What are some of the most done to death NGE fanfic ideas?

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Postby Gob Hobblin » Tue Apr 22, 2014 4:59 pm

Good long ones, but that's dependent on the story. If it feels like the author is, as you're saying, trying to tic off the boxes, then I loose interest.

A story has to obey the rules that it writes for itself. It has to follow it's own natural progression from start to end, and any attempts to force something onto it that don't fit are sure to kill it.

Take a light novel: if the general thrust of the plot are lighthearted, then getting into deep, heartrending drama is unnerving and ruins the focus of the story. By that same token, if you have a deep and dark story that has a beach chapter, it feels...odd. I've never been able to reconcile those kinds of deviations in my mind.

You used the word catharsis, and that's the key right there. Catharsis can come from reading a dreary story to it's pitiful conclusion, just as reading a WAFF-y story can leave you smiling. The thing is, the sensation can't be forced. It has to be drawn out and shown, by way of the story.

Many fan fic authors just aren't ready to do this sort of thing chapter after chapter. There are few that do a very good job of it, but most are simply, as you say, checking off the boxes.

I mean, if you are creating a story -- a true, organic story -- than simply in the natural course of writing it, you will start to see problems arising between the characters. Characters have conflict, and they have drama. Allowing it to happen, and working through it in the story, is interesting. A WAFF-y story can do that without going full-Cerebus on us.
Though, Gob still might look good in a cocktail dress.
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Postby Kendrix » Tue Apr 22, 2014 5:03 pm

View Original PostGob Hobblin wrote:I mean, if you are creating a story -- a true, organic story -- than simply in the natural course of writing it, you will start to see problems arising between the characters. Characters have conflict, and they have drama. Allowing it to happen, and working through it in the story, is interesting. A WAFF-y story can do that without going full-Cerebus on us.



*nod nod*
:yui_grin:

(I see the lack of Kaworu smiley has still not been remedied? You could add Rompers-san as well for further lol factor)
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Postby Gob Hobblin » Tue Apr 22, 2014 5:04 pm

Yui nods are fine. I like the Yui nods.

:rei_hissyfit:

(I will forgo my Asuka fixation to give you a Rei squee).
Though, Gob still might look good in a cocktail dress.
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Rei wanted to know what waffles tasted like.
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We have to remember what's important in life: friends, waffles, and work. Or waffles, friends, and work. But work has to come in third.
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Come read EVA Sessions! This place has it, too! There'll be pizza! Not really! There are other things, too! Not EVA Sessions! Did I mention the pizza!?

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Postby Kendrix » Tue Apr 22, 2014 5:08 pm

View Original PostGob Hobblin wrote:
(I will forgo my Asuka fixation to give you a Rei squee).


Awww~~~ :asuka_happy:
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Postby Gob Hobblin » Tue Apr 22, 2014 5:12 pm

Aw, shucks....

:shinji_blush:

You know, bringing up Cerebus, that is definitely a trope I find done to death in NGE stories: taking a story, and then going as far and dreary towards the end as you think you can possibly go because that's what Evangelion is supposed to be.

...nope.

Evangelion did that because it was Evangelion. It grew into that, and it made it's way there naturally. The abrupt shifts came as abrupt shifts in real-life do, and caught the characters themselves off-guard as much as us. A lot of fics, I feel, try to be super-dark because that's what the fic writer remembers from Evangelion, but it just...beats you over the head. At times, it's like reading a middle-school poetry journal.
Though, Gob still might look good in a cocktail dress.
-Sorrow

Rei wanted to know what waffles tasted like.
-Literary Eagle

We have to remember what's important in life: friends, waffles, and work. Or waffles, friends, and work. But work has to come in third.
-Leslie Knope

Come read EVA Sessions! This place has it, too! There'll be pizza! Not really! There are other things, too! Not EVA Sessions! Did I mention the pizza!?

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Postby SEELE » Tue Apr 22, 2014 5:56 pm

[Stop quoting entire posts... edit it down to just the parts you're actually responding to. And if the post you're addressing is right above yours you may not need to quote anything at all. - Staff]

I think it has to be "dark". But you are right about useing Catharsis. For me i use more cruelty in my fights (with my ff at all) and it more focused on the aspect of useing child soldiers. Take Misato and you could easly create catharsis or play some piano with Kaworu. Its not that hard. I think it has to be a certain honesty from the author. I read so many bashfics that some pseudo-darkfic are really the little problem. Some people tend to use cruelty a rhetorical device which is pretty much ... dumb.
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Postby NemZ » Tue Apr 22, 2014 9:37 pm

View Original PostBagheera wrote:The only good Peggy Sues are the ones that send multiple people back. If this doesn't happen the protagonist becomes a manipulative stalker and pseudo-rapist by default, and it's hard to unsee that once you grasp the implications.


You really need to read Taking Sights, man. It's a Peggy Sue with Gendo as the one looping around... and completely screwing things up due to drastically misunderstanding the people he's trying to manipulate with his new info.
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Postby Chuckman » Tue Apr 22, 2014 9:59 pm

My favorite Peggy Sue is and continues to be Better Luck Next Time.

I'm going to have to write a proper one to prove Bagheera wrong. I actually started it a while ago, but I didn't want to put it out there since I'm so pressed for time and I haven't been able to keep up my other fanfics and I can't manage a third.

SPOILER: Show
PROLOGUE

“Blue and Red”


Hell is repetition. - Stephen King

He wanted to see blue but there was only red.

Shinji Ikari awoke in a red world. The sky was red. The sea was red. When he held his hand before his face and blinked open his eyes and tore open the birth caul of dried-snot crust that held them closed there was red in his hand. It crusted his nails and lined his knuckles. It filled in his life-line and his heart-line and all his lines. It soaked his shirt and his socks.

The sun set and it made everything red before it made everything black. Then Shinji Ikari knew he was alive: he had to piss. His legs ached like they were new when he turned over. He felt a sting in his palm when he rested it on the sand, lifted it. A cross clung to his hand, folded into his skin. Gravity took it. It swung from his finger, and he stared at it. It was made of pewter. He still had to piss.

He stood up. He walked away from the sand, to the first dune where there was grass. To do any less a thing was obscene. He opened his pants and pulled himself out. He had to piss. He pissed. Then he laughed.

Why did he have to piss?

When he was done he put himself back in his pants. Looked around, out of habit. Nowhere to wash his hands. It was dark and he was alone. He went back to the beach, following his own footsteps. Each had filled in with red. The gouge where he lay in the sand filled with red also. He lay down in it, red splashing around his shoulders and soaking his hair. It smelled like rust and was cold, not hot like it was supposed to be.

He looked for the moon and it was not there. He went to sleep, and did not dream. Then he woke up. The sun was on the horizon. Two eyes stared at him, vacant. Her face was split in half, the one side sliding over the other as it settled. He did not hear a greasy fatty sound as the two sides of her head slid against each other. His mind filled it in for him.

He sat up, until sitting with his legs straight out made them ache. Then he drew them up and folded them and sat like that while the red soaked his ass through his pants. It made his ass itch. He sat there until the sun slid over his head and made his neck hot. Then he got up.

Everyone was dead. This he decided as he stared at the two halves of Rei’s head and his mind made a greasy sound for them sliding against each other. He decided he would make markers for everyone, because they were dead. Dead people have markers.

He walked until he found something to make markers out of. Pieces of wood, charred black. He didn’t know where they came from. Didn’t give a fuck. PIcked them up, tucked him under his arm. Looked like he was going to work.

Going to market. His shoes were full of red and sand. They made obscene sucking sounds, halfway between a kiss and a shit. He took them off and threw them in the grass. Sand burned his feet. He found a rock. It was broken and polished white. It might have been concrete. It wasn’t. He put it in his pocket. It dug into his hip. He walked until he found a spot.

It was a high spot. The red would not reach it. The red would try but it would not make it. Rei was watching him. She was too big not to. He took one piece of wood and put it on the ground. He took his rock and gouged out a name, mark by mark. He started with Misato. He wrote “Misato”. She was dead and this was her marker.

When it was done he took a blank marker and used it to pound Misato’s marker in. Then he put that marker flat on the ground. On this marker he wrote “Asuka”. It was her marker, because she was dead. He took a blank one and pounded her marker into the ground.

He repeated this until he ran out of markers. He ran out of names first. He wrote “Toji”, and he wrote “Hikari” and he wrote “Kensuke” and he wrote “Rei” because she could see him. Her head was in two pieces and sliding on itself, and he couldn’t hear the fat greasy sound it made so his mind filled it in for him.

It was dull and thick and he heard it over the roar of the ocean.

He didn’t remember more names. Those three people that always yelled when he was hurting. He forgot their names. He remembered Ritsuko when he was already done. He would have pulled down one of the blank markers and put her name on it, but you don’t pull down a grave marker. That’s bad.

Nor did he incise a marker that said “Gendo”, nor one that said “Yui” or “Mom”. Because Gendo hated him. His mother left him. She went to the blue and left him in the red. She told him it would be okay.

When the markers were made, he walked fifty paces down the beach. There he carved out a trench with his hand. In the trench he shat. He wiped his ass with a sock. He threw it in the grass. He still had one left and he had decided he would die before he would need to shit again, so he took his clean sock, folded it neatly, and left it out of reach of the red.

Then he walked away to the grave markers. He looked at them for a while. Something glinted in the sun. He pulled it out, expecting a coin. It was a nail, coated in rust or blood. He bent the nail in his fingers and used his hand to drive the point into Misato’s marker. Then he put her cross on it. He cut his hand on the nail and a drop of blood hit the white cross and it was red and stained it.

He went back to the beach. He carved out a trench in the sand with his hands and he lay in it. There were Evas in the sky. They had no heads. They had their arms wide, to say “look around and see how badly you fucked up, Shinji Ikari” and they were right. Shinji put his head down on the sand and stared up until the sun blinded him and closed his eyes.

When it was dark he heard coughing.

He looked over at her. She was lying on the sand. She was red. Always red. He got up, and walked over to her. He nudged her with his foot. She did not move. She stared straight up, as he had. She was red.

He had enough of red.

He sat down on her. He threw his leg over her hip and sat on her. Her body sank incrementally into the sand. Her sinking pushed red out from under her. It eddied around her sharp angular hips. It made a soft greasy sound. She did not look at him. He felt her flat belly through her plugsuit as he sat on it. She was soft and firm at the same time.

But she was red.

He leaned forward. He laced his fingers around her pale white throat and still he did not look at him. His thumbs pressed into the soft tender skin of her throat until they rested on her voice box. Then he pushed in. Her mouth fell open and a small sound came out. He felt his pulse under his fingers, the strain of her breath under his thumbs. He pushed harder.

She got blurry. His eyes were hot. Something fell and touched her cheek. Her eye rolled down until they saw his. One was very blue. The other was behind a bandage. Her hand came up and rested on his cheek. Her hand was hurt. She had bandages on. They were heavy with red. Her hand fell down. Her fingers slid over his cheek.

His grip broke. He sobbed. He fell forward and rested his head on her chest. His forehead pressed into the hard plane of her sternum and he felt her heart beating weakly through it. Her hand fell to her side with a soft sound.

She said “I feel sick”.

He moved. He sat down next to her and she did not move. She continued to stare upwards. Then he saw there was red on her mouth- deep and dark, and trickling from her lips in a line. It fell down her cheek in a flat smile. She coughed and her lips were too red.

“Shinji,” she said.

Then she said, “I can’t see.”

Then she said, “Shinji, it hurts.”

Then later she said, “Shinji, my tummy hurts.”

Shinji pulled the tail of his shirt out of his pants and daubed the red from her cheek. He put his hand on her tummy.

She said “What’s the matter with me?”

Shinji said, “Asuka.”

Asuka said, “Shinji?”

Shinji said, “I’m sorry.”

Asuka did not hear him.

When he was done weeping he got up. He hooked his hands under her shoulders. He pulled her up the beach where the red would not reach her. He pulled out one of the grave markers and he used it to dig. When the grass was gone the digging became easy. When the hole was big enough he pulled her into it.

The red would not reach her here. When she was in the hole he covered her with the sand. When it covered her to the neck he stopped. She looked like she was sleeping. He sat down. He put his thumb and his first finger against his eyes, trying to press the tears back in. They were too slippery and they got away from him.

He gathered her hair behind her head. He pulled it over her shoulder in a thick copper cord. He felt it on his hands. When the sand was up to her cheeks and only her face was uncovered, he knelt down and touched his lips to hers. They were cold. They tasted like rust. He had tasted them when she lived, but only once. They were not cold then. They did not taste like rust.

He covered her all the way. Then he got up and walked. He came back with an armful of the largest stones he could find. He covered the mound of sand that covered her with the largest stones he could find. Then he went back and got more. By the time he was done the largest stones he could find were the size of his smallest finger.

He took her marker. He had to knock over the others to reach it. He walked back to where she was buried and he put the marker at her head. Then he knelt beside it and cried. The sky was empty and drank his soft sounds.

He stood up. He looked around. There was still red everywhere. It was just the wrong shade.

Then he resolved that he should die. He walked into the ocean and he did not bother to retrieve his shoes. He walked out until his pant legs flapped in the flowing water like in a stiff breeze. The red was cold and it smelled like her lips tasted. Then it was up to his shoulders. The tide was coming in and doing the work for him.

He walked until he was neck deep. Then he stepped out and his foot hit nothing. When he slid under the surface he kept his eyes. He slid down into the red and kept his eyes open still. He had walked out to where the Black Moon had been. There was nothing below him now but a pit so deep it turned the red black where light would not reach.

Falling down, he closed his eyes, and he drew in the the red. The salt stung his throat and it burned in his lungs. Once he could breathe red but red would no longer be breathed. It pulled the warmth out of him through his throat like pulling a root out of the ground by its stem. He was heavy and he sank.

His lungs began to burn. His body desired air he could no longer provide. They burned more, and it hurt. It hurt more than anything ever had. He thought: Good. The darkness reached up from below.

A sound like a gunshot rang in his ears. He heard wings flapping. It was a soft sound, a snapping sound. He felt his socks on his feet and he felt shoes under his heels. He felt his shirt tucked in around his waist. He felt the cold smooth shiny black of a telephone receiver. From the tiny holes of the telephone receiver speaker he heard a woman speaking.

“This is an emergency situation. All lines are currently reserved for official use. Report immediately to the nearest secure shelter using designated shelter evacuation routes.”

Shinji Ikari screamed, but the woman speaking did not hear him, because she was only a recording.

The phone receiver fell out of his hands. It clacked against the pole that held the phone up, once. He walked out into the road. V-TOLS flew over his head. They made an angry droning sound. He felt the hot backwash from their engines.

They fired a missile at the Angel. It had no effect. He kept walking towards it. He kept screaming. He walked down the center of the street. There was an engine sound behind him. Misato pulled up and got out and called his name. That was impossible because she was dead, and so he ignored her.

When the non-nuclear munition exploded at 1:04 PM, Shinji Ikari and Misato Katsuragi were inside the blast radius. Shinji did not feel the heat or see the light, because the shockwave that liquefied his body traveled faster than the speed at which signals were conducted along his nerves. His brain was pulped and he was dead before he was aware that his face had turned to ash and blown in the wind.

A sound like a gunshot rang in his ears. He heard wings flapping.

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Postby ElMariachi » Wed Apr 23, 2014 3:12 am

View Original PostChuckman wrote:My favorite Peggy Sue is and continues to be Better Luck Next Time.

If I remember correctly, that story was an answer to Once More With Feelings, notably on the fact that Shinji was so radical in his changes and how he tried to change people around without Gendo reacting.


View Original PostChuckman wrote:I'm going to have to write a proper one to prove Bagheera wrong. I actually started it a while ago, but I didn't want to put it out there since I'm so pressed for time and I haven't been able to keep up my other fanfics and I can't manage a third.

SPOILER: Show
PROLOGUE

“Blue and Red”


Hell is repetition. - Stephen King

He wanted to see blue but there was only red.

Shinji Ikari awoke in a red world. The sky was red. The sea was red. When he held his hand before his face and blinked open his eyes and tore open the birth caul of dried-snot crust that held them closed there was red in his hand. It crusted his nails and lined his knuckles. It filled in his life-line and his heart-line and all his lines. It soaked his shirt and his socks.

The sun set and it made everything red before it made everything black. Then Shinji Ikari knew he was alive: he had to piss. His legs ached like they were new when he turned over. He felt a sting in his palm when he rested it on the sand, lifted it. A cross clung to his hand, folded into his skin. Gravity took it. It swung from his finger, and he stared at it. It was made of pewter. He still had to piss.

He stood up. He walked away from the sand, to the first dune where there was grass. To do any less a thing was obscene. He opened his pants and pulled himself out. He had to piss. He pissed. Then he laughed.

Why did he have to piss?

When he was done he put himself back in his pants. Looked around, out of habit. Nowhere to wash his hands. It was dark and he was alone. He went back to the beach, following his own footsteps. Each had filled in with red. The gouge where he lay in the sand filled with red also. He lay down in it, red splashing around his shoulders and soaking his hair. It smelled like rust and was cold, not hot like it was supposed to be.

He looked for the moon and it was not there. He went to sleep, and did not dream. Then he woke up. The sun was on the horizon. Two eyes stared at him, vacant. Her face was split in half, the one side sliding over the other as it settled. He did not hear a greasy fatty sound as the two sides of her head slid against each other. His mind filled it in for him.

He sat up, until sitting with his legs straight out made them ache. Then he drew them up and folded them and sat like that while the red soaked his ass through his pants. It made his ass itch. He sat there until the sun slid over his head and made his neck hot. Then he got up.

Everyone was dead. This he decided as he stared at the two halves of Rei’s head and his mind made a greasy sound for them sliding against each other. He decided he would make markers for everyone, because they were dead. Dead people have markers.

He walked until he found something to make markers out of. Pieces of wood, charred black. He didn’t know where they came from. Didn’t give a fuck. PIcked them up, tucked him under his arm. Looked like he was going to work.

Going to market. His shoes were full of red and sand. They made obscene sucking sounds, halfway between a kiss and a shit. He took them off and threw them in the grass. Sand burned his feet. He found a rock. It was broken and polished white. It might have been concrete. It wasn’t. He put it in his pocket. It dug into his hip. He walked until he found a spot.

It was a high spot. The red would not reach it. The red would try but it would not make it. Rei was watching him. She was too big not to. He took one piece of wood and put it on the ground. He took his rock and gouged out a name, mark by mark. He started with Misato. He wrote “Misato”. She was dead and this was her marker.

When it was done he took a blank marker and used it to pound Misato’s marker in. Then he put that marker flat on the ground. On this marker he wrote “Asuka”. It was her marker, because she was dead. He took a blank one and pounded her marker into the ground.

He repeated this until he ran out of markers. He ran out of names first. He wrote “Toji”, and he wrote “Hikari” and he wrote “Kensuke” and he wrote “Rei” because she could see him. Her head was in two pieces and sliding on itself, and he couldn’t hear the fat greasy sound it made so his mind filled it in for him.

It was dull and thick and he heard it over the roar of the ocean.

He didn’t remember more names. Those three people that always yelled when he was hurting. He forgot their names. He remembered Ritsuko when he was already done. He would have pulled down one of the blank markers and put her name on it, but you don’t pull down a grave marker. That’s bad.

Nor did he incise a marker that said “Gendo”, nor one that said “Yui” or “Mom”. Because Gendo hated him. His mother left him. She went to the blue and left him in the red. She told him it would be okay.

When the markers were made, he walked fifty paces down the beach. There he carved out a trench with his hand. In the trench he shat. He wiped his ass with a sock. He threw it in the grass. He still had one left and he had decided he would die before he would need to shit again, so he took his clean sock, folded it neatly, and left it out of reach of the red.

Then he walked away to the grave markers. He looked at them for a while. Something glinted in the sun. He pulled it out, expecting a coin. It was a nail, coated in rust or blood. He bent the nail in his fingers and used his hand to drive the point into Misato’s marker. Then he put her cross on it. He cut his hand on the nail and a drop of blood hit the white cross and it was red and stained it.

He went back to the beach. He carved out a trench in the sand with his hands and he lay in it. There were Evas in the sky. They had no heads. They had their arms wide, to say “look around and see how badly you fucked up, Shinji Ikari” and they were right. Shinji put his head down on the sand and stared up until the sun blinded him and closed his eyes.

When it was dark he heard coughing.

He looked over at her. She was lying on the sand. She was red. Always red. He got up, and walked over to her. He nudged her with his foot. She did not move. She stared straight up, as he had. She was red.

He had enough of red.

He sat down on her. He threw his leg over her hip and sat on her. Her body sank incrementally into the sand. Her sinking pushed red out from under her. It eddied around her sharp angular hips. It made a soft greasy sound. She did not look at him. He felt her flat belly through her plugsuit as he sat on it. She was soft and firm at the same time.

But she was red.

He leaned forward. He laced his fingers around her pale white throat and still he did not look at him. His thumbs pressed into the soft tender skin of her throat until they rested on her voice box. Then he pushed in. Her mouth fell open and a small sound came out. He felt his pulse under his fingers, the strain of her breath under his thumbs. He pushed harder.

She got blurry. His eyes were hot. Something fell and touched her cheek. Her eye rolled down until they saw his. One was very blue. The other was behind a bandage. Her hand came up and rested on his cheek. Her hand was hurt. She had bandages on. They were heavy with red. Her hand fell down. Her fingers slid over his cheek.

His grip broke. He sobbed. He fell forward and rested his head on her chest. His forehead pressed into the hard plane of her sternum and he felt her heart beating weakly through it. Her hand fell to her side with a soft sound.

She said “I feel sick”.

He moved. He sat down next to her and she did not move. She continued to stare upwards. Then he saw there was red on her mouth- deep and dark, and trickling from her lips in a line. It fell down her cheek in a flat smile. She coughed and her lips were too red.

“Shinji,” she said.

Then she said, “I can’t see.”

Then she said, “Shinji, it hurts.”

Then later she said, “Shinji, my tummy hurts.”

Shinji pulled the tail of his shirt out of his pants and daubed the red from her cheek. He put his hand on her tummy.

She said “What’s the matter with me?”

Shinji said, “Asuka.”

Asuka said, “Shinji?”

Shinji said, “I’m sorry.”

Asuka did not hear him.

When he was done weeping he got up. He hooked his hands under her shoulders. He pulled her up the beach where the red would not reach her. He pulled out one of the grave markers and he used it to dig. When the grass was gone the digging became easy. When the hole was big enough he pulled her into it.

The red would not reach her here. When she was in the hole he covered her with the sand. When it covered her to the neck he stopped. She looked like she was sleeping. He sat down. He put his thumb and his first finger against his eyes, trying to press the tears back in. They were too slippery and they got away from him.

He gathered her hair behind her head. He pulled it over her shoulder in a thick copper cord. He felt it on his hands. When the sand was up to her cheeks and only her face was uncovered, he knelt down and touched his lips to hers. They were cold. They tasted like rust. He had tasted them when she lived, but only once. They were not cold then. They did not taste like rust.

He covered her all the way. Then he got up and walked. He came back with an armful of the largest stones he could find. He covered the mound of sand that covered her with the largest stones he could find. Then he went back and got more. By the time he was done the largest stones he could find were the size of his smallest finger.

He took her marker. He had to knock over the others to reach it. He walked back to where she was buried and he put the marker at her head. Then he knelt beside it and cried. The sky was empty and drank his soft sounds.

He stood up. He looked around. There was still red everywhere. It was just the wrong shade.

Then he resolved that he should die. He walked into the ocean and he did not bother to retrieve his shoes. He walked out until his pant legs flapped in the flowing water like in a stiff breeze. The red was cold and it smelled like her lips tasted. Then it was up to his shoulders. The tide was coming in and doing the work for him.

He walked until he was neck deep. Then he stepped out and his foot hit nothing. When he slid under the surface he kept his eyes. He slid down into the red and kept his eyes open still. He had walked out to where the Black Moon had been. There was nothing below him now but a pit so deep it turned the red black where light would not reach.

Falling down, he closed his eyes, and he drew in the the red. The salt stung his throat and it burned in his lungs. Once he could breathe red but red would no longer be breathed. It pulled the warmth out of him through his throat like pulling a root out of the ground by its stem. He was heavy and he sank.

His lungs began to burn. His body desired air he could no longer provide. They burned more, and it hurt. It hurt more than anything ever had. He thought: Good. The darkness reached up from below.

A sound like a gunshot rang in his ears. He heard wings flapping. It was a soft sound, a snapping sound. He felt his socks on his feet and he felt shoes under his heels. He felt his shirt tucked in around his waist. He felt the cold smooth shiny black of a telephone receiver. From the tiny holes of the telephone receiver speaker he heard a woman speaking.

“This is an emergency situation. All lines are currently reserved for official use. Report immediately to the nearest secure shelter using designated shelter evacuation routes.”

Shinji Ikari screamed, but the woman speaking did not hear him, because she was only a recording.

The phone receiver fell out of his hands. It clacked against the pole that held the phone up, once. He walked out into the road. V-TOLS flew over his head. They made an angry droning sound. He felt the hot backwash from their engines.

They fired a missile at the Angel. It had no effect. He kept walking towards it. He kept screaming. He walked down the center of the street. There was an engine sound behind him. Misato pulled up and got out and called his name. That was impossible because she was dead, and so he ignored her.

When the non-nuclear munition exploded at 1:04 PM, Shinji Ikari and Misato Katsuragi were inside the blast radius. Shinji did not feel the heat or see the light, because the shockwave that liquefied his body traveled faster than the speed at which signals were conducted along his nerves. His brain was pulped and he was dead before he was aware that his face had turned to ash and blown in the wind.

A sound like a gunshot rang in his ears. He heard wings flapping.

Ouch! Looks like Lilith isn't nearly finished with poor Shin-chan!
Avatar: THE HIGHEST OF ALL HIGHS WE AAAAAAAAAARE!!!
Kensuke is a military otaku who, at one point, is shown creepily taking pictures of girls to sell. He would clearly fit right in as an animator at Studio Gainax. -- Compiling_Autumn
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Seriously, that is the most fananked theory I've ever heard, more than Mari being Marty McFly travelling through time to keep her parents (Asushin) together. -- Jäeger

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Postby Chuckman » Wed Apr 23, 2014 3:01 pm

View Original PostElMariachi wrote:

Ouch! Looks like Lilith isn't nearly finished with poor Shin-chan!


Chuckman's Law: Any sufficiently advanced insanity is indistinguishable from enlightenment.

NemZ
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Postby NemZ » Wed Apr 23, 2014 7:29 pm

I could be convinced to read more of that. :D
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Postby cyharding » Wed Apr 23, 2014 11:12 pm

View Original PostChuckman wrote:Chuckman's Law: Any sufficiently advanced insanity is indistinguishable from enlightenment.


Well, here's something else worth sigging. How the hell do you do it? :lol:


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