionally drained from that.

He woke up still groggy in the morning, and wouldn't have gotten up if it weren't for the fact that the King would've been displeased and no one wanted to displease his highness for fear of his anger. And because Lancer needed someone.....

The next few days fell into a similar routine of getting up, putting up a fake smile, and just doing anything but go near that elevator or trying to remember that night. He busied himself with his noble duties of puzzle making and being what Lancer put into terms a 'Lesser Dad'. Or in his own terms, a permanent royal caretaker. Which was basically what he was being told to do anyways, so no real loss. He really didn't mind. He could use the distraction. Honestly he didn't know how much time had passed. Days, weeks, a month or two maybe? Didn't matter. As long as he didn't see that thing ever again he was totally fine. He had a hard enough time dealing with the anxiety and empty feelings that came with the memories. Made him constantly want to vomit.

About maybe a year had passed since the incident and it was slowly starting to get better. He didn't improve on puzzles but he made an upgrade to the control crown that seemed useful. Until the fateful day the lightners fell down. That was a day he truly wished he didn't see the king's anger. But thing's turned out much for the better it seemed. 'King' Lancer was much more friendlier and trustworthy than his father though there was still work needed to be done. It was when he announced releasing all prisoners prior to his father's downfall, that the real melt down started.

The possibility of Jevil running around?? Free?! Where that lunatic could attack him-....anyone at any given moment and spread his insanity like a plague?!?! All the feelings of unwanted belonging, sickness, and that kiss- if he could even call it that- all came rushing back at ounce and he nearly passed out from all the overwhelming thoughts alone. By god he tried as nicely as he could explain to the child that releasing the kings and many common folk were fine, but the Jester would be too mean to let out......

It didn't work.

The overwhelming feeling of dread filled him the very day the other kings were released and slowly everyone were reinstated back to their positions as Kings, servents, civilians, guards, etc. While all of this was going on, the spooked duke didn't see any trace of that menace or hear any of that wicked laugh or gibberish wording. Lots had noticed the Duke's strange behaviors, and only Lancer had a mind to talk-

The child came bounding up to him, tugging on his pants leg to get his attention. "Hey, Lesser Dad. You aren't looking too hot. Are you sick or something?"

A flinch. The Duke brought another strained smile to his face and gave the boy the calmest look he could muster. "O-Of course, mine littlest worm. W-What ever gave thou that silly thought?"

He cocked his head to the side and gave an obvious confused look. "Well, you're acting really weird. Like, when Dad used to yell. Are you sure you're ok?"

"Ahahaha. No need to worry about-t mineself. Thy King should just tend towards his d-duties and thine subjects."

"Ok...If you're sure-?"

"I am! Don't worry non. Eh..." His eyes glazed off to the side for a moment as if uncertain about something, before looking back to the child. "B-But on a curious notion......have thee seen thine foolish inmate a-around lately?"

Lancer tilted his head further with a blep, not exactly sure what he was talking about for a moment, before realization flashed across his face. "Oh, you mean Uncle Jevil??" He flinched at the name, but Lancer didn't seem to notice. "Someone unlocked his cell, but he won't come out...But he still eats stuff."

"Well, we cannot simply force thee to cometh out if he doesn't wanteth too, can we? Ahe....W-Will thou excuse me?"

Carefully prying the hands of the child off him, he turned and began to walk away-

"Where are you going?"

He looked over his shoulder for just a brief moment, "I just need to makest sureth of something. G-Go on back to doinge what thou waseth attending too."

"Oh...Ok, Dad."

He watched as Rouxls quickly made his exit towards the other side of the throne room and out one of the giant doors. What was going on with his Lesser Dad?

A few days had passed since the incident and he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. On one hand, the lunatic hadn't even left his cell even though it's open, which was good. On the other hand, the stupid cell door was wide open and he could get out at any given moment, which was unacceptable! His own fears escalated by one thousand when Lancer said the words 'Uncle Jevil'. How-.....WHEN did that come to be?! When did Lancer even have time to even sneak down there let alone give that menace the title of Uncle?! Where did he go wrong!?

Luckily, Lancer was too busy with his new duties as King to even worry about Jevil. For the moment at least. But the sensation of knowing the innocent child could be easily influenced by him, and get hurt in the process.....He tried not to think too much about it or let his emotions cloud his trust in Lancer's new abilities as King but it all came to a head when one afternoon the child rammed headfirst into his leg when exiting the kitchen. The small child landed on his rump with a thud and a metal plate clattered against the ground, sending food all over the ounce clean floors.

"Lancer! Watch'est where thou runeths off too," he said scolding the round child, "What would thine people think if they seest their king running into things with food in his hands?"

"Sorry, Rouxls." He quickly got up to give the much taller man a hug around the leg before swiftly turning back around to pick up the scattered dark candies. Rouxls rose a brow at all the sweets and sighed.

"Lancer, you shouldn't eat so much junk food this early into the day. Tis most unbecoming of a king."

"Oh. They're not for me."

"Then whom art thou-?"

"Uncle Jevil likes sweet things. He really seems to like dark candy from Mr. Seam's shop, so he's gotta like these."

Rouxls froze. He suddenly felt his body nagging him and the familiar rock feeling in his stomach fly back at lightning speed. He swore he would've fell over if his body wasn't frozen in utter horror at the moment. Lancer, not noticing his father's sudden silence continued-

"I haven't seen anyone take him food in a while. They say they're too scared of him attacking them, which is weird if you ask me. So I'm going to make sure he's fe-"

"NO!"

The sudden shout startled them both as Lancer flinched back up to meet the melting man's frozen posture. Thinking quickly, Rouxls smiled that strained grin of his and gave a small chuckle, a habit he inherited to mask stress or emotions the King wouldn't be pleased with. Old habits died hard as they say. Lancer was still staring up at him in disbelief before asking-

"N-No?....Why not?"

"I- Um- He-......Y-You can't go down there?!"

"Why not?"

"I-...Because it's..." He could feel the slimy sweat start to run down his face, he had to think quickly if he wanted to keep the child from becoming suspicious. "B-Because thou cannot just s-simply leave thine's position as king now, can thee? W-What if there's an emergency that requires thou's attention? Being king means you have to take a lot more responsibility now."

"Oh. That's a good point. I don't want to miss anything." Rouxls sighed in relief at the notion he wouldn't go- The sickeningly sweet smell of the star shaped candy hit him before Lancer thrusted most of the picked up candies at him with a toothy grin with his tongue sticking out. "Then you can do it instead!"

.....What?

"What?! L-Lancer, you can't be serious? Art thou?"

The young spade held up his paws again. "Yeah! You help me with lots of things, and no one else will do it, but you're really brave Lesser Dad!" His tiny tail wagged behind him. "If you can talk to Ex-King Dad then you can feed Uncle Jevil!! He's not scary anyways, he's actually really fun!!"

"B-B-But-.....Ahehe. L-Lancer, doth thou know that a king needs his royal advisor? I-I won't do it when you-"

"Lesser Dad, who's king?"

He sighed. "Thou art king. But I-"

"Then as King Lancer, I order you to feed the Royal Fun Uncle!"

"Lancer, I shouldn't-"

"Follow the rules, Lesser Dad."

He stared down at the blepping child for a while opening and closing his mouth like a fish. There was no loophole around this, and he must follow the kings given out by his liege.....No matter how young they were or how terrorfying it was. So sucking a deep breath and ignoring the flair up of dread in his stomach, he made a graceful bow before hissing-

"Of course, Mine Majesty. I'll be sureth thine jeaster gets nourishment- OOF!!"

The sounds of candies scattered against the floor as his body was tackled by the happy spade child in a hug. Rouxls fell onto his rump just as the energetic spade let go and hopped off.

"Thanks, Lesser Dad!," he happily shouted over his shoulder before running off, "I have new king stuff to do before bad stuff happens!"

The taller man watched the round child bound off down the hallway and around the corner before disappearing. Leaving him sitting there on the cold stone floor surrounded by scattered dark candies. The sinking feeling in his stomach got heavier. He would have to go bad down there and feed the touched starved lunatic. He just hoped that he wasn't on the menu.

======================================================================

BING!!

He flinched hard at the soft ding of the doors as they slowly opened to show the stone steps leading into the dark abyss below. The Duke remained routed to the spot staring straight down into the unholy darkness, faintly making out the outline of the bars and stairway thanks to the few torches lit up on the walls. But no yellow eyes looked up at him. No insane laughter echoed off the walls. Nothing. He cautiously leaned out and took a good look around the entrance -he wasn't about to let that maniac spring out on him again- and nervously ran his eyes over the cold stone walls with what light was available to him. Nothing.

His body slowly began to melt from the added pressure that the small imp could literally be anywhere in this mess, the emotions of fear and anxiety bubbled up, and the urge to just leave was very strong. But he couldn't. He couldn't ignore the rules to follow when it came to his majesty's orders. He'll just leave the food by the door and run. Yeah that'll work. His body trembled as he slowly took a step forward, and placed it on the first step. Nothing. A small bubble of relief came over him. So taking a deep breath, he slowly placed one foot after another and descended the stairs, the sounds of his footsteps echoing off the walls. A strange feeling nagged him closer to the bars as he lowered into darkness, heartbeat increasing. He ignored that heartbeats and feelings that twisted in his gut and just kept going. When he had gotten to the bottom of the stairs he stopped.

He stared silently ahead. Frozen.

Silence echoed throughout the cell with the only sounds being the drips from the ceiling and his heavy breathing. He could see the many plates of food that was left there, most likely by a guard in a hurry to get the task done and get out of there, they were all indeed empty which meant two things. Jevil never really left, or they had a rabbick infestation in the lower half of the dungeons. Either way, it was terrible to him, and something that needed to be done. He'd just get it over with. He slowly turned his head over to where the cell door was, to Rouxls horror it was wide open for the world to see. He took a moment just staring at the open doorway with mixed emotions....before starting towards it. He could just leave Lancer's gift right where the other's left the food, but....I don't know. Something just compelled him towards the opening. Like a moth to a flame. It was probably just his parental instincts telling him to make sure, for Lancer's sake, but.....There was something else. The nagging feeling and tugging his soul received everytime he even remotely thought of the dungeon or Jevil. He just needed to look to make them go away. And the only way to do that was too look. If Jevil wasn't in there, then he had a big problem.

The cell door was a little smaller than he anticipated which caused Rouxls to bow down in order to go through, but it didn't shake his feeling of dread whatsoever. And all too soon he found himself just standing a few steps away from the entrance staring out at the surrounding darkness. It was so dark he couldn't tell where the back wall was, it was certainly dark enough to hide a person yet it seemed completely empty. There wasn't any noise at all or anything to indicate any living being was here other than the abandoned empty plates outside. Whatever, he had a bigger problem to deal with now. Keeping Lancer safe from that freed Lunatic-

"Rouxls, Rouxls? Have you come back, back to play our game?"

Two yellow pinpricks appeared from the darkness, making the Duke freeze. From the darkest corner of the room, the jester's face emerged along with the rest of his body. The two just stared at each other for a moment, not moving. Jevil staring almost like not believing the man before him was real, before a wide fanged smile started to spread across his face. Rouxls reacted by giving a small strained smile of his own feeling more of his body start melting. The urge to just turn and bolt grew, but this time....THIS TIME his heartrate increased in a strange way that sent heat to his face and he mentally cursed the stupid soul mate conspiracy.

"Have you come back, back to me? Noone's ever returned on their captured, captured free will?" He asked in a hollow voice. But it didn't sound like the emotionless hollow voice of a madman, it sounded more devoid of any happy expressions except maybe a little hope stuck into it. From the way the yellow orbs eyed the taller male, it seemed he was searching for some concrete. They stopped at the small amount of food in his hands. His smile just became a little bigger and he looked back up to Rouxs with a hopeful feeling in his eyes. "You brought me dark candies, candies? Feeding me?"

"...L-Lancer has toldeth me t-thou has a liking for....s-sweet things? *a-hem* H-Here. These art meant f-for thou," he somehow managed to stammer out while holding out the plate of food towards Jevil.

"For...me, me?" He stared at the plate in Rouxls hands for a moment before he blinked and began to approach the larger man from the other side of the room. "You brought food to me?"

"L-Lancer wouldn't have wished it any other way." His eyes wary looked over the smaller jester approaching. He never really noticed before, but Jevil seemed a lot smaller when he wasn't forcfully hugging him or bouncing around his cell. His clothes looked worn, not exactly old, but had a few tears here and there and missing a patch or stitch. The ruffled collar around his neck and his shoes seemed to be new though. Probably Lancer's doing? He didn't look the least bit grimy or dirty as a prisoner should be. He looked.....strangely almost normal. Or as normal for a court jester to look. The bells on his hat jingled the closer he got to the duke and for maybe the first time, didn't look that threatening. But as he learnt from before, don't underestimate anything down here. "I-I'm surest thou will like thine delicacy to thou's ta-"

The plate was quickly snatched from his out stretched hands, he froze in surprise as the Duke watched a smiling Jevil open his mouth wide and just poor the candies into his open mouth before snapping it shut like a trap puzzle. The snap echoed around the room followed by the clatter of the plate when Jevil dropped it. The jester happily giggled at the shock on Rouxls face, wagging his tail and jumping up into the air to sit crosslegged in mid air. How could he even hover?? A clawed hand grabbed at his own, and when he didn't pull away, clung onto it.

"I almost thought for sure, sure you'd never really, really come back since yesterday. Lancer was kind enough to open my freedom, freedom for others to come join, but sadly, sadly no one has stayed for too long. Only giving me plates and food and nothing more, more." His eyes widened just a little as he let out a series of giggles. "I was sure you'd come back, back!"

"Thou...did?" Was he expecting Rouxls to just waltz down the stairs at any moment any day since ...well since who knows when? That was a bit...sweet. But also a bit weird.

He gave a dry chuckled and gave a face that could've been sheepish. "I knew you'd want to finish the game, game you started.~ Just couldn't resist the urge to back, back down from a challenge to your captured rules.~" Oh, good lord. Did he think Rouxls came down there to give him food because he missed him?! "I admit I maaaaaay over down my heart's, heart's desire for you-" Rouxls internally winced at the mention of the heart attacks. The cut on his shoulder stung for days. "-but it's all in the name of your opponent's affections, affections.~" Wait. Was he saying that the heart attacks was his way of showing his affections?...He wasn't sure how to take this strange news. "But I wonder what the great Duke of Puzzles, Puzzles will make as his next move?~"

Rouxls stared at him for a moment and he couldn't help the next words that stumbled out of his mouth. "Art thou forgetting what happened the last time I visited thine prison cell?"

"Which part?~," he purred almost dreamingly. His hand now kneeding Rouxls's held hand, "The usual, usual retreat and gathering of wits for the game, game is to be expected-"

"How about when thine attacks or didst thou forget my reaction to that...." he shuddered a bit "...kiss? What was that? A surprise sprung on thou's opponent to lower mine defences?"

Jevil giggled and rose a brow to being questioned. "Maybe, maybe. But You can't deny, deny your soul's calling towards me.~"

Without warning, he reached out his other hand to place on his chest, over where his soul throbbed at the touch. Rouxls flinched at the sudden reaction his own soul had towards one touch. What the-? Jevil however looked rather pleased at his soul's reaction to his own and sighed in a content way.

"Opposites, opposites do really attract.~"

"N-Now holdeth on one moment," he stammered out as his face flushed a lighter blue, "Thou does not see t-the rush thou's pushing?! A-And what of mine feelings?"

"Your soul calls out to mine, mine. You came back, back. What more feelings do you possibly need?"

He didn't say anything for a second. "Well....I say we take thou's......game slower."

"Slower?" He asked tilting his head.

"Y-Yes. A-As you can see-" He straightened his back up to speak professionally. "-I-I'm still Lancer's caregiver and thine majesty needs a royal adviser and whomst tis better than I?"

"Understandable.~ Lancer's naivity could cause problems."

"And who'll take care of other things liketh lawkeeping, mine shoppe, thy puzzles,-? Certainly not Lancer."

"Of course not."

"Then you understand?"

"Of course." He sighed in relief, which was shattered by what he said next. "I've always wondered, wondered what the outside of freedom had turned to be. Is Everyone still, still trapped or free? Perhaps it's time to make a journey."

He felt his stomach drop again."Wha....What does thou mean?"

He grinned. "I think it's time to take our game, game.~" He purred and leaned closer to rouxls who gulped and leaned back slightly from Jevil's advancing face. He felt his face flush hard at the sudden closeness as the imp whispered. "To the next level. Level.~"

A quick peck from the imp's cool lips got him to freeze in place as Jevil giggled and seemed to jumped around him and out the cell door behind the frozen duke. Rouxls stared blankly ahead as his brain processed what had just happened, and he could only say one thing about the situation-

"Oh, fucketh me...."

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Chapter 17

Coming Home

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

Word count - 3,124

Warnings for surgical procedure, somewhat graphic. Blood and gore, minor.

_________

~~~~Nico~~~~

Nico took a deep breath and stepped forward, ducking under the yellow tape criss-crossing over the open doors of the subway. The acrid stench of death hung in the air, mixing with the signature piss and sweat of the underground. Not a pretty smell.

But the view horrified her, too. Cracked glass and smeared blood, a few bullet casings and two blue-clad bodies lying on the floor like dolls discarded by a child with a new toy. Her comrades deserved so much better.

Her heart clenched as she saw their frozen faces. It was Franklin and Taylor; she’d chatted with them by the water cooler the other day. Taylor told her that stupid joke about the zero and the eight, and Franklin… he was only just learning the ropes. His whole life ahead of him.

It made her want to scream.

She wasn’t unfamiliar with the unfairness of life. It twisted her up and spat her out more than once over the years. She’d fought tooth and claw to get where she was, struggle didn’t surprise her anymore. Misfortune had a cruel tendency to affect kind folks more than those who deserved it, but she always hoped to change that, even just a little. To leave the world better than when she entered it was all she wanted from life, despite how difficult the battle was. She could deal with the bad shit.

Still sucked to see the bad shit, though.

We gotta catch this fucker.

Balled fists held tight at her sides, she forced her eyes away from the corpses of her brothers in arms to scan the scene for any evidence that might lead to tracking down the psychopath who ended their lives. Anything would do, any thread she could tug to unravel the mystery and get to slap cuffs on the bastard. She’d never wanted to catch a criminal so badly, so deeply it kept her awake at night.

I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re going down, V.

The background check hadn’t given them much - he’d come from a middle class family, nothing remarkable about his childhood other than his fascination with art. By all accounts, while his young friends were off causing mischief, he’d be found visiting a museum or practicing his brushwork.

That is, until the shooting.

Regardless of his crimes, her heart went out to the poor bastard. Surviving a mass shooting by the sacrifice of a friend was enough to traumatize anyone. It was a damned shame (and an embarrassment to the healthcare system) that he didn’t get the help he needed afterward.

Still didn’t excuse killing folks, though.

At least they had one lead to follow - the doctor. After the dark-haired lunatic fled her apartment, it didn’t take long to get a search warrant. Techs were combing through the place, but they already had enough to put her away for at least a decade. Lobotomizing her own father, un-friggin-believable.

Tony was in shock, caught completely off guard by the doctor’s actions. His own hand-picked medical consultant, in league with the killer they hunted. A twist for the history books, he’d said. She’d never seen him so dumbfounded.

Despite being proven right about her suspicions, it turned Nico’s stomach to see the emptiness in Waras’s father’s eyes, the lack of humanity left behind. He was lucky to be alive, supposedly, but Nico had her doubts. Maybe death was a kinder fate than what the poor man endured.

He’ll never be the same. None of us will.

“I got a blood trail!”

Nico’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Franklin must’ve wounded the fucker, his last act one that could lead to the arrest of his killer. Cold comfort to his loved ones, but still. It was something.

~~~~Kotomi~~~~

The familiar click of her heels on cement vanished amidst the cries of the crowd. Enraged faces lined the entrance to Mundus Psychiatric Hospital, signs and shouts overwhelmingly oppressive. At least they weren't throwing fruit today. She’d count her blessings.

The protests first started a few days after the local news announced that V was the lead suspect in the recent killings, and that he’d escaped the historically secure facility. Citizens fearing for their safety flocked to the streets, calling for the hospital to close and the patients to go elsewhere, though nobody seemed to know where.  As long as it wasn’t here.

Nobody cares about an actual solution, just that the problem gets dumped on someone else’s lap.

Then one of the orderlies told the tale of the fire, heightening the rage and terror. Malphas still hadn’t figured out who talked, but when he did, heads were going to roll. The director’s professional reputation was irrevocably tainted, along with the entire staff (though his was the only name being slandered in the streets).

It shocked her to see normal people so furious. People who barely registered the hospital’s existence before, now vilifying it at every opportunity. It didn’t matter that the place housed mostly harmless individuals, or that the staff genuinely tried to help them heal. All the goodwill vanished in the wake of V’s rampage.

“Bitch! Don’t you care that folks are dying?!”

Kotomi flinched as a protester caught her gaze and stepped forward from the picket line, foam-flecked lips spewing vitriol. She moved faster; maybe she could get inside before it got any worse.

“How many innocent people have to get slaughtered before you fuckers close this shithole?! Give ’em all the chair, I say!”

She crossed her arms and curled her shoulders inward, her heart hammering as she tried to pass the man by. She only wanted to go to work. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She hadn’t done any harm.

That’s not quite true…

In a way, it was all her fault. If she hadn’t frozen up during the fire, maybe things would have turned out differently. Why did she always freeze when it mattered most?

Her thoughts stopped as the man grabbed her shoulder, his grip tight enough to bruise. His rancid breath fanned over her face as he shouted at her, the words lost in the wake of her terror. Quaking legs barely kept her upright as her body flooded with adrenaline, her pupils dilating and sweat blooming on her palms and forehead. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he’d let her go? Could she just wait it out?

What choice did she have?

And then a familiar voice called her name, a pair of worried brown eyes replacing those of the protester as Rob led her inside. Someone else coming to her rescue yet again, because she lacked the strength to save herself.

“Are you alright, Dr. Ishida?” he asked.

She forced her fingers to relax their iron grip on her purse strap. “I- I think so.”

Rob sighed and glanced back at the crowd, their shouting audible through the glass door. “They’re getting bolder. I’ll talk to Aaron again, there’s got to be something we can do.”

But they both knew there was little point. Until V was caught, nothing would quench the fury of the citizens or lessen their drive to close the facility. Maybe her mother was right, she should’ve gone into a different field. It might be time to walk away.

~~~~V~~~~

The artist grimaced as he limped along, his palm pressed against his thigh to staunch the bleeding and ease the pain. Each step he took brought another pang of agony, and he couldn’t find an exit wound- the bullet remained. He’d have to get it out and treat the wound. First, however, he needed to find a safe place to recuperate.

He leaned against a shipping container, cautiously lifting his palm to check the blood flow. It was slowing, at least. Progress. His belt proved an effective tourniquet. 

A gust of icy wind reminded him of his precarious position. The warehouse district wasn’t prone to pedestrians, which meant fewer eyes to spot him, but it also meant he stood out like a sore thumb to anyone who wandered by. He couldn’t afford to stay here long.

Keep moving. Can’t stop now.

He hobbled on, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, itchy as it dripped through his hair. Aches ricocheted through his body, his muscles tired and close to quitting on him. He needed rest, a reprieve and a chance to plot his next move. Where could he go?

His friends stayed oddly silent. Did they abandon him? Unlikely, but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Either way, he had only himself to rely on.

Relying on others teaches one not to stand on their own. This is better.

Before long, his mind wandered to the worst three minutes of his life. It was inevitable after the reminders at the subway, the familiar crack of thunder as guns fired. How much pain had Nero endured that day? They said he’d been hit six times.

“Six… Six twelve Oak street…” he muttered. His vision swam and the artist faltered, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Today was the day; he’d been looking forward to it. He’d had his doubts at first, but with each session Nero’s skill improved. The edges of his latest tattoos featured crisp definition, the whorls perfectly curved to follow the natural shape of his biceps.

The artist didn't notice the flush in his face and the dazed film in his eyes as he turned and set off in a new direction, his steps unsteady but determined. A slight smile graced his lips. What design would Nero add to the canvas of his flesh this time?  

~~~~Reader~~~~

You sprinted to your ancient car, barely noticing the absence of the undercover cop car as you forced the engine to roar to life. No doubt they’d seen V leave and given chase, which meant you didn’t have the choice of going back to your apartment. The police would search it from top to bottom.

They’re going to find the sketches…

It seemed so long ago that the artist first grasped that tiny nub of charcoal in your office, portraying your face in shades of grey. The roller coaster hadn’t stopped since that day, and it showed no signs of slowing.

But fuck it. No sense dwelling on what could’ve been, the life you could’ve had if you hadn’t requested his case. What was done was done. Time to get on with it.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled onto the main road. An aggressive guitar solo blared out and you winced as you turned the volume down, switching the channel a beat later. Social media probably had better info than the radio, but reading and driving didn’t mix.

“-unarmed but extremely dangerous. Police are advising locals to leave the area immediately. Last sighted exiting the subway station on 119th street, but current whereabouts unknown-”

The subway. Smart.

As if you’d expect anything less.

Within ten minutes, you reached 119th. Flashing lights and sirens greeted you, blue-clad officers milling around as one of them plastered crime scene tape over the railing. Mid-morning sunlight streamed down like a sick spotlight.

If V was here, he was beyond your reach.

Shit.

You turned at the next cross street. The police undoubtedly had your license plate by now, you’d need to do something about that. No sense lingering in a place chock full of them. But where to go? Where would V go?

A soft ding stole your attention; a new message. You crossed your fingers as you pulled over to check your phone.

It wasn’t far, maybe a five-minute drive. Thank the heavens, at least now you knew he hadn’t gotten arrested. Yet.

Still… the message had you worried. It lacked his usual eloquence and wit, and didn’t say whether he was physically okay. Shots fired, the TV said. You pursed your lips and pulled back into traffic, mind whirling with uncountable ways V might be injured. By the time you parked a block away from the quaint, two-story house, you could barely breathe through the anxiety.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother locking the car as you speed walked to the yellow front door. What would you find within? If they hurt the artist, would you be able to help? What if only his corpse awaited you?

You swallowed thickly and tried the doorknob. Unlocked; you took a deep breath and entered. Nothing immediately jumped out at you. Photos of a white-haired teenager lined a nearby wall, a hall table holding mail and a dish to leave one’s keys in beneath them. No blood stained the walls, no sounds of pain echoed from another room. It was quiet.

“V? Are you here?”

No answer. Not good. You set aside your backpack and tried again, making your way through the home. Each second he didn't respond only heightened your fear, stinging your tongue with metal. He had to be seriously hurt or incapacitated somehow, and neither option helped the situation.

“V? Come on, where are you?” Your voice shuddered.

“...curse my stars…”

You spun and raced toward the voice, tearing open a door you’d missed before to find the artist, curled up on a massive bed. Blood stained the sheets, concentrated near his thigh. Sweat coated his brow and his eyes stared at nothing, unseeing in the grip of his pain and madness.

“...love so high…”

“Don’t worry, V. I’ve got you,” you murmured as you cupped his clammy cheek. Dilated eyes, sweat and warm to the touch. Most likely an infection. You shoved aside your feelings; time to get to work. Right now, he needed your medical care more than anything else you offered.

Fabric rustled as you took a seat beside him and searched for the source of the blood. Through the fabric of his jeans it was impossible to tell, so you quickly tugged them off, taking care to reapply his improvised tourniquet once the cloth was out of the way. Heart pounding, you finally found a darker spot in the tensor fasciae, close to his hip. There was no exit wound.

Oh, V… you walked here with a bullet in your leg?

At least it wasn’t too deep. Odd, but you’d take what you could get. A thin trickle of crimson oozed from the wound, but he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out yet. Assuming he hadn’t bled too much during his escape…

“I need to find supplies to treat you. I’ll be right back,” you said, stroking damp hair from his brow. His skin was on fire. He didn’t respond.

You pursed your lips and left him, searching the bathrooms and kitchen until you had what you needed. A moment more spent thoroughly washing your hands, and you returned. The artist hadn’t moved an inch.

Is he having an episode, too? Maybe that’s for the best, it’s possible he won’t notice when I take out the bullet.

The best you had was a longer than average pair of metal tweezers. If they didn’t do the job, you’d have to widen the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t close to any major arteries, so you were confident you had the skills to remove it safely. A few inches to the left, and he would’ve already been dead for an hour.

“Okay, this might hurt,” you told him, pausing for a moment before dousing his thigh with a mixture of bottled water and table salt. After a moment you turned him so the excess fluid spilled out, leaving the wound clean and ready. You gave him one last look as your fingers wrapped around your tool. The head lamp you found in the kitchen flared to life with a touch and you straddled his injured leg, keeping it as still as possible.

“Now for the really fun part…”

The artist twitched feebly as you probed the hole. For once it seemed his episodes were a blessing; if he were even remotely coherent, he surely would have screamed.

Centimeter by centimeter, you searched for the signature resistance of metal surrounded by human tissue. More blood leaked from the wound, drenching your hands and slowing your progress. Muttered verses occasionally interrupted the squelch of your work, but you paid his words no mind. A distraction surgeon never helped.

At last you found it, an unrelenting hardness amongst the fibrous muscle. You tapped around the bullet, getting a feel for its dimensions before making your move. The tweezers barely opened wide enough to take hold, but they did the job and you felt the bullet disturb the surrounding tissue as you slowly drew it out with a satisfying plop.

You sighed and set aside your prize. Another round of improvised saline later, you carefully sutured the wound closed and bandaged the area. The artist still made no indication of awareness, just lying there as you put him back together.

The moment you set down the roll of bandages, you started trembling. V’s blood covered your hands, the sour stench of sweat and chemicals hanging in the air. As pointless as it was, you couldn’t help but wonder why life had to be this difficult. The last twenty-four hours alone had your nerves begging for a break. What a sick world, where you had to remove a bullet from the man you lo-

Holy shit.

Air slipped from your gaping mouth as you fell back against the wall. A manic chuckle followed, then another. Was this what love was like? You’d never come close to it before, to this burning like fire in your soul. The thought of losing V mere hours ago had you in tears, falling apart like an infant without its mother for the first time. When you were with him, despite his murderous and unpredictable nature, you felt safe.

And the things you’d done for him - withholding medical information, lying to your boss and risking your medical license, everything you’d spent years working towards; not to mention what you did to your father.

He’d forced you to face yourself, someone you didn’t even know anymore. Changed your understanding of the world and of art, torn asunder your preconceptions and lit the way to new views. The eloquence of his speech, the grace in his movement, the curve of that smirk and the way his presence changed the atmosphere of any room…

I don’t know if this is love, but I don’t have another word that fits. Not even close. 

It was twisted; it was soaked in blood and violence, but you felt more authentic than you ever had. You smiled. Decades ago, you accepted that you might not be capable of love. 

How wonderful to be wrong.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

[ckret2]

And because I'm also curious, what is the weirdest thing you have had to learn/research for a story - to the point of "Damn, that's weird. Even for me"?

Every single time I’m writing a nonhuman character—like, say, a dragon, or a giant pteranodon made out of rocks, or a robotic spider—and I realize that the character is gonna be banging sometime soon and that means I have to put at least a little thought into the mechanics of how that works for their species, I have to go to google and type in “spider genitalia” and go please show me scientific diagrams and not weird horny things, please show me scientific diagrams and not weird horny things, please show me—

At this point, my weirdometer is broken. In the past year, off the top of my head, I’ve had to look up:

- what color smoke does a fish give off when you toss it in a volcano? (answer: boring gray smoke. I thought it might be black, which is why I checked, but nah.)

- almost a whole day on researching how volcanos melt rocks when magma is actually colder than their component rocks’ melting points (answer: the melting temperature of rocks is lowered when the pressure on them is reduced or when they’re mixed with water, both of which happens when rocks are forced up through the mantle toward a volcano)

- I was only looking up how rocks melt into magma because I was trying to figure out how to build a glass melting kiln and realized lava wasn’t hot enough to melt glass (much less rocks), so how does a fire get hot enough to melt glass? (answer: if you add extra oxygen to a fire it gets hotter, so you’ve gotta have some way to pump extra air over the fire fast enough to increase the heat but not so fast it also blows extra heat away)

- listen. listen I did… a lot of research on lava. (did you know that most volcanoes form on the borders of tectonic plates but a few come from tiny pinprick holes in the middle of tectonic plates instead? These are called “hotspot volcanoes” and Hawaii is one! The reason Hawaii is a long line of islands is because the tectonic plate on top of the hotspot keeps moving and so the volcano keeps punching new holes up through the plate! The biggest island is the newest and the smallest are the oldest & most eroded, and if you look off the southeast coast of Hawaii a new island is currently being formed by a volcano underwater, and if you look northwest off the coast of Hawaii there’s a bunch of eroded-away underwater islands going off in a dotted line! If you keep following it long enough at one point the underwater islands make an abrupt turn in a different direction because millions of years ago that’s when the tectonic plate Hawaii is on hit another plate and started floating in a different direction! Did you know that we didn’t even know tectonic plates existed until like the 60s?!)

- when was vaseline invented (patented in 1872; also it wasn’t “invented” so much as “discovered,” it’s a byproduct of pumping up oil)

- is it safe to put vaseline on snake junk (yes, in fact it’s often used by veterinarians when they have to prod around to figure out what a snake’s sex is)

- Which frequencies do AM and FM radio operate on, no the EXACT frequencies, how different are they from each other (AM is on 535 kHz to 1605 kHz, or 535 thousand Hz to 1,605 thousand Hz. FM is on 88 to 108 MHz or 88 million Hz to 108 million Hz. Humans can hear from 20 Hz to 20,000 Hz. A Hz, or Hertz, is basically “how many times does this thingy vibrate per second.” So the lowest AM frequencies are vibrating about 26 times faster than the highest sound a human can hear, and the lowest FM frequency vibrates about 55 times faster than the highest AM frequency)

- What was gay life in the 1920s in New Orleans like, no not the 1920s in San Francisco or New York I want New Orleans, no not what gay life in New Orleans is like today I want the 1920s, no not gay history in New Orleans back to the 1940s I want the 1920s and only the 1920s and specifically the 1920s, I will take earlier if you have it but don’t you dare try to tell me about the first gay Carnival krewe in 1958 again— (… this one’s a work in progress)

- how to translate “in the grass” from Old English into modern English in a way that lets you make a grass/grace pun in Middle English (as best I can work out, Old English for “in the grass” is “in þæm græse,” and græse evolved like græse > græs > gras > grass, where “gras” in Middle English is a potential spelling for either “grass” or “grace”)

- I mean, we’ve all had to look up “what were historically-used terms for queer people in the 30s/in the 20s/in the 10s/in the 1800s/etc” and then, tiredly, had to look up “were there any historically-used terms for queer people that don’t sound even more queerphobic than they did back then?” (Fun Victorian trivia: “Greek love” was used as code for gay love because Greek mythology was one of the only places where gay romance was readable—if you had a good enough education to learn that—because it’s Greek and therefore it’s Art and that makes it okay. Another late Victorian term, based on a now-outdated presumption of a correlation between gender identity and sexuality: “sexual inversion,” which means that a given person inverts the assumed gender roles for their assigned sex. So someone AMAB who’s called a sexual invert would, under this theory, be expected to act/dress/present as a woman AND want to/try to fulfill a woman’s gender roles AND would, “like a woman,” be sexually & romantically interested in men. Obviously, this is uhhhh, Not Good by modern standards—but it was an idea put forth by some of the first modern European psychologists to be like “the healthiest thing to do for these folks is let them live out the gender they say they are and to let them screw the way they wanna screw!” so it was an actual step in the right direction. AND it was put forth in an era when sexual preference wasn’t seen as something you’re hardwired or born with but as simply an action you can choose to pursue or not pursue, like deciding to participate in or not participate in a sport. As far as I can see this is one of the first European frameworks that presents queerness as something you are rather than something you do, so a step toward our general modern perception. What I don’t know is how widely the term was known/used in queer communities rather than in psychiatric circles.)

- Exactly how deep is Charles River in Boston (sorta 15 to 20 feet deep, it only gets deeper than 30 feet in a few small spots)

- Exactly how tall are the mountains around Death Valley (god I don’t wanna look this up again, thousands of feet, the tallest is like 11k feet)

- If you’re flying from New Zealand to Mexico but like, not in a plane, you’re just out there flying, what islands are in the area that you might pass over (if you don’t hit either French Polynesia or the Pitcairn Islands you’re kinda SOL until you reach the Galapagos. Also, all three of these island chains are over volcanic hotspots!)

- how fast can a bigass US battleship go (the bigassest ship the US Navy has is Nimitz-Class Aircraft Carriers and they can go 30 knots, which is 34 mph, which sucks. screw that, just get in a car and drive across the ocean)

So like. Aside from bracing in terror every time I have to google animal junk because I KNOW what nightmares are out there? It’s kinda hard to sort out what’s weirder than the rest, because like. I’ve gotta look up everything. Nothing’s weird when everything’s on the table.

Speaking of the potential nightmare-inducing potential of researching animal junk: I wasn’t even looking for this information, I was trying to find out what the breeding season for deer is, but this is what I found out: did you know that when male deer are planning to go get laid, they bend their heads down and pee on their own faces?

You, you know exactly what character had me doing deer research in the first place.

If I have to be haunted by this unwanted unasked-for knowledge, so does everyone else.

[curious-minx]

A ranking of four 200 Hundredth Episodes: Bob’s Burgers’ recent victory lap stands above the rest

The Bicentennial. How many among us get to be a part of something that get’s broadcasted for over 200 episodes? In the world of animated sitcoms it is a small, Fox dominated burrow. Bob’s Burgers is the latest series to become bestowed with this particular honor, and is possibly the best of the Fox line-up to do so. Family Guy’s 200th episode, Season 11 - Episode 12,  is the only Fox series to be given a full blown on-air anniversary treatment. The episode is a Valentine themed Brian and Stewie lark and like all of the other entries on this list celebrates it’s 200th episode anniversary in a more casual, blithe fashion. Family Guy is the only show Fox has bothered to air an entire half hour  special, but months before the actual airing of the 200th episode in Februrary. I am deliberately skipping over Family Guy and South Park’s 200th episodes. In the former’s stead I chose to watch American Dad’s 200th episode, because McFarlane is such a titan in adult animation that deserves recognition. The South Park episode is too exhausting for me to get into. South Park’s 200th episode, Season 14 - Episode 05, is the one that evoked the wraith of a  New York based Radical Muslim organization that would soon be “shut down” (i.e. members arrested) a few months after the episode aired on April, 2010. The 200th episodes of South Park and the Simpsons are the only two series to have received Emmy nominations, and in Simpsons case a win, due to their 200th episodes. Here’s hoping for Bob’s Burgers to get a similar recognition, because I think its 200th episode is pretty special and straight to the point.

///

1.) Bob’s Burgers - “Bob Belcher and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Kids” 

Out of all the 200 episodes is episode the most consciously in conversation with itself. The 200th episode has been treated with a reasonable amount of respect with The A.V. Club bringing their Bob’s Burgers coverage out of retirement and Variety and Salon also got into the mix. Gotta be honest a part of me over at The Curious Minx would prefer if the Bob’s Burgers recap lane was kept on the narrower side, but on the other hand this is a fabulous series that should be written about by as many different publications. 

In a recent  tired and routine zoom Variety interview (https://variety.com/2020/tv/news/bobs-burgers-remote-recording-200th-episode-1234830796/) BB’s creator Loren Bouchard touches upon how this 200th episode is supposed to serve as something of a pilot. An episode so fully realized that even if you are someone with no active bank of knowledge about the Bob’s Burgers minutiae of the Belcher family dynamics and still enjoy this episode as much as a full blown series fan. The episode is written by Steven Davis, a producer and writer with an extensive amount of episode writing and producing credits on Bob’s Burgers. The quality of a Bob’s Burgers script in the pandemic era  is becoming more relevant, because of the diminished role of improv, and this episode definitely feels crafted by a creative team fully in touch and aware of their characters and how to put them in satisfying situations.

Compared to any of the other animated sitcom families, the Belchers are noticeably the more lower middle class. There is a pervading sense of an overall struggle for survival and prosperity that is cooked right into the series pilot debut. Season 1 - Episode 01 “Human Flesh” sets the tone of the series, despite the overall writing and characters being sharper, the stakes have not changed much. Bob’s Burger’s like any American restaurant not under the protective aegis of a Big Franchise is in a state of perpetual turmoil. In the pilot episode the difficulties of running a standard American restaurant are made even more complicated by dysfunctional family hijinks. 

The 200th episode differs from the pilot in one dramatic way and that is the presence of the extended Belcher family member Teddy. In the original pilot Teddy is completely absent, whereas in the 200th episode Teddy’s role as surrogate family member is made even most distinct by having Teddy being invested above and beyond in helping save his pal’s Bobby’s restaurant. The return of the ornery and quirky Health Inspectors Ron and Hugo are serving as the most obvious form of echoing of the pilot. I highly recommend rewatching the pilot after viewing this episode, because I had completely forgotten that the Belcher’s saving grace is that Hugo and Linda were once in a relationship together. The pilot is noticably very contained setting wise, focusing exclusively in and around the Belcher family restaurant. Whereas, the 200th episode explores more settings with the Belcher children going across town to find a replacement for Bob’s broken oven part, an oven that they feel they are entirely to blame for destroying. A couple of celebrity guests Stephanie Beatriz and SNL’s Kyle Mooney that true to Bob’s Burgers spirits are usually just playing characters of little to no consequence. Unlike the other Fox family in this list that really leans in on having celebrities playing themselves, the best celebrity guest appearances on Bob’s Burgers tend to be the most anonymous, and Kyle Mooney’s put upon hardware store clerk is a great example of this. 

Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t dwell on the satisfying Linda contribution of the episode. Linda makes the critical set piece that ignites the restaurant fire. Linda’s gnarly mermaid sculpture is a great visual metaphor for the series. Especially when the Mermaid Statue is used to build up a very well constructed song-based gag. The whole episode made me feel really good about the state of the series and especially the Movie (And Loren Bouchard backs this up by giving interviewers the impression that the film’s delay has only improved its quality). As far as 200 episodes of long running animated sitcoms go, you certainly can’t go wrong with this one!

////

2. King of the Hill - Hank’s Bully

By all accounts the most unremarkable episode on this list. An episode that also has a trollish spirit that gets a sadistic glee in tormenting the fuddy duddy Hill patriarch. This is the also the 200th episode with the lowest stakes, the least of a spectacle, and most unassuming 200th episode. While trying to research anything of note to include in my review of the episode all I could find was this reddit post (https://www.reddit.com/r/KingOfTheHill/comments/bpl235/hanks_bully_was_near_impossible_to_watch/) where a user is criticizing the way in which Hank it mistreated. When I was rewatching this episode my partner also found this episode hard to watch and sympathized with Hank’s plight against a Clifford-like malicious imp of a hateful child who’s sole purpose is to make the lives of everyone else around him more difficult. 

To me what most stands out about this episode is the fantastic direction by longtime King of the Hill animator, former Bob’s Burgers animator, and current Rick and Morty director, Kyoung Hee Lim. A seemingly badass woman  working in a field that is not particularly kind to women or to women of color. I am pretty shocked that no one in all of her years as a director on some pretty important shows has brought her up or did an interview piece on her. Maybe this is something the good folks at The Curious Minx can aspire to? I am definitely going to be taking a further dive into the 22 episodes of King of the Hill that she directed and revisit the 15 episodes of Bob’s Burgers to see if I can discern what makes a Kyoung Hee Lim episode. 

One major ploy detail that I noticed in this episode, a detail that is also oddly prevalent on the other two 200th episodes, is the trash talk. And by that I do mean literal trash talk. The B-plot of this episode is what makes the episode pop for me in that the pairing of Dale and Peggy is a really successful one. The episode finds Dale frustrated with the Arlington Waste department and how they won’t take his refrigerator full of dead squirrels and his freeze full of dead crow. Dale then takes advantage of this dead blessing in disguise by getting into the world of competitive taxidermy with Peggy’s creative eye complimenting Dale’s gruesome technical prowess.   Both of these characters operate on such an oddly similar wave lengths that watching the two of them embark on a taxidermy journey together was strangely touching and fun to watch. And I am a vegan that feels weird about killing animals in video games, but the ending visual gag of the episode is especially inspired. My one complaint is that the episode is severely lacking in Bobby Hill. Probably because I just recently finished watching Better Things and basically want every show to be the Pamela Adlon show all the time. 

/////

3.) American Dad - “The Two Hundred”

Visually and conceptually this 200th episode really impressed me. As previously mentioned at the start of the post, I am not someone that is particularly warm to the McFarlane brand of comedy, but American Dad really is where he saves his best work for. This 200th episode got the complete opposite treatment of Family Guy. Airing on a Monday night on TBS this episode was pretty much given a shrug, but that does not tamper down any of its ambitions. The whole episode is basically a pastiche of Apocalyptic Dystopian alternative timeline tropes centering around an alone and traumatized by his past Stan. The episode has one of the most clever ongoing visual gags I have seen on a show where flash backs are teed up by Stan’s ridiculous new post apocalyptic tattoos. The core family and ancillary characters of American Dad are all given terrific moments to shine in this heightened post apocalyptic hellscape, and the key to any enduring series success if whether or not you can tell that the creatives involved respect and enjoy the characters that they are writing for. This being a McFarlane project there are a couple of embarrassing lines of dialogue from the show’s respective gay and Black characters and an over indulgence on Rodger based humor, but overall this 200th episode left me with more appreciation for this series as a whole. I will still always make sure to appreciate whenever a long running creative property takes stylistic swings and risks.While there is nothing particularly fresh or novel about a cannibal laden post apocalyptic wasteland this 200th episode managed to find some find fun character beats to subvert tropes or double down on them. The visual of a consistently on the move runaway train that is also mysteriously always on fire was also especially well executed. This episode could easily have been a series finale if the series hadn’t already played around with alternative timelines like in their Christmas specials. 

This episode also features more trash talk! One of Stan’s tattooed regrets revolves around Francine failing to get the trash picked up on trash day because Stan had purposely neglected to take it out. This rather odd pattern is about to make a whole lot of sense with the fourth and my least favorite 200th episode by the Simpsons.

////

4.) The Simpsons - Trash of the Titans

How many more times can I impress upon you that the 200th episode  of your animated sitcom is an  an occasion for trash talk? One more time. This 200th episode of The Simpsons is by far the most trash centric 200th episode of them all. The first animated adult sitcom to get over the 200th episode hump, the 200th episode  “Trash of the Titans” has some fun real-world trivia attached to it, but other than that this is one of the lesser “Golden Era” Simpsons offerings by a long shot. 

My primary source on contention with the episode lies in the direction Homer takes in most of the episode. A 2016 Uproxx (https://uproxx.com/media/simpsons-donald-trump-hillary-clinton/) article gained traction and a Wikipedia citation by comparing Homer’s antics to that of possible former rising Dictator Donald Trump. The episode involves Homer acting at his absolute most abhorrent in an election to boot, and his behavior in this episode is some of the most irredeemable Homer has ever been. The article oddly neglects to make note of the fact that Homer in this episode also makes similar slights against Mexico, referring it to an inherently “dirtier” country.  The episode ends on a truly groan inducing aged as fine as old socks in the cheese drawer with a crying Native American gag. Ah 1998 when we could pretend that the Crying Native American commercial was just silly social commentary and not racial minstrelsy. 

There is also one other instance that didn’t sit well with me and that’s when Homer is seen physically assaulting a woman working the booth at a U2 concert. I could handle the bullish descent into crooked politician, but watching Homer violently push a woman out of the way felt out of place. A retread of all the growth and development we’ve seen him go through over the course of 200 episodes. Of the other three patriarchs discussed on this list a Homer Simpson centric plot tend to not work as well for me especially if you compare him to the other animated TV fathers. 

The episode also features two celebrity guest spots. One made by Steve Martin who does a good job becoming more or less unrecognizable as the original Springfield Sanitation Commissioner Ray Patterson. The other celebrity guest appearance is more of an ill-portent of signs to come with U2 playing themselves. Whenever a celebrity is playing themselves on The Simpsons it usually does not work out. Not everyone can be used to advance a plot as seamlessly as Barry White. Although it is funny, funny in a “oh, we were so much simpler” sort of way that this episode garnered controversy and a ban on UK television over U2 and Mister Burns’ use of the word, “wanker.” Flash forward to 2009 and Bono is once again throwing around his favorite cheeky pejorative this time in reference to fellow earnest bland frontman Chris Martin (https://www.music-news.com/news/UK/24741/Read). 

Resting Wanker Face

The other fun factoid about this episode once again is not related to the show, but the show’s influence spilling out into the real world. In the late 80s and throughout the 90s, Adams Mine was an abandoned pit located somewhere in Ontario situated in a term I’m learning for the first time, the “Canadian Shield.” An exactly similar proposal is made by Homer Simpson during his reign of Sanitation Commissioner. This sweeping of trash under the rug does culminate into a satisfying visual gag as a climax that feels like a Garbage Pail Kid/Toxic Avenger version of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. More bizarrely and unfortunate, this episode also aired a week after the passing of Linda McCartney. How messed up is that? Couldn’t they just have waited at the end of the season or at least on an episode that doesn’t involve wallowing in filth? 

The episode features another developing bad habit in terms of the inclusion of songs and song parodies. There is virtually no connection to Willy Wonka in this episode other than the fact that both “Candy Man” and “Trash Man” have share a similar pronoun. Unlike the use of songs in Bob’s Burgers where they tend to be unique to the character’s reaction to dramatic consequence, on the Simpsons it’s more often than not a  a song for the sake of a song. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but why not go for a joke about parodying real musical trash titans, The Cramps, or even trash up a U2 song? On the episode’s Wikipedia entry in the Production section Matt Groening is quoted to saying that the visual gag of a department store sporting the slogan, “Over a Century Without a Slogan,” wasted a lot of man hours. So much effort and reach for a joke with a fraction of a minimal of pay off is essentially the Simpsons ethos in one visual gag. 

Once again, it bears repeating that this episode is also rewarded for an Emmy. If you break down the episode as starting off as a satire of Holiday Commercialism with the creation of the cynical Love Day holiday and ending the episode as a foreboding parable about the very real ecological repercussions of improper waste management. This clearly sounds like classic Simpsons reverse engineering management. Instead this is a classic case of an episode of the Simpsons being more interesting to think about than it is to actually watch. This is also the 200th episode that least honors its central cast of characters. Marge and Lisa are both afforded meager moments of wisdom and decency, but Bart is more or less even more irrelevant to the plot than Bobby Hill was on his 200th episode. 

As for today it seems like the only Simpsons anniversary that will likely rouse any more attention it’s way will be the 1,000th episode.. Think how much more trash we as a collective species will have made by the time that milestone roils around!

////

In Conclusion:

When you start to make 200 episodes of anything the one feeling that seems to creep up is one of, “taking out the trash,” or you’re making art out of trash. Trash being a metaphor for the entire medium of Television. The TV market is an ever growing landfill, one of America’s Rapiest Dads made a whole cartoon about kids living and learning life lessons in a junk yard. So much of Television is only a means of  mass marketing  ground up pieces of detritus. Then you’re supposed to be grateful that your detritus gets to be a bumper for advertisements and the occasional merchandising. You’re an adult, you’re not supposed to take cartoons seriously. They are empty calories, brain noise, and at best background noise. Yet they are the only types of shows that can consistently manage to get over well over the 200 episode mark. At least back before the Netflix business model of show’s only deserving 1.5 seasons. 

Bob’s Burgers is reaching its 200th episode in an unfathomable media landscape, one that is completely demolished and in the process of being rebuilt from the aftermath of the coronavirus. The 2020s could be a turning point for animation going forward, animation is a severely grueling and technically difficult sector. This newfound interest in the medium may finally be  the financial boost and support that it dearly needs in order to properly pay artists for their work. The creators of these series may not think of what they do as art and to keep themselves afloat have to think of the act of bringing an animated sitcom into the world as necessary as taking out the trash. Our trash is a mirror. Inside the landfill we see our own morals and values reflected right back at us. Bringing forth life means a lot of shit. With every year you keep an infant human alive that means (x) amount of disposable diapers piled up. I suggest we make like the Belcher children and try to salvage our trash, put a wig on our trash, put a crop top on our trash, paint some lashes on your trash, because we’re all in the end up going to be put into the ground (beef). 

[briannafrostgirl]

Paper

An original story by BriannaFrostgirl

The prison cart shook violently with every bump of the road, which were numerous on the clay roads of Lemoyne. With each bump, the shackles that were wearing into Brianna Murphy's wrists and ankles rattled like an angry ghost. She'd long since given up on trying to pick the lock. Her fingers never had been well suited for such fine work and as such her skills were more than a little rusty. Her charm on the other hand...

The bounty hunter was a woman and a beautiful one at that. And well, Brianna had always had a way with the ladies...

The hunter was dressed smartly in shades of grey and black, with a red tie around her neck providing a splash of color and a gold pocket watch tucked into her best pocket. Her curly brown hair was tied up in a simple ponytail, her posture was impeccable, and she had just the right amount of sweat on her brow. She already looked plenty formidable but it was her eyes that told the full story. Deep brown and full of loss and sorrow and determination. The eyes of a woman not lightly crossed. She was focused on the road but Brianna had no doubt that she was more than ready to use the Lancaster repeater on her lap at a second's notice. She was taciturn but the smallest smile played at the corner of her lips, giving the Irishwoman the confidence to try.

"That's a fine gun," she said cheerily in a thick Galway accent. "Looks like it's got a custom frame and grip, if I'm not mistaken."

"You are not," the hunter replied with a little smile, brandishing the gun like a proud mother. "She's my pride and joy, so I keep her well maintained. Only the best for my baby, right? You like her?"

"Oh aye, she's a masterfull piece of work alright," Brianna replied with a grin. "As is the woman holding her."

The other two prisoners - a couple of Lemoyne Raiders who didn't know about bathing or laundry from the smell of them - both groaned but the hunter let out a little chuckle.

"You comin' onto me, miss?" She asked

"Depends. Is it working?" Brianna replied with a smirk.

"Only a little," the hunter laughed. "Not enough to let you out of that cage of that's what you're wondering."

"Would it help if I said I was framed?" Brianna asked playfully, batting her eyelashes coquetishly.

"Well, I got a paper here says you killed three men in Valentine" the hunter replied, brandishing the paper in question. "That true?"

"Well, you're missing some crucial context there..."

"Which is...?"

"They took my hat," Brianna shrugged. "And they cheated at cards. They were assholes, no one will miss em."

"Well that clearly ain't true since someone put a price on your head, Miss Murphy," the hunter chuckled to herself.

Brianna sighed and slumped back down in her seat.

"Looks like you done struck out," one of her traveling companions said with a gleeful smile that showed off his three remaining teeth. "I always heard you Brits was queer but Lord knows I didn't know how right that was."

"Shut your mouth or I'll have to be hanged for four murders instead of three," she replied sulkily.

"Save your threats, Irish," Toothless chuckled. "We'll be out of this cage soon enough. The Lord provides. Or in this case, my brother."

Brianna looked up from her shackles, her eyes narrowed. "Your what?"

BOOM!! The cart was thrown to the side of the road in an explosion of dirt and fire. Brianna could hear the horses bolt, could feel the blood slick on the back of her head. And she could see the other two prisoners gleefully slip out the back, cheering and hollering like wild dogs. With a groan, Brianna rolled out of her seat and followed them.

The side of the road had been torn apart by dynamite, leaving a deep rut that would no doubt annoy travelers for years to come. Toothless' compatriot had his shackles around the hunter's throat, a revolver to her head. Another man in confederate wear, the brother, she supposed, was busy breaking the lock on Toothless' handcuffs.

"What did I tell you, Irish?" He chuckled gleefully. "The Lord provides..."

His chains broken, the talkative bastard bent down and scooped up a revolver from the dirt, tossing it into Brianna's outstretched hands.

"We gotta get outta here, Clem," his brother said, his eyes flitting every which way - a walking, talking bundle of nerves. "No way the sheriff in Rhodes didn't hear that blast."

"In a minute," Toothless replied, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, Joe, you worry too goddamn much. We gotta deal with our captor first..."

He chuckled gleefully, picking up her repeater and reloading it.

"Jesus, Clem..." Joe groaned. "Just put a bullet in her head and let's go."

Brianna winced in spite of herself. "Isn't that a little excessive? Why don't we just tie her up and be on our merry way."

Toothless let out a nasty gaffaw. "You going soft, Irish? You caught feelings for this bounty huntin’ piece of trash."

He approached the hunter, getting his face within inches of hers. "Don't you want to get even with this bitch? She was gonna hang you..."

Brianna rolled her eyes.

"I think I'm gonna make it slow..." Toothless added, his voice getting even nastier if that was possible. "A drop of blood for every one my brothers she's seen hanged."

The hunter gave Brianna a determined stare. "You really sure these folks are the kind you wanna associate with, Miss Murphy?"

Brianna looked at her feet. "It's better than dyin'."

"Is it?" The hunter's gaze remained fixed on Brianna, ignoring her captors entirely. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather die with my honor intact than throw in with these inbred bastards." 

"Shut the hell up," Toothless growled, jamming the gun butt into her head. "Maybe I should just put a bullet in you right now."

Despite the blow, the hunter's gaze remained fixed on Brianna.

She sighed and cocked her gun. "Fuck it."

And with the speed and ease of a practiced marksman, she spun her revolver up and put a round into Toothless' skull.

"What the hell???"

Both Joe and the man who was holding the hunter turned their guns on Brianna, their faces full of shock as their compatriot's lifeless body slumped to the dirt. Quick as lightning, the hunter jammed her knee into her captor's groin, causing him to double over in pain and drop his revolver into her waiting hand. She spun it with grace and put two shots into Joe's chest. Before he even hit the ground, she had put a round into the third man's head and easily extricated herself from his grip.

Brianna stared at her, dumbfounded. "You... You didn't need my help at all, did you?"

The hunter winked at her. "Not really. But I wanted to see what you'd do."

Brianna's cheeks flushed. "I guess we’ve got a stop to make in Rhodes, huh?"

"I guess that depends on you..." The hunter smirked.

She pulled a piece of paper from her vest pocket and wrapped it around her revolver, tossing it to Brianna. She unfurled the paper, her jaw dropping at its contents.

"A bounty hunting license?"

"It pays the bills and it's good honest work," the hunter replied. "And as long as you're doing good, honest work, you and I don't have a problem."

She held up Brianna's wanted poster and tore it in two. "Just try not to shoot anybody else over cards, okay?"

Brianna grinned as she pulled off Joe's gun belt and slipped her two new revolvers into it. "No promises, but I will try."

"Fair enough," the hunter laughed.

She glanced around at the carnage around them, her hands on her hips.

"Well if you wanted to start on your new line of work early, I got three bodies to take into the sheriff in Rhodes and no wagon to transport them," she said with a smile.

Brianna shrugged and hoisted Toothless' corpse up onto her shoulder. "Well I got nowhere better to be, so..."

As the two women headed off down the road, hauling the three confederates along with them, Brianna glanced at her new traveling companion.

"So, uh... About earlier. I didn't have a shot with you, did I?"

The hunter gave her a playful grin. "Well, buy me a drink once we hit Rhodes and we'll see..."