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vaguely-concerned · 4 years ago

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The Mandalorian Chapter 14 reactions: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME BUT ALSO I’M CRYING edition

- the good good din characterization is back after all the weirdness last episode!!!! that soft way he says ‘no, no, I’m not mad at you’? THAT’S din djarin, he would not be fucking impatient with his son having just been informed and seen for himself that he is terrified, go away mr filoni I know you’ve got all of canon memorized but you don’t get this lol. this feels much more right in how din being conflicted and still thinking he should give the baby away for his own good plays out too

honestly every line of dialogue for him in this one was perfect I was just whispering ‘I love this awkward clueless wonderful man just doing his best’ to myself any time he said anything. “...does this look Jedi to you?” sir I adore you more than words can describe

- we got din chuckling. asjdklfhsdkafghsdafsadhjkfsdahjkfh. fskahfksjad. side note: I can’t believe my joke post about din desperately trying to Force home school the kid with the one (1) jedi trick he knows about and the baby being delighted by it over and over anyway -- listen to his expectant excited laugh when din takes the ball and sets up the game!!!! -- was canon all along. and then the baby & mando music kicking in when he gently put the silver ball into the baby’s hands again and tells him he’s special (because he IS special. to din)? hmng. hmmmmnnnnn

they opened on the height of softness so we would all crumple under the weight of the rest of the episode and that was very mean of them in a way I sincerely appreciate

- nothing to see here... just a dad trying to walk through the literal manifestation of the unassailable underlying forces of the universe to get to his baby again and again........ the desperation in that, the love, the foolhardy devotion................... shit

- okay so I might be a dumbass, but I’d never noticed this before -- the silver ball has a blue spot on the top, like so:

and in addition we get the room where the baby goes full darth grogu (I have to laugh so I don’t cry okay) on those storm troopers, and there’s a red light in there dominating the room (and it did even more in the concept art):

in star wars blue means light side and red means dark side (it’s very sophisticated that way), meaning the visual storytelling here is that there’s a battle for the baby’s soul and gideon and all his nonsense (and the trauma bb’s been through in the wider sense) is pulling towards the dark, while grogu and din’s connection leads him towards the light. just... the image of the baby looking at his own reflection in the symbolic representation of his relationship to din? the way children find their sense of self through being safely reflected and held by their caretakers? god help meeeeeee I will go in there and fistfight gideon myself for disrupting that in any way

the smaller light seems to be blue too, like there’s still the presence of light even if it’s dimmed and small in that shitty horrible room, which is a change from the concept art!

- FENNEC SHAND SURVIVED BITCHES!!! I even called that she’d be back with new shiny robot parts back in season 1, could not happen to a cooler lady, I hope we get more backstory and interaction from her the next episodes -- sounds like she’s basically sworn herself to boba’s service in gratitude for saving her life, I wonder if that’s a cultural thing of whereever she comes from? does she live aboard slave 1 now too?? because that would be hilarious and amazing, it must be like two strange cats trying to get used to sharing the same space

- everything I could ever hope for about boba fett in this series came true, they went down the much more interesting and nuanced route with jango and boba’s identities as mandalorians, he looked cool as fuck and made din as a character shine rather than overshadowing him... amazing beautiful yesss

(I did 100% not anticipate just how ‘cool uncle boba here to help you fuck shit up’ he was going to be but I am delighted to get it anyway. uncle points deducted for getting someone to point a gun at the baby, but the main point still stands lol)

the power and brutality of his hand to hand fighting too... a w e s o m e , I enjoyed the action scenes a lot in this one

- they even recanonized him actually wearing jango’s armour. what more could I ask for. I’ve had confused parent & child feels about these two since I was like eleven and here we fucking go again. and jango fighting in the mando civil wars too!

- so I’m grieving the razor crest (and I always will be, rip you magnificent jalopy, always in my heart) but also there’s the grim satisfaction that my reading on it was sort of true -- it is (...was. oh god it’s going to take a while to sink in huh) a symbol of din’s self and life, and at this point when they take the baby it tears everything else to pieces. the only thing that’s left in the ashes is the beskar and the thing that connects him to the baby. and there’s... a strange solace in seeing that that’s all he needs to keep going? he’s fucking obliterated from orbit but he still has his love for the baby and the beskar and that can keep him going until he finds something new, everything else can be replaced?????? weirdly healing, though he is probably going to have a solid breakdown at some point after they get the kid back (shut up they are getting the kid back) and the cold distant fog lifts

also this scene/shot feels like it carries some Meaning, doesn’t it? I’m on record several times saying I never want din to be mand’alor and that’s still true, but there’s something about the framing of this and the way boba looks at him that’s like... hm. I’m not sure I have the words for it. there’s something heightened about it, anyway, for a moment he looks like something mythic there in the wreckage

(something I would be much cooler with is our clan of two growing a little bit and those new people rallying behind him, actually, that might be neat. imagine if a force user does show up for the baby and gets adopted into the clan somehow??? so many possibilities.)

- from the way he picks up the silver ball... din djarin is on his way to straight up murder some people huh

I think part of what reassures me about this scene is the music -- this mando flute is not distant, is not beaten, is not despondent, it’s clear and determined and strong.

I love this. I love when we get explicit baby POVs, it makes it feel so real and intimate and... like home. (I especially loved baby’s point of view inside the razor crest, which just made me tear up again. baby lost the closest thing he’s had to a home in a long long time on top of it all. everything is suffering)

Emotionally Significant Thumb Grabbing tm; the show

- din djarin looking for the ‘on’ switch on a magic rock fhsdakjfhsadlfhsdjah I can’t breathe

“Well, this is the seeing stone. Are you. Seeing anything?” fsafkdsajhfsa sdhfksjalhfkjsdahfkjsdhf

- the energy around the baby as he’s, in ahsoka’s words, ‘choosing his path’ is blue, and the force sort of works across time and space, right?? so there’s definitely still hope for our lil green bean to not have to come up with a really dumb unsubtle sith name for himself, as is regrettably yet delightfully tradition. darth babbu should never come to pass (I do like how they’re interrogating the normal dark/light side dichotomy in this series, seeing as this is a literal baby who can’t really be responsible for that stuff himself yet and has such capacity for both.)

- listen. listen, the way din says ‘can you please hurry up’ with no sarcasm or real impatience whatsoever, more like a harried worry, to his force-meditating son as he jogs off to make sure no one’s trying to kill them. is hilarious and also YES this is what the character is!!! weirdly and incongruously polite under stress sometimes and with a slightly odd reaction pattern to things!!! he’s not just quiet and badass, he’s a little strange sometimes and it’s so good!

- a friendly opening volley warning shot from boba there

also din uncertainly asking BOBA FETT if he’s a jedi... now this is the dramatic irony I’ve been looking for haha

I guess neither shand nor boba actually know din’s name after this either. baby you gotta start introducing yourself at some point it gets real confusing when there are two mandos on screen

oh the long weary sigh going through din’s frame when boba says he wants ‘the armour’ and he thinks it’s just someone trying to peel the beskar off his corpse again. sorry the galaxy’s so shitty dad

- “But fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched” is a killer line well done mr favreau. I like that boba actually offers din a good deal as well and seems to intend to deliver on it from how things are going.

- din using his beskar-covered bod to cover someone he’s fighting alongside!!! literal moving cover haha. also I love fennec’s costume design

- I don’t know where din got more whistling birds from and I don’t care, it was really cool haha

wow haha um so anyway --

(cue all the ‘who wore it better’ with cobb vanth’s ‘spiderman’s first home made costume’ look on one side and ABSOLUTE UNIT DADDY boba fett on the other side posts lol)

- aaaghh the music almost like a stunned desperate fluttering heart beat as din watches the razor crest be destroyed

- for someone who has willingly worked for them in the past boba sure sounds less than thrilled about having the empire back in any capacity

- oof the deadness in din’s voice when he says “The child is gone”. ooooh no that got me h e l p

- guessing next episode is at least partly a ‘gathering old allies and preparing the assault’ step before the grand finale, then! they cannot go for the season ender cliffhanger with this, I will fucking riot. anything can be up in the air except baby and dad being separated, I will not allow it

it would be very funny if the force user baby called out to comes stumbling into the middle of all this like the troy entering the room with pizzas meme too

- the music in the darth grogu scene is partially a dark mirror of the baby & mando music :’( is nothing in this world sacred

also from how he reaches out for it baby might have used a light saber before in the past with the jedi? ngl the idea of baby wielding the dark saber not when he’s all grown up but in like two episodes -- with all the chaos a toddler holding a laser sword would involve -- is all that is keeping me sane here

‘liable to put an eye out with one of these’ well gideon you sure have doomed someone to lose an eye with that one, here’s to hoping it’s you, for full dramatic payoff

he is a deliciously smug awful force with great musical cues tho, you have to give it to him

- okay so this

is obviously awful and horrible and it makes me so sad... but it is undeniably also very very very funny in how it’s framed. you know what? after all this bullshit baby grogu can have a little dark side tantrum, as a treat, we’ve all been there right

(forget finding a jedi, we need to go out there and find a child psychologist who can help him deal with this without adding the fear that he’s on the path to become a two foot tall evil space sorcerer to the mix Y_________Y)

- rip the razor crest except for the second time :’’’( gone but never forgotten

- the last thing din tells the baby is “I’m gonna protect you; I’ll be back soon”. and I hope that stays with the kid somehow and that it actually comes true, that din will be back for him as soon as humanly possible and all this pain and fear can be repaired. ggggghhhhh my emotions are too big for my dumb human body

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #okay I'm gonna have to. go take a calming walk or something after this haha

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oathofoaksart · 4 years ago

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YOUNG JUSTICE OC: KILLJOY bio under the cut!

BASICS Name: Miles Manson A.K.A: Killjoy; Jess Terring [legally], K.J, Smiles; Jester [formally] Age: 31 [S3 Era] Gender: Cisgender Male Orientation: One Loud Shrug Noise Skin: Light tan; neutral-to-warm undertones Hair: Medium Brown Eyes: Cognac, leaning on Orange Height: 5'8" Build: Compact, similar to that of a baseball player Distinctions: Fingers and palms are partially "perma-clowned". Has a multitude of scars that riddle his body. Most noteworthy being the one which cleaves his right eyebrow in half [Robin I], track marks inside of his elbows, upper arms, and thighs [fear toxin self-injections], a slash across his nose [the Joker], a large discoloration on his left shoulder [Killer Croc], and a long scar that circles around the base of his neck [Victor Zsasz] RELATIONS [note a few @ are friends i prob only know their dA handle to] Parents: Vinny [deceased] and Katherine [estranged] Terring Siblings: Eva Terring [estranged] Friends: Erin Knightly-Tetch @little-red-xoxo, Dick “Nightwing” Grayson, Penelope “Stage Fright” Caskett @poltergeistprincesa, Jervis “The Mad Hatter” Tetch, Molly “Blondie” Weiss @Triskata Partner/s: Scattered one night stands, notably henchwenches; M. "Last Encore" (ev.) @whispering-lava Misc.: The Joker, Harley Quinn, Gi “Geode” Flores, Janus Lyssa @SherlyWats, Madelyn “Angelica” Farro @The-Brain-Teaser, Jadis “Killcode” [Surname Redacted] @whispering-lava Affiliations: The Tetch Family; The Joker Gang [formally] PERSONALITY Personality Type: ESTP-A [Assertive Entrepreneur] Temperament: Sanguine-Choleric Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Playful | Witty | Erratic | Careless | Brutal Miles’ “daytime” persona is a friendly, quick-to-joke man who takes all things in stride. He possesses a casual cheeriness and an easygoing attitude that aids him in making quick acquaintances and even a fair amount of friends, even if he’s notably private about his personal life. It’s usually written off as him having a generally quiet bachelor lifestyle. He’s best known from his job as a waiter at a tea and sweets shop named The Mad Tea House, where he lets his more impish traits shine through to his fellow employees. He’s been guilty of child-like pranks, shirking responsibilities onto others, and being a bit of a gadfly when he feels things have gotten too quiet in the tea house. As Killjoy, he’s violent, disturbingly reckless, fueled by spite, and follows no logic other than his own. He wastes no time looking for retaliation when he perceives a wrong done against him. K.J’s sense of humor is abundantly morbid, his words often tinged with irony and false jolly. He thoroughly enjoys getting under people’s skin and milking their uncomfortableness. In truth, there are very few things Miles takes seriously, but the one thing he sets above all else are his ties of loyalty. As rash as he is in regards to his own well-being, all bets are off once someone he comes to care for is in harm’s way. While he argues he finds this annoying about himself, it’s also his one source of proof showing he hasn’t completely lost his way. ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES Metahuman Biology: Originally, Miles’ metagene was tied to his adrenal glands, allowing a boost in bio-stats such as improved strength and reflexes. Years of fear toxin dosing further strengthened this metagene. Unbeknownst to him, his metagene was continually evolving, correlating with his need for survival. His eventual death “rebooted” the metagene, jump starting his body, and fully allowing it to unfurl.

- Immortality: Miles has recently discovered his inability to die by various means. His body heals regentively and is immune to fatal poisons and toxins. - Adrenaline Surge/Blitz Mode: His adrenaline bursts allow him enhanced strength, speed, agility and reflexes. During these “Blitzes,” Miles turns into a one-man wrecking crew, plowing through obstacles and opponents through sheer determination. - Pain Tolerance: Has an abnormally high tolerance to pain, does not mean he can’t feel pain, it simply doesn’t hinder his ability to think or move. (Ex. He can burn his hand, and he feels the same amount of pain anyone else would in the same situation, he just won't react to it if he chooses not to) While Miles is officially immortal by way of being unnaturally resilient, he is still able to experience symptoms and side effects of diseases, poisons and toxins. His healing factor slows in colder temperatures, stopping completely when it drops to freezing points. Heavy damage to his head area hinder him considerably and Miles still feels the after effects after having healed (ie. slurred speech, blurry vision, dizziness). He is extremely susceptible to electric attacks, as it overrides his nervous system, prompting unconsciousness. Gear/Weapons: - Frowny Face Mask: Besides serving as a trademark symbol, Killjoy’s mask comes equipped with mapping and schematic information, allowing for quick and easy navigation. - Voice Changer: An electronic patch attached to his throat allows Killjoy to copy various voices, ranging across age and gender. - Signal Scrambler: Killjoy operates on a generally covert level, sometimes communication from one party to another isn’t in his best interest - Assorted Explosives: Killjoy’s go-to toys, these are generally self explanatory. They vary in size and demolition damage. For the sake of irony, Killjoy is fond of deadman switches. - Weighted Gloves: Serve as built-in brass knuckles, K.J’s preferred melee weapon 3 in. Balisongs: Two of them to be precise, these typically only come out when simple bruises aren’t cutting it anymore. - Grappling Gun: Useful to get around the city landscape. The blue labeled gun. - 9mm Handgun: Killjoy dislikes having to use this one, if it’s in his hand, he’s officially stopped fooling around. The red labeled gun. - Joyride: A custom-built Camero, Killjoy’s prized possession and getaway car HISTORY TW: SUICIDE MENTION Jess Terring, better known in the Gotham Underground as Jester, shot through headlines despite his years of generally low profile work as a simple Joker lackey. Charged with the deaths of dozens and injuries of several more by result of a fatal explosion, he was to spend a life sentence at Arkham Asylum, his protests of innocence falling on deaf ears. His attempts at an appeal were overruled, even with figures such as Batman and Nightwing looking into his case for him. Arkham Asylum was hell on Earth for Jess. His shreds of hope fell apart as the months crawled on, his mental state deteriorating in the process. He had never wanted to get involved with the Joker, all he’d been was a good-for-nothing conman who’d gotten too greedy. His last four years as Jester had been a never-ending nightmare. Things finally culminated during a free-for-all jailbreak at Arkham where Jess, along with other inmates, were cornered on the roof. Unable to stomach the idea of being thrown back in the cell he was wrongfully given and simply tired of the misery, he jumped. Jess Terring was proclaimed dead by suicide off Arkham Asylum… The last thing Jess expected to happen was to wake up in a morgue. Barely coherent and running on sheer instinct, Jess managed to escape, although not without killing the on-duty mortician. His first official kill and he hadn’t felt a thing. He wouldn’t reflect on it until after clearing Gotham City, and even then, he realized it wasn’t the mortician’s death that bothered him, but rather he didn’t feel anything about it to begin with. Between recognizing his new lack of humanity and hearing the joker-like laugh escaping him, Jess broke. He spent the following months wandering the states as a nameless face. The bizarre events surrounding Jess’ death was eventually swept away by the everflowing stream of news media and within the year, faded into obscurity. It was the best he could have hoped for, free from the Joker’s grasp and unknown, but his thoughts kept returning back to Gotham City. The more the thoughts plagued him, the angrier he got. The Joker had gotten off scot-free, having framed him for the initial massacre and ran him to the ground, eventually turning him into...whatever he was. While a part of him argued he’d be better off cutting his losses, he found himself unable to set it aside and he set course back to Gotham City. He didn’t have a plan so much as he did an outline, but he soon figured out he wasn’t required to be especially careful anymore. Being nigh-indestructible made for a good buffer. He’d finally found a blessing through his curse and through trial-and-error quickly fashioned himself as a makeshift mercenary. During this time he worked under a variety of names, involving himself in several under-the-radar jobs in order to fund what would eventually be his official M.O. He marked his entrance into Gotham with a string of bomb hits on territories tied to the Joker. As of now, not many are sure what to make of this new face, some cheering for his more direct approach on the Clown Prince, others exhausted with the prospect of another nut on the scene, and even a few seedier folk wanting to get him on their payroll. He’s unconcerned by it all, but he finds himself liking the ring to the name circling around him. Killjoy. NOTES - Killjoy mostly classifies as a serial bomber, targeting hideouts and planned heist hits. While he will set up evacuations so as to not injure more people than he has to, he’s fairly flippant about collateral damage - Despite his nonchalance towards violence, Killjoy does what he can to keep things non-lethal. His way of vengeance is a shot to the knee rather than a shot to the head. It’s not that he has a problem killing, it’s just as an immortal, death is the easy way out. - It’s believed Miles’ drastic change in personality comes from multiple factors instead of just one large catalyst (ie. years of fear toxin injection, joker gas inhalation, the trauma of death and resurrection) - The name Miles Manson doesn’t have any particular meaning, it had been a name he improvised and he grew fond of it. He severely hates being called Jess. - He suffers from night terrors, likely due to his usage of fear toxin in the past. He also experiences flashbacks akin to HPPD, albeit rarely - He can withstand an extreme amount of physical abuse and keep his wits about him, but once it passes a certain threshold, his mental state will eventually slip into a frenzy. Unable to consciously keep hold of himself, he will become animalistically brutal to anyone in his vicinity. - K.J mostly concerns himself with causing problems for the Joker, although he can be moved to ally with others for other reasons when he finds fit. Notably, he’s stuck a somewhat fickle truce with Nightwing over the rising number of metatrafficking rings in Gotham and Blüdhaven.

#gar's art #gar's oc #young justice oc #dc oc #killjoy #miles manson #jess terring #meet the ocs #oathofoaks

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tolkienhorror · 4 years ago

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In Sauron’s Lab: File #5

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Fingon/Sauron, Audience, Crying, Collaring, Public humiliation

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I asked for a King to replace the one you lost, Lieutenant, and all you bring me is this, Morgoth had told Sauron when the orcs had dragged Findekáno into the throne room of the enemy’s base.

You have a week to break him, the Dark Lord had told his minion, interrupting Sauron’s almost nervous sounding explanations about how very useful the son of the new High King would be in their hands for their cause, black eyes uncaring, greyish skin glowing like the destructive flash of lightning in the shine of the Silmarils wrongly crowning that terrible, hollowed face. You make him kneel for me, or you can go right back to that mountain I pried you and feed another of your bodies to the crows.

Then they’d taken him away, and Findekáno remembered wondering if it would even take him a week at the mercy of someone who’d long given up on all empathy along with his sane mind, only to serve this monster who didn’t even bother caring about him in the presence of a prisoner, before he would wish for death. For a quick end, rather than clinging to the foolish hope that someone would come to find him here.

No one would. No one even knew he was here and they wouldn't for several weeks, not before he was expected home from his journey to Himring to surprise his husband. By the time, they would start to wonder in Hithlum, it would be too late.

Maitimo would probably learn last, and even he would not come. Findekáno had made him promise, made him swear on everything safe for what would have bordered on an oath that neither of them needed another one of. More than that, Maitimo would know, better than anyone, that Findekáno had been lost the moment his escort and he had been overwhelmed with the help of countless black arrows and half a dozen of fiery whips from behind. A year, he had once told Findekáno. If you could hold on to your will to live or your sanity or both for a year of being a prisoner in Angband, you were counted among the lucky ones.

As it turned out, for Findekáno, it was two days before he started to regret that he hadn’t tried to bite through his own wrist arteries in these few minutes that he’d spent alone in a pitch-dark, moldy cell, damned to wait for whatever what was to come. And that was before anyone had even touched him.

Findekáno had no doubt that a lot of them wanted to. Two of the boldest creatures reaching out for him had died already when another of Morgoth's highest ranking Lieutenants had dragged Findekáno from his cell to lead him towards a huge hall at the end of the dungeon wing that had already echoed with the screams of more than one of his people at that point. And dozens orcs more were very clearly waiting for their chance, lurking in the corner of that torture chamber, scarred faces distorted into sneers. The scornful whispers about all that they would love to do to their most precious prisoner given half a chance were only interrupted by the occasional brawl or by the sounds of two or more of those despicable bastards starting one of their perverted, brutal mating rituals, high on watching their master use his songs and evil instruments and cruel skill on yet another elvish prisoner.

But they would not be allowed to approach. And the one person Sauron would not lay hand on, was Findekáno himself. The former maia might long be beyond a sane mind, but if there was one thing he was not, it was stupid. Very well aware of Findekáno's relationship to the prisoner that Findekáno had robbed him of under his very nose not too long ago, not least thanks to everything Sauron had seen in Maitimo's mind in decades of not only physical but also mental torture, Sauron must know that there was very little he could have threatened Findekáno with that he didn't expect. Spending night after night with talking Maitimo through his nightmares and memories had made sure of that. Repeat performances were very obviously not among the maia's twisted preferences. So he chose to confront Findekáno with the only thing he could truly hurt him with: the suffering of his own soldiers. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but it still wasn't the worst.

Findekáno would gladly have borne every pain, every humiliation if he could have saved any of his warriors by that, even if it was only by the blade to their throats. The uncertainty of what would come for exiles like them afterward was better than even an hour under the clawed hands of Morgoth's lapdog. If they'd let him, Findekáno would have taken the place of every single of the elves and she-elves he had to watch scream their lives out and yet not being allowed to die in the first days of his captivity; and that, too, was something Sauron knew, of course. The worst was that being the only choice Findekáno could not make. This was the promise he had given his husband in return. That he would not give in. That he would not trade his soul for a couple of lives that were forfeit anyway, weakening his own mind by letting the cunning spirit of the maia enter it to rip it wide open and put into it whatever Sauron thought suited to bend Findekáno to his will. They could not have him as long as he did not give himself to them, they said, Maitimo said, so he would endure. For he knew, if his mind would no longer be his own, if he would go back to his people in the fashion Morgoth doubtlessly wanted him to, no longer himself but merely a vessel … A vessel like they had had to eliminate so many who had allegedly escaped their thralldom, coming to either his father's or Maitimo's doorstep for assault rather than refuge … Then the first person they would set Findekáno to kill would be his own husband. By refusing to give his enemies this chance, therefore trading the life of the person he loved most for the one of dozens – almost a hundred, in the end – other elves, Findekáno thought, maybe he had actually sold his soul already.

A high-pitched yell, quickly cut off by the choked gurgling of blood blocking the throat it had emerged from, tore him from the useless circle of self-hate that was his mind.

"As I was saying before you so rudely started to disassociate," Sauron sighed in that honey-laced voice of his while throwing the tongue he'd just cut from his victim's mouth in a bowl nearby, "I'm starting to think, that useless husband of yours made the wrong choice, relinquishing his claim to the throne. If all people from your side of your kin are as breakable as your unit, Your Highness, the Noldor might have been better advised living even under those kinslaying, crippled hands of your lover. Or rather, the one you haven't cut off when you were too weak to break a single shackle, that is."

Findekáno still did not give the bastard the satisfaction of an answer. He hadn't addressed the maia a single time since they'd taken him and very carefully avoided even regarding that black-clad, delicate shape with more than a fleeting glance from the corner of his eyes. It was better, not staring into those flaming eyes for too long, Maitimo had used to tell him, for you never knew what might stare back at – into – you. Besides, he was too busy, trying not to throw up when his torturer yanked the head of that elf who was firmly chained to a narrow wooden table, to the side by his red-matted blond hair, catching the streams of blood from the victim's mouth in that same bowl before handing it to one of the orcs without even looking twice, leaving the delightedly screeching creatures to fight over their breakfast. Once more, Findekáno wished he could have told the elf – his captain – that it would be over soon, at least, but judging by the last three scenes of this kind he'd already had to watch, chained to a chair of metal himself in a way that left no inch of a room to try and free himself, that would have been a blatant lie.

Sauron hated being distracted by too much talk when he was working but he very much enjoyed hearing his victims scream, that was all. So this was always how he started. "Let's see if we can get a little more fight out of this one, shall we? It would be a shame if you had to do without the leader of your escort once you'll promise yourself to the Lord of this world."

The Never was on the tip of Findekáno's tongue, but it never came, and maybe not only because he refused to acknowledge the numbing poison that was Sauron's words with anything but a blank stare. It was hard, holding on to resistance when you had to watch your enemy reach for a diamond-sharp knife and put a first clean, deep cut to his newest victim's body, right around the wrist, in front of the broad shackle holding the captain's arm in place, and then start to peel off the first layers of skin inch by inch, finger by finger, more patches of flesh and skin carelessly thrown towards the drooling audience. It was a mercy, one that Findekáno shouldn't be half as thankful for as he was, that the elf's voice was soon too sore from screaming to produce more than a hoarse noises, hardly even able to drown out the mirthful whistling on Sauron's lips that was a most basic healing spell to keep blood loss and infections at bay. And it was an irony that wasn't lost to Findekáno, that he'd spent almost two years, trying to convince his husband that he had no reason to hate himself for what he'd seen and been forced to do during his own captivity, and that he could feel the same blackness of loathing wash over his own soul now; thick acid trying to bury every memory of light and love and friendship especially to these people he had to see suffer right in front of his eyes, maybe never to be revived. It was far easier to believe in innocence when you weren't the one watching silently. That heaviness of shock and any missing rest for days, that had started to take hold of his soul, was spreading, creeping over his skin in droves and leaving it numb, so that he did not realize, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, until Sauron was suddenly standing right in front of his chair and grabbed his cheek to slowly lick the salt off his face with his forked tongue, laying hands on him for the first time. The nausea grew instantly, a gagging sitting in the back of Findekáno's throat that he didn't want to let his enemy hear either, so he just jerked his head away and bit his tongue bloody to keep silent.

"You taste sweeter than your lover, little Princeling," Sauron murmured huskily, blood-covered, spidery hands brushing through Findekáno's messy hair. "You might want to rethink your priorities. You could have a life so much better by my side than being the useless son of a lesser King. The only thing you're doing right now is hurting everyone in this room." Findekáno's ongoing silence seemed to be loud enough, because he backed away with a shrug. Ridiculously gentle for what he'd been doing to every of Findekáno's soldiers for a few days now, he tugged two of the golden ribbons from his braids and went back to his current victim. After handing his minions another bowl full of red to slurp that had been filled by that skinned hand of a barely conscious elf in the last few minutes, he wrapped the ribbon around the mess of twitching, bared muscle and pressed the captain's wrist down against the table with his elbow while reaching for a long nail and a hammer. "Now, now." An admonishing noise came from Sauron's cherry-red lips when Findekáno turned his head away, unable to stand the sight of that nail being pressed right in the middle of that ruined palm, with only the fabric of the ribbon between, the sight of a usually so proud, brave warrior arching up against his chains in fear. "Is that a way to honor your people's sacrifice for you, Your Highness? You won't even look at them while they're suffering for you?"

A sob that he could no longer hold back came from Findekáno's lips but could never make it past the echo of the new, broken scream from one of his oldest friends when the hammer drove the nail through his flesh in a single strike.

It didn't last long, because the elf had finally blacked out which didn't stop Sauron from repeating the same cruel process on the other arm so that his victim came to even more inhuman pain. With the second nail in place, the chains were no longer necessary to hold that marred, infection-weakened, writhing body in place as Morgoth's butcher reached for his knife once more. "Did you know, my precious Prince," he said calmly while he put the blood-smeared tip to the elf's left side, right under the ribcage, "there's at least four organs a Firstborn body can survive without? And a dozen others of which you can take at least half away before you need to sing the rest back together to function? You should know. I've fed a couple of your husband's parts to my wolves. I think they might get some more elvish dinner tonight." The knife started to cut. With a disgusting, meaty sound, a mess of red and yellow was dropped in a bucket below the table.

But this time, it wasn't the captain's scream that filled the room the loudest but a sound Findekáno hadn't known he was about to make before it came, his resolve shattered into pieces.

"What was that?" Now it was Sauron, not even looking up but reaching for needle and thread instead to close the crude cut he'd just made before his victim could bleed out on him. "Anything you want, my precious Princeling? All you have to do is ask, you know."

"Please." This time, the word came quietly, but clear and unmistakable. Apparently, after all this time that Findekáno had thought he would be the rock in their relationship, had to be, because Maitimo didn't have the strength anymore, it was time to admit, that his husband had been the stronger one between them from the start. Perhaps, when it came to it, if Findekáno would only ever leave this fortress again an enemy of his own people, no longer the master of his own mind and thoughts and will, his husband would even be strong enough to kill him before Findekáno could beat him to it. "Stop. If it is me you want, release my people."

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" Wholly unimpressed, Sauron moved to his victim's other side and caressed the quickly, panicked heaving chest with just the tip of his knife, as if trying to make out the best spot to continue his gruesome work. "I do not need more food for my troops and beasts. I need a servant loyal to me and my master. Is that what you want, Prince of the Noldor? To serve the Dark Lord?"

"Yes." It became easier, Findekáno found dully, once you had given in to your fate. He did not even shy away from that triumphing, flickering stare of his enemy any longer. Maybe it would hurt less if he let himself fall for it quickly.

"Yes, what?" His hand wandering lower, Sauron thrust his knife deeply into his victim's loins, spearing a kidney, impatiently wiping blood of his cheek, both from the new horrible wound and from the captain's mangled hand, from its useless, mindless attempt of freeing itself from the nail crucifying it.

"Yes. Master." Findekáno never lowered his head. There was no use, trying to look away now.

"Better. We're getting there." Sauron just left his tool right where it was, impaling his victim's body in a third place, and went to the back of a room to open a silver box with the symbol of his eye on it that had been waiting there from the first hour on. A flash of gold and obsidian shone in the bright candle light as he slowly approached Findekáno, dangling from a lazy finger a broad collar with sharply carved tips at the top and the bottom. In the hand of a fire maia, the horrible adornment quickly started to heat, a dangerous orange glow matching the hair of Findekáno's torturer, pulsating right in front of his eyes when Sauron stopped by his chair and grabbed his chin, forcing him to surrender to that black stare again. "Ask for it, my sweet little pet, then I might think about allowing your incompetent captain over there to die."

The last of tears dried on Findekáno's skin as he left a part of him behind that he knew would not return, no matter how his life would look from now on and for how long. I'm sorry, Russo. "Please, Master, put your collar on me. Let me serve you."

"So easy." With a lazy snap of fingers, the chains holding Findekáno clicked open, allowing his knees to give out under him all by themselves when an ice-cold hand was wrapped around his braids, shoving him off the chair.

He thought, he could fight, for a moment. But he'd also thought that when they had first brought him into this room, and the rest of that day, he'd spent watching fifty orcs raping one of his best friends to death, so that spark died down as quickly as it had come. It had been too late to fight the moment he'd let himself be foolishly raided from behind instead of securing the area well enough.

"Your father should thank me that I'm taking the weakling that calls himself his firstborn from him," his enemy chuckled, a clear hint of arousal mixing into the purr of triumph in his voice as Findekáno winced and gasped for air, in vain, as the collar was closed around his neck. Melted into one by a single hummed tone, the heated metal was scorching his skin, the first exhausted attempts of breathing, of swallowing leaving marks and cuts on him. "This does look a lot prettier on you though than on your lover, my new favorite pet. Why don't you show me how you like to please him?" Under the approving cheers and leering of the orcs, laces were opened without haste. Thick, crooked hardness brushed Findekáno's tight lips, with ridges and barbs adorning the misshaped appendix that he knew he would soon feel somewhere entirely else and be forced to pretend and love it. If nothing else, at least Sauron was predictable.

But Findekáno didn't move, not yet, ignoring that hand in his braids that was grabbing him harsher by the second. His eyes wandered to the table in the middle of the room that was dripping blood on the ground in a slowly growing pool.

The sounds of searing agony from there still hadn't fallen silent.

Sharp fingernails scratched over his cheek, prying his mouth open with ease, the first brutal bump of hardened flesh against the back of his throat cutting off any protest before it could come. "If you worry about him so much, I suggest, you hurry to please your master, pet. It's only up to you how much more your people will have to take before I let them go."

It was another lie, of course, but one, Findekáno thought, he could live with. None of his soldiers would leave this fortress alive. If he could keep Sauron's filthy paws off of them for the rest of what was their ruined life, he would, at least, have done something right in the mess that his life had become. Findekáno had given up.

#Sauron #fingon #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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aliceslantern · 4 years ago

Text

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts Fanfic, Epilogue

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Ienzo moves on from Radiant Garden.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Still, Ienzo was sad to see Destiny Islands fade from behind them. It was raining here, too, and despite his initial worry about visibility Riku seemed nonplussed. “I’ve flown through worse,” he said. “Try to relax.”

But it was nearly impossible. The thought of going to the basement had his heart beating hard, a slick anxiety chasing away the joy and freedom he’d felt the past month. Ienzo took slow, deep breaths. After so many days in shorts and sandals, his normal clothes felt constricting, and Riku looked odd in his adventure wear.

The flight was both too long and too short. He’d accumulated a small bag of things in his time there--mostly weather-appropriate clothing--but he’d also brought along a few souvenirs that Kairi had helped him pick in an attempt to placate the others of his absence. And some foodstuffs he couldn’t get here. He couldn’t help it.

The day was clear, though cloudy, when they landed, and, Ienzo noted with a strange irony, when he disembarked it felt cold. He scoffed to himself.

Dilan was standing guard at the entrance. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said dryly. “Wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. With a bloody tan , too.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Good day, Dilan.”

The castle felt massive and brutal, though Ienzo noted Aeleus had made some more progress with the paint. Though he’d cleaned his bedroom before he left, it smelled a bit dusty. He set down his things.

Procrastinating wasn’t going to help.

Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Ienzo?”

“I’m… I’m alright.” He found himself glad he hadn’t eaten much at breakfast. “Right. If you would just… give me a moment to change.”

“Change?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “I’ll be right outside.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. Took two. He went over to his wardrobe, took out the black slacks, the white shirt, the sweater vest. The boots, the ascot. With shaking hands he took his lab coat off of its hanger.

The apprentice garb felt heavy on him, and its fit was different; he must’ve gotten more exercise on the islands than he thought. He looked at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he said softly.

Riku appraised him when he came out. “Ready?”

“...As I’ll ever be.”

The walk down to the lab felt long. He realized he hadn’t even checked to see if Even or Ansem would be down there, but when they got down it was empty, the computer asleep, the room in semidarkness. Ienzo didn’t realize he was almost gasping for air until Riku squeezed his shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”

Wearily, Ienzo nodded. He approached the keypad. He typed in the default password, and the door slid open.

He wasn’t sure what he expected--darkness rolling out, running at him--but nothing happened. “I don’t smell or sense much,” Riku said. He drew his Keyblade. “Stay close, just in case.”

They walked down the long, long ramp to the second lab door. The air smelled musty, stale, but not much worse than that, the lights flickering unevenly down the hall. Ienzo felt shaky, weak, already choked up. At first he wasn’t sure if he were seeing things, shadows flickering. Riku surveyed the space warily.

He took slow, shaky steps. The offices were all the way at the end of the corridor, past all of the cells. Their doors were open, unoccupied, but the whole place was in disarray; mattresses torn to shreds, gouges taken out of the floors and walls, sinks and toilets ripped from their joints. “You kept people here?” Riku asked, in a neutral voice.

“...Yes.” He swallowed. “It takes some a long time to fall to darkness.” He imagined, not for the first time, how his subjects might have felt. Dazed, terrified, in pain. He did remember them screaming out--either in anger, in fear, or in grief. He remembered himself giving them psychological profiles as a child--some had thought he, too, was a victim and tried to save him, only for their horror to grow that much more when they realized he was apart of it.

The pain he’d inflicted echoed heavily around the room as the memories poured in. Xehanort, or Even, or Dilan gently nudging him to do this, that, or another awful thing. Wanting to do it without their prodding as well. Seeing his family members do so in turn.

“How many?” Riku asked.

Ienzo swallowed. “A little over a hundred. But… what we wrought here… spread across the world--the seeker of darkness’s artificial Heartless--”

Riku rested a hand on his back. “You were a child. If you were anything like me… they used you.”

Somehow Ienzo made it to the office. It was a large space, with filing cabinets to one side, a few computers to another, a printer in the far back. Chemistry supplies, glassware, and a fume hood were to the center right of the back wall. Black-topped worktables were also towards the back, a Bunsen burner left out connected to the gas line. In a lot of ways it looked untouched, like it was that hectic and horrifying day they’d been turned. A coffee cup sat on the table in the center of the room, its contents long evaporated. Papers were still spread across the desk, someone’s old, moldering lab coat on the back of a chair.

Ienzo’s knees gave out.

“Ienzo!” Riku cried.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was all so… casual. Mundane.

This had been his normal. School days spent here, torturing other people, other kids, because he thought it was for the greater good. What were a few sacrifices for knowledge? To understand human nature?

He made an odd, guttural noise. “I’m sorry.” He sounded like a wounded animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Ienzo?” Riku knelt next to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Look at me.”

The tile floor was cold and dusty under his hands. He wanted to rip the file cabinets from the walls and destroy everything--

“Look at me.”

Ienzo did so, breathing through his teeth. Despite it all, there was still somehow tenderness in Riku’s eyes.

“Apologizing can’t help them now,” he said. “But what we can do to help is to preserve the memory of who they once were.”

He felt so incredibly heavy. “I killed them.”

“Xehanort and the darkness made you. Weren’t these guys your only family? If you hadn’t listened, what would’ve happened to you?”

“I’d be alone.” His chest hurt. “I’d be an orphan.”

“It was all you knew. What happened to the Zo who forgave himself on the island?”

Ienzo looked down.

“Huh?” he prompted.

“Do you think I deserve forgiveness?”

“Yes. I do. I think you were a victim too. Just like I was one of my Ansem’s.”

Ansem had said the same thing. The pain bled out of him. Riku let him cry, and mourn the person he could’ve been if not for all this. “Alright,” he said at last. “Alright. Alright.”

Riku helped him to his feet and wiped the tear from his face. “Better,” he said gently. “Where are these files?”

“Over… over here.” His knees were still shaky. He pulled open the drawer. “Help me…” He hefted them over to the scanner. “Digitize them. So they never get forgotten.”

“Right. Of course.”

It was a tedious, annoying task, but seeing the images, the people , get uploaded into the system, Ienzo felt something like relief. Once it was all--finally--done, he checked with his phone and the network that the data was safe. “All these years,” he said softly. “We kept the results, the data, but this was all left here to rot.”

“Easier to forget the price that way,” Riku said. “We can do something with this.”

“I’ll talk to the others. See how they feel. But seeing as all this--” He spread his hands, “Is due to my influence… I think I can guilt them all into agreeing.”

“For some reason I don’t think they’ll need much persuading.” Riku kissed him once, lightly. “Are you ready to leave?”

He looked around the room. He noticed a document on the table with his childhood self’s handwriting. He touched it once, turned it over. “I think so,” he said. “I think so.”

---

“Ansem? Can I speak to you?”

The man looked up from his writing desk, startled to be called his name. “Oh, Ienzo, it’s so good to see you,” he said. “I feel as though it’s been ages. You look so wonderfully well. Did you have a good time?”

“I truly did,” he said. “There was a lot I learned. But I’d…” He exhaled. “I realized something.”

Ansem gestured for him to sit in the opposite chair, so he did.

“I recall you telling me I am one of the victims of what happened here,” he said slowly.

“Yes. I believe that is true.”

“Staying with Riku’s family… seeing what type of life he used to have, what I could’ve had… it… so much of it shifted my perspective.” Ienzo cleared his throat and knotted his hands. “I think I’ve started to forgive myself, but moreover… I… I want to do something to honor those we destroyed.”

Ansem’s face slackened a little.

“Riku helped me digitize the personal files of the victims. I feel like… by accepting responsibility openly… we can give the townspeople closure. Ensure their memories aren’t lost. We can’t bring them back, but using what we’ve learned… we can help the people here move forward. Help heal their hearts.” He spoke quickly, not at all encouraged by his expression. “Please, master. This is because of me. I want to do something--even if it is so simple as a memorial.”

A long pause. Ansem tapped the tips of his fingers together. “That is very wise, Ienzo,” he said at last. “I think it’s a good first move. I think myself, and the others, agree heartily.”

He took a deep breath. “Moreover… I think I would like to leave Radiant Garden.”

Ansem’s eyebrows shot up.

“I know it probably seems selfish--” He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “I have so much to atone for. But being there, in Destiny Islands, I… I just need time, I need time to figure out who I can be, before I’m truly emotionally able to do all the work here that I need to. I’d like to move there and attend university.” He bowed his head and realized he was asking for permission. “I want to heal, and experience normalcy, and in order to do that in any meaningful way I have to leave. The memories are too painful. There’s too much unsaid.”

Ansem smiled kindly. “Ienzo,” he said. “Why are you trying to convince me?”

He looked up.

“I think that would be wonderful for you,” he said. “I always thought you were so young to be weighed down by so much. I’m your father. Of course I’m going to support whatever you think you need.”

“Thank you.”

“I just have to ask…” He chuckled a little. “This isn’t just because of the boy, is it?”

Ienzo blinked. “I do love him, but no,” he said. “I’m not going just to be with him. ...Though that will be a perk.”

“You have no idea how much it soothes me to know you’re beginning to move on,” Ansem said. “For the longest time I felt like I’ve damned you. Whatever I can provide--money, an official letter, name it.”

“I still have to figure it all out. They just barely know of other worlds. How would they deal with an immigrant? I don’t think forged papers would be good enough.”

Ansem sat back. “I seem to recall a good friend of your beloved has sway with the mayor,” he said.

“Kairi,” he said. “I completely forgot.”

“You may want to start there. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to introduce you.”

“...Yes.” Ienzo was dizzy. “Yes. That’s a good place to start.”

---

“You’re what. ” Even’s nostrils flared.

“I’m leaving, Even,” Ienzo said. As much as he’d braced himself for this conversation, he was still not looking forward to Even’s reaction. “I just… I need time. I need space. I need to learn how to be me… and I can’t do that here.”

Even sniffed. “The boy’s been too much influence on you. All of the tenderheartedness, the ideas… Life won’t be easy, Ienzo.”

“But it will be normal,” he said. “I think that’s what I need in order to begin to heal. A… controlled environment. A vacuum.”

This made him soften a little.

“ I need to have control,” he said. “And if I stay here, for now, I’ll only be reminded of when I didn’t have that. It’s not forever. Or maybe it is, that is yet to be determined.”

Even sighed. “I see,” he said. “Ienzo… child… there’s so much I have to do to make up to you, and you’re just leaving ?”

Ienzo smiled. “Then support my decision,” he said. “Moreover, with the phones… it’s not as though I’ll never see you again. And we can still work together, as well. I think… one of the things you can help me do is spearhead the memorial with me.”

Even took a breath.

“I know you want to atone just as much, if not more, than I do. Help me accept their pain, Even, and make sure they don’t get forgotten. And that nothing like this happens again.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” He turned to leave, but Even spoke.

“It is… easy, to get caught up in the guilt and the grief,” he said, “And let it paralyze one. So often I feel as though I’ll never have enough time to even begin mitigating the damage I’ve done to this world.” His green eyes were sharp, reddened at the edges. “My mistakes were mine more than yours were yours. Yet…”

“In the end you chose to give up everything in order to stop Xehanort,” Ienzo said. “You deserve to be here. You deserve life too, Even.”

He chuckled. “You have gotten soft, child,” he said. He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “It suits you. But don’t let go of all that bitterness just yet. Use it. Build your new life just to spite us all.”

Ienzo nodded. “I likely shall.”

Even sighed. “I will miss you,” he said. “But I understand.”

“And I you, I think,” Ienzo said.

“Though if you’re going there we must come up with a way to protect your complexion,” he said, snapping into brightness, though Ienzo saw his eyes watering. “I’ll get to it at once. We can’t have you end up with… moles, or worse, you’re so fair.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, Even.”

“You’ll… you’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will if you will.”

Even smiled.

“Truly, Even, you lecture me for working too hard, yet I’m not sure you sleep.”

A beat, a moment. “Take care, Ienzo,” Even said. “I do hope this new life treats you well.”

He nodded. He nearly left, but acting on impulse, he hugged Even once, quickly. “I’ll be back to collect that sunscreen, I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll see you before I leave.”

“Yes, yes, leaving me with more work, as always.” A smile.

---

The apartment had come pre-furnished, but was cramped. The sink leaked. Most of the microwave buttons did not work, and the electric stove heated unevenly. If Ienzo was not quick to shower in the morning, the other flats in the building used up all the hot water.

It was run-down, but it was his, and he loved it.

Riku groaned a little when he got up. “Why,” was all he said.

“I have to get to work,” Ienzo said. “I told you last night I’d be getting up early and if you wanted decent sleep to go home. I warned you.”

He sighed heavily. “To be fair, after what we did, I didn’t think I could move.”

He rolled his eyes and went to go shower. He’d made it for the hot water, though under the wire. When he came back out to get dressed Riku had pulled the blanket over himself, like a burrito. “Don’t you have class to get ready for?”

“Yes, and if I don’t go now I’ll be late.” Still, he didn’t move.

“The last thing I want is for you to become a ne’er do well on my watch,” he said. He grabbed his apron from the closet door handle.

“ Fine. ” He got up and started putting on his discarded uniform. “As long as I can be the first customer. You’re not going to make me wait outside until open again, are you?”

“The last time I didn’t my manager was unhappy.”

“You are the worst sometimes.”

Ienzo smirked. “You still keep coming back.”

The left the apartment together, down the rickety narrow staircase. The sun was just starting to rise. The days, lately, seemed long; but they were full, and Ienzo no longer dreaded them. He found the keys in his bag and unlocked the cafe’s door. “See you in half an hour,” he said breezily to Riku, who just rolled his eyes and sat at one of the outdoor tables.

Most days he didn’t mind this work. Opening the cafe meant he got out of work early, leaving the day open for his classes, or seeing people, or simply existing in this strange city. It wasn’t forever--he had reason to believe he’d be offered a student research position at university, and that would cover most of his living expenses. Ansem had given him money, but he didn’t want to touch it unless he had to.

Sometimes admittedly if he was having a frustrating day--if customers were awful to him or the espresso machine was on the fritz yet again --Ienzo felt his genius was being wasted being a barista. But most of the time, he liked the work, baking and making coffee the most. It was objective, harmless. I wanted normal, he’d think.

He counted in the drawers, put the breakfast pastries in their displays. Warmed up the machines and made coffee. He’d been promoted to keyholder when the manager saw how efficiently he was able to work, and that meant opening shifts. Sometimes on breaks he’d sit with a book and watch the people go by.

He hadn’t realized life could be gentle.

He saw Riku making faces at him through the window, and though he knew it was unnecessary, Ienzo waited until it was six on the dot to let him in.

“You’re a horrible boyfriend,” Riku said.

“Sure I am. Your usual?”

“You’re bankrupting me.” He placed a note on the counter. He made Riku’s latte and handed him the usual buttered croissant, and before the morning rush, sat with him to have his own breakfast. “So, later,” Riku said. “Couple of us are getting together at Sora’s. You in?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’d love to, but I have to finish that paper. I’ve procrastinated enough.” He seemed to be angling towards a degree in psychology with a minor in literature. He could use this to help people--he was trying to help Sora, who seemed to at least be more willing to open up. It was a start.

“Come anyway.”

“Then I’d have to stay up all night.”

“...Like you haven’t done that before.”

“Anyway, don’t you have a test to study for?”

“So?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’ll come, but I’ll be late.”

Riku leaned over and kissed him. “I should try to grab the ferry. Looks like you’ve got customers.”

---

There were already a few people over at Sora’s by the time Ienzo had done enough schoolwork to justify going. “Oh, you made it!” Sora said.

“And I brought snacks.”

“Yay, snacks!”

“Easy to please, as always,” Ienzo said, and Sora stuck out his tongue.

All of this wasn’t easy, but it was slowly getting easier. Sometimes Ienzo felt he was living a lie, not disclosing his past to everyone he met. As he made true, real friends here, it became apparent that this would be something he had to figure out how to deal with. Darkness still poked out from time to time.

There was some kind of movie playing on TV; Sephie and Tidus were arguing over what to watch. “But this is the good part!” Sephie said.

“I don’t care, it sucks.”

Someone had put on music, an upbeat pop song. Only Riku and Ienzo were of age to drink, but somehow someone had brought some wine. A normal Friday. His phone chimed with a text; a file from Even. Call me. Ienzo sighed and went onto the balcony. “Do I even want to know what time it is for you?” he asked, as prelude.

“This is what we’ve come up with,” Even said. “Can you let me know what you think? If it passes your muster?”

“Even, you know it’s better if these things are symbolic. It’s more meaningful that way.”

“I know, I know, I know, I’ve heard enough from your father.”

“I do look forward to seeing it,” he said. “The notes from the committee were helpful, at least. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Out and about, are you?” Even asked.

“Ah--quite.”

A pause. “You’re eating well, and all that?”

He smiled. “Yes, Even.”

“Because you know I raised you to--”

“I promise I’m getting all my fruits and vegetables.”

“Right. Ah.”

“Go sleep, Even. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“As long as you do.”

He hung up. The moon was full, and it was glinting on the ocean. Ienzo heard the back door slide open. “What are you doing here, all alone?” Riku asked.

“Even called me. He has a new draft of the memorial.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

Ienzo smiled. “It’s alright. I think we’re getting close.”

He offered him a glass of wine, which Ienzo took. “Are you glad you came after all?” he asked him.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I just… I dunno. I want to make sure you’re happy.”

“Well, I am.” He chuckled a little. “As much as I can be. It’s just that… sometimes the darkness still… comes out.” They both nightmared, occasionally. Sometimes Ienzo heard Riku cry out in his sleep for Sora or Kairi.

“It… does.”

“Are you happy?”

“As much as I can be.”

Ienzo nudged him. He rested a hand on Riku’s waist.

“I’m just glad to… have time,” Riku said. “I think I’m understanding that… it’s not all gonna get snatched away.”

“Good. I told you as much, though I know why…” He sighed. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to wake up in that… stark white castle. But then I wake up with you.”

Riku kissed him. “I can’t wait to figure it all out together.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The door opened again; Kairi was smirking. “Alright, lovebirds. Do you want to want to play dominoes or what?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ienzo said, “I’m going to wipe the floor with you all.”

“Easy there, killer,” Riku said.

And they went inside, to the rest of their lives.

#give/take #ienzoku #ienzo/riku #ienzo #riku #ansem the wise #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo is trans

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iya5rt · 5 years ago

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Kalopsia Project [Bakugo Katsuki x Reader – Tokyo Ghoul AU]

Summary:

New chapter every Wednesday!

When a not-so-perfect date almost costs you your life, you’re unexpectedly rescued by a certain ash blond ghoul, and thrown into a new life at a small cafe by the name of Yuuei, where you’re surrounded by those you’ve always thought to be your enemies. As you find out ghouls aren’t quite what they’re made out to be though, your life is further thrown into chaos by a mysterious project nobody seems to understand, yet has unwillingly been dragged into.

Never in your life would you have thought the person you would come to find most comfort in, would be the kind that hunted humans. Yet you’ve learned to love the irony of it all…

***

You don’t need any prior knowledge of Tokyo Ghoul to understand this story!

The cover art is made by me!

Enjoy!

Kalopsia Project Masterpost

***

Glossary:

Ghouls – a humanoid species only able to feed on the flesh of humans and other ghouls. If ghouls attempt to eat normal food, they will be struck by a powerful urge to vomit. They are, however, able to drink coffee, as well as regular drinking water.

CCG – Commission of Counter Ghoul, usually abbreviated as CCG, serves as a criminal investigative body in cases connected to ghouls. The ghouls commonly call the ghoul investigators Doves. Ghoul investigators carry out the actual investigations and capture suspects. They are often assigned to carry out investigations in one of Tokyo's wards.

Kagune – a ghoul's predatory organ, functioning as their weapon and claws. When released, a ghoul's physique is strengthened, they are more resilient, and their mobility heightens. Although a ghoul's healing ability is high, the healing of wounds tends to be delayed if the wounds are inflicted by a kagune.

(excerpts taken from the Tokyo Ghoul Wiki)

***

Chapter 1 – Best Date Ever

Just another faceless person among the crowd of hundreds upon thousands of others. That’s all she was. And all I ever thought she would be.

I first noticed her existence in our last year of high-school. We were set to graduate in just about a month. Oh, how ready I was to get out of this miserable place already.

Up until then, it had been a normal day like any other. Boring, dull. It was all getting repetitive and blurring together.

Then, a teacher called her over. It must have been something important. She ran to him and listened. I watched as her face paled, then her eyes widened. She looked terrified. Soon after, she was gone.

She didn’t appear on the next day. Or the day after. A week, and then a month had gone by – she was nowhere to be found. Even as the school year came to an end, there was no trace of her.

Not that I cared.

But they talked. Every break, for a few days after. You couldn’t not hear it, even if you wanted to.

“Hey, she still hasn’t come back yet...”

“Yeah, but can you blame her? Such a tragedy. No one deserves that.”

“Huh? You know what happened?”

“Don’t you? It’s been all over the news, not to mention all the rumors going around at school. Both her parents were ghoul investigators. That night, they were attacked and brutally murdered. They say their corpses were barely recognizable...”

“Huh? I thought ghouls ate people?”

“Usually they do. But they speculate they must have been attacked as revenge.”

“Gosh, this is horrible… Poor soul...”

Well, duh. I wouldn’t want to eat someone who hunts my own kind either. Those ghoul investigators were always a pain in the ass. Good riddance, if you were to ask me.

I myself didn’t usually go hunting people for fun. It was already hard enough just finding some to feed on. But I would be lying if I said I was against killing those goddamn doves.

Come graduation, and everything was swiftly forgotten. That girl finally faded from my mind. She shouldn’t have ever been there in the first place, but at least things were finally as they always should have been.

A few uneventful months later, it was time to go back to school. All those humans going about their merry way and buzzing around were damn annoying. But anything was better than being suspicious for not going to school at all.

Though university wasn’t exactly complete freedom, I liked to believe it would be better than high-school. The bar was set pretty low, after all.

And then, on the first day, I was surprised.

Not because I didn’t expect it. In fact, I couldn’t have ever expected it after I had, as I already mentioned, wiped any traces of her existence from my memory.

But even so, here she was.

Different place, different time, different people. And yet she had finally appeared, for the first time in months.

And what’s more – she was smiling. It wasn’t the kind of carefree smile she always wore from what I vaguely managed to recall of her. It was a heavy smile. It hid a lot. But did I care enough to find out what? Not really.

She seemed to fit in at once. All the other girls swarmed her, and thus began the usual scene of eager introductions, annoying giggles, stupid small talk. So mundane.

“Hey, hey – what do you all think about ghouls?”

Ah, how I loved that question. In fact, I loved it so much that if I were a binge-eater or even just some boring serial killer, those who asked it, would be first on my hit-list. Good thing I wasn’t one. Yet. I couldn’t help but wonder how those girls would react if they ever found out just how many ghouls hid right beneath their noses.

Usually I would try to tune those conversations out. And usually, I would fail miserably, listening in anyway.

One girl laughed and said she didn’t believe in them, claiming they were just some urban legends. Well, she’ll probably get eaten one day, though I didn’t have it in me to pity her. Just about everybody else said ghouls were some mindless murderers and monsters to be feared. And this right here was why I hated whiny teenage girls.

There was however, one reply that stood out.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Perhaps not all of them are that bad? Say for example, if you were to pick one person to represent all of humanity, you probably wouldn’t pick a serial killer now, would you? So what if it’s the same with ghouls? Those binge-eater ghouls we always hear about – what if they’re just the minority that makes themselves known? Perhaps there are many more that live quietly with us, in peace.”

And then they all laughed at her. I, on the other hand, was a little too fixated on the brief moment I could swear her eyes darted toward me. I must have been imagining it though. I was probably getting paranoid – this was the daughter of two ghoul investigators, you know? Of course I would be worried she would catch onto me sooner or later.

I still didn’t really care much about her. But I had to admit – my respect for her grew, if only barely. Few were anywhere near as open-minded as she was. Then again, that also made her a naive dumbass – too hopeful and trusting for her own good.

Shortly after, she kind of faded into the background once again. Sure, she wasn’t faceless to me anymore. But that was it.

It has been a few months since then. Yet again, those couple of months were as uneventful as they came. Nonetheless, she is still here. I am still here. And so is everybody else.

What a funny pair we were. A ghoul and the daughter of a pair of ghoul investigators, brutally murdered a year ago.

Now that I think about it, I don’t recall us having ever actually spoken. Nothing past a quick ‘Hey, you got a spare pencil?’ or ‘Did you catch what the teacher said just now?’ at least.

That’s why it was funny. How our fates were meant to intertwine.

It was, to put it simply, quite ironic.

But it’s an irony I’ve learned to love.

***

You couldn’t help but stare. You knew it was rude, you didn’t need anyone telling you so. But there was this feeling that, try as you might, you just couldn’t shake off.

After all, who the hell transferred universities like that!? What was this guy even thinking?

As the teacher blabbered on about yet another topic you’d have to prepare for all by yourself at home anyway, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to the blond who had taken a seat nearby.

His hair was soft, parted down the side and not too long – all in all, it was a hairstyle sported by quite the number of guys you knew. So perhaps it was its more uncommon color that threw you off – the blonds weren’t all that many around here, after all. You briefly thought about Bakugo, glancing to the side to find him mindlessly playing with a pencil, twirling it between his fingers. He was so focused too. You snickered to yourself.

Thoughts going back to the transfer student though, you also noted his light blue eyes, deep yet lost and distraught. Almost like he was there but simultaneously wasn’t. His face was soft and his mouth hadn’t formed anything less than a smile ever since he had first walked in. Though it seemed to be a smile that didn’t quite reach those distant eyes of his.

But you had to admit – he was very attractive.

Naturally, you weren’t the only one to make that observation. Once the class had ended, he was immediately surrounded by a handful of curious boys and a whole legion of desperate girls. Even still, he had been all too kind to them, never turning down a question and fitting in like he had been there from the start.

You listened in and got all the answers you were looking for.

“Why? Well, you see, it was my parents’ choice. We happen to live quite close to those recent ghoul attacks in the Second Ward. In fact, they happened right around the corner of the university I go to. When the old man learned of this, he demanded that I change schools.”

Ghouls.

Legend has it, if a conversation continued long enough, the topic was bound to come up eventually. You knew all too well.

Binge-eaters had always been the scariest to you. After all, if a ghoul could survive for an entire month by feeding on a single human, then why were there those who murdered just for fun?

You didn’t need such dark thoughts now though. So you shook your head and continued on with your day instead.

Soon enough that day had turned into two, then three, until finally an entire week had gone by. And with the passing of time, the shock that had accompanied the new student who had briefly shaken up your mundane existence faded too. To you, he was now just another classmate.

That’s why, when he approached you one day, you were left speechless.

“A… a date!?” you exclaimed, face flushing a dark red.

“Yes! You’re so kind and beautiful, [L/N]-san – I’d love to get a chance to go out with you!” he smiled, complimenting you like few had before.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, this is just a little sudden, haha...” His expression fell, a look of sudden guilt replacing his cheerful grin.

“Oh no, did I put you on the spot just now? God, I am so sorry, please forgive me. Don’t worry – I wouldn’t mind if you reject. It’s just a simple proposal!” Monoma reassured. But you thought. And thought. Never before had you been asked out on a date by someone as nice and attractive. Surely, it couldn’t hurt. If anything, you needed something so spice up your days.

“Oh, actually – it’s… it’s okay, Monoma-kun! I accept! Or, um, what I mean is, I wouldn’t mind going out on a date with you!” You smiled back, though your cheeks were growing warmer by the minute. Monoma all but jumped in excitement, grin returning.

“This is amazing! Thank you so much, [L/N]-san! Oh, oh – can I call you [L/N]-chan instead?”

“S-sure!” you managed to squeak out.

“Hmm, is today after classes okay? About 7PM? I know it gets dark early but I’ll be waiting for you at the station in the Second Ward and can even take you home if you need me to? So no reason to worry, yeah?”

“Yes, that sounds great!”

And that’s the story of how you somehow scored yourself a date with one of the most charismatic and well-liked people you had ever met. You would have been lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to it. Perhaps this was going to be your faithful encounter, the one to finally turn the gears of your life.

If only you knew what it was that awaited you that night.

The pair of crimson eyes trained on your unsuspecting frame certainly did.

***

After yet another quick glance at your watch, you moved to fix up your knee-length skirt one last time, as the oncoming train stopped before you. At exactly 18.32 you climbed onto it, your heartbeat easily going through the roof at just the thought of those next few hours. Though you weren’t sure what to expect yet, you couldn’t wait to meet up with Monoma.

Upon noticing how packed the train looked, you exhaled in relief that you had opted for a pair of flats instead of those new heels you’d been eyeing up. You weren’t sure if you would even find a place to sit, after all.

Your eyes scanned around, and to your surprise you noticed a single empty seat, the one beside it occupied by someone clad in mostly black, a hint of red peeking out from beneath his dark hoodie. It was his hair that stood out to you, however. After all, the spiky blond locks you had happened upon were quite familiar to you.

“Hey, Bakugo-kun. Fancy running into you here!” you smiled as you approached him, motioning to the empty seat beside him. He shuffled closer to the window to give you some more space. With a gracious nod, you sat down beside him, and proceeded to pull out your phone and give Bakugo his peace – he never looked to be in a talkative mood. You wondered if it was his naturally hostile expression that made others weary of taking the seat.

Yet your mind kept wandering in circles, all of which lead back to him.

“So… Where are you heading to…?” you asked, only now realizing this might have been the first time you had ever had a proper conversation with him, despite having known him for years. He glanced at you, then turned to look out the window once again.

“Second ward. Got some family shit to attend.” Your eyes widened, lips curling up into a smile.

“Ah, what a coincidence! That’s where I’m going too! Surely you wouldn’t mind the company until then?”

“Yeah, whatever. Though I have to wonder what a girl like you’s doing, going to a dangerous ward like that anyway,” he muttered, unbeknownst to you already knowing the answer. You pouted.

“Hey now, I’m not a child, you know? My parents taught me a thing or two about taking care of myself. Plus, I won’t be alone!” You could have very well imagined it, but you could swear his gaze, still aimed at the passing scenery in the window, had hardened into a glare.

“Yeah...”

***

That half an hour had flown by like barely half a minute, as you found yourself enjoying Bakugo’s company, despite having to lead the conversation yourself most of the time. He didn’t seem to mind too much though.

When your stop came around, you both made haste to the exit, quickly stepping aside to let the remaining passengers get off as well. Watching the train depart once more, you turned to Bakugo, hands intertwined behind your back, as you smiled at him.

“Thank you for letting me chat with you like this! I had a blast! See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Now go,” he grumbled, eyes focused somewhere behind you, lingering there even after you turned around to find your date waving to you from afar. You said one last goodbye to Bakugo and ran over to the other boy.

“Sorry for being late, Monoma-kun. Hope you didn’t have to wait long!” you greeted as you waved the blond hello. He laughed.

“Are you kidding me? It’s only been a minute or two, [L/N]-chan, no need to apologize.” You nervously laughed with him. “May I add, it was definitely worth it – you look even more gorgeous than usual, there was no need to outdo yourself like that!” You blushed. Ah, how you wished it was socially acceptable to just hide your face behind your hands right there and then.

“Aw, thank you! But you look great as well – I had to match!” You weren’t very good at this whole dating thing. Nor the conversation thing for that matter. But you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

“You’re flattering me. Shall we go, my lady?” And suddenly, the heat had risen to your cheeks.

“Only if you drop the ‘my lady’ part...” you muttered, mentally smacking yourself when your voice quivered.

“If you insist. But that’s no fun...” Monoma faked a pout, but smiled again and set off. You let him walk a little ways ahead of you, choosing to take in the unfamiliar area instead. You had the whole evening ahead of you to spend time together, after all.

“Oh, that reminds me – what was that guy doing here with you?” Monoma suddenly stopped, turning towards you with eyes that, at a first glance, appeared to be full of curiosity. Though the longer you looked at them, the more this sinking feeling in your stomach grew. The kind of feeling that was desperately trying to scream at you that there was something else they hid a little further past the curiosity.

“You mean Bakugo-kun? We just happened to run into each other on the train. He said he had some family business in the area or something,” you mumbled, noticing Monoma had slowed his pace down and was now walking beside you again. “Ah, I completely forgot!”

You jumped, scrambling to find your phone. Monoma watched you in bewilderment as you dug through the tissues, keys, even a few random pens you carried for reasons you may never know, hand finally reaching for the smartphone buried at the bottom of your small purse. With a satisfied smile, you quickly typed up a short message to Bakugo.

‘Forgot to wish you a good time with your family!^^’

And – send. There we go! Can’t believe it slipped my mind…

“...ding ground, that bastard,” was the first thing you heard from Monoma once you finally put your phone away. You cocked your head in confusion.

“What was that again?” you asked, a little blush spreading to your cheeks when you realized you hadn’t been paying attention to the boy who’d been so kind as to propose a date to you. Then again, the way he had spoken as if to himself, perhaps you weren’t meant to hear it.

“Huh? Ah – hanging around! You know, would you mind hanging around a little before we go somewhere for dinner?” he asked, that sweet smile of his you were quickly getting used to returning to his face. The change was perhaps a bit too sudden but you chose to brush it off.

“Sounds good to me. I’m not that hungry yet anyway.”

“Oh, good for you. I’m kinda starving though,” Monoma muttered. His words however, left you with an odd sense of dread. You didn’t quite know why. Perhaps you were just too paranoid for your own good. After all, a dark street late at night was sure to give a young girl some strange thoughts, no?

You chose to instead put your trust in Monoma. Everyone had their quirks. He had done nothing to make you suspicious of him, after all. You were just imagining things that weren’t there.

…

God, how you hoped you were just imagining them.

As the two of you shared a quiet and peaceful walk (as peaceful as your raging thoughts would let it to be anyway), you took to looking at the streets around you. Anything was better than contemplating whether the silence you were engulfed in was a comfortable one or not.

It was getting late and the second ward was, admittedly, a dangerous one. Not only was it overflowing with ghouls and investigators left and right, it was also home to the frequent attacks of a binge-eater in the recent weeks.

Which is why there was no way you were going there alone. Fortunately for you, all the victims seemed to have been by themselves when they had been attacked, not to mention the lack of witnesses. Whoever this ghoul was, they were into the easy targets. But with a partner beside you and a slew of people walking nearby, you felt at ease.

…

Huh? You could swear there really were people walking all around you just a few minutes ago… This was the main street – it should have been busy, even late at night.

It… it was the main street, right? Had you taken an odd turn without realizing it? Monoma seemed pretty confident as he lead the way though.

Something seemed odd.

You were on the verge of freaking out. One look around you only made things worse. This street, these buildings – why did they look so familiar?

But you had never been to the second ward before. Where had you seen them? In person? Unlikely. Perhaps on the TV then? Or online?

Could it have been the news?

You let out a quiet gasp.

…

‘Hanging around’

‘...ding ground, that bastard.’

…

‘...ding ground.’

…

Following the gasp, an icy shiver ran down your spine, as your heartbeat faltered for a second, only to then come back faster than ever. The sound echoed loudly in your ears.

Hanging around? No – that was most certainly not what he had said.

Feeding ground.

“Feeding ground...” you breathed out. Your walking came to a sharp halt, the realization seeming to root you in place.

And despite your voice hovering barely above a whisper, your words were heard. Loud and clear. Because Monoma stopped too, though he didn’t turn to face you quite yet.

“The streets are empty… It’s so quiet… Because this- because this is your feeding ground...” Every new word you let slip was just another mistake to push you to your early grave. Then again, if your assumption was correct, your ‘date’ had long dug that grave and was about to bury you in it himself.

Only then did Monoma turn to face you. You couldn’t see his eyes, which remained covered by his hair, but his shoulders clearly shook a few times. And then he laughed.

And laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

It was the kind of laugh you’d hear in a cheesy horror movie or a cheaply made scary game.

Never in your life had you imagined it could be for real.

“Ahahaha, I got myself a smart girl, didn’t I!?” he exclaimed, finally straightening up to face you. And this time, you could clearly make out his eyes, even in the darkening streets.

Tonight, they were nothing like the calm blue hues you had admired a mere week ago. They were now black, a pair of small red irises staring back at you. You were terrified.

A reddish blur whizzed past you, making you snap back to reality.

Figuring out his intentions had been the easy part. Now was the real beginning of a night you likely wouldn’t even survive.

So, you ran.

Putting one leg in front of the other, pushing your body ever forward – that was all that occupied your mind. You didn’t look back, in fear of what awaited you. Though you knew what it was very well – a ghoul’s kagune. Protruding from their back and acting like their strongest weapon against humans, the kagune was used to hunt their prey, murder it mercilessly, and tear it to pieces.

Now you most certainly didn’t want to look back.

If only things ever went your way.

A sharp pain stabbed right through your shoulder. So sharp in fact, you couldn’t hold the scream that tore its way out of your throat, echoing across the nearby dark alleyways, in sync with the sound of numerous droplets of blood splattering onto the ground.

It hurt.

Goddammit, it hurt so, so badly.

You wanted to cry, shout, scream more, yet your voice seemed to be lost already.

You were too afraid to look, but you were certain that it was his kagune that had pierced through your body like it was just some measly piece of paper. And suddenly that kagune yanked you backwards, as your back was roughly slammed against a wall and you slumped to the ground, quietly sobbing from the ever-increasing pain.

Your vision was becoming blurrier by the minute, yet you could still make out the person- no, the creature leisurely approaching you. His face was just a moving blob of color, until he crouched before you, eyeing you with a twisted smile. You could finally place why that same smile had previously seemed so odd to you, though you were too late. Beside his foot you noticed the purse you had been carrying, now discarded on the ground, all your belongings scattered about in an ugly mess.

Monoma had just opened his mouth to speak, but his attempt went ignored, as you reached for the small blue ballpoint pen just beside your outstretched hand, the clear barrel blurring in and out of sight.

He stood and watched you with a simple curiosity. The kind of curiosity a child felt as it laughed at the small insect it was holding captive, knowing it wouldn’t find an escape, but meet a painful end instead. Your futile attempts must have been so humorous to him, he felt the need to mock them out loud too.

“What do you think you’re doing, doll? You think a pen’s gonna help ya? Unless you want to stab yourself with it?” He let out a dark chuckle. “Sorry, but I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction.”

He made no attempt to stop you though. Had he not just put you on the verge of death, you might have even thanked him for his carelessness. Pen grasped in your trembling hand, your eyes, though with much difficulty, shifted to the kagune beside you. Only now did you notice how his seemed to look like two long tentacles, colored a dark shade of blood red.

“Oh? You plan to stab my kagune?” he laughed. “Go ahead, try it.”

But you knew better. Dead or not, your parents were ghoul investigators. And they had taught you well.

Kagune couldn’t be pierced just like that. Not with a knife, not even with a bullet, let alone a pen.

Stabbing it was out of the question.

Instead, you positioned the pen sideways, thrusting it as hard as your weakening body would allow. Monoma realized his mistake a second too late.

After all, even a ghoul was weak against a surface wound.

As the pain connected and lodged itself into the kagune at an unnatural and unpleasant angle, Monoma cried out in a mix of pain and fury. The part of it that had been holding you captive also disappeared, leaving a bunch of fresh blood to pour from the now widely-open wound on your shoulder.

Your sense were weakening and fast. But in this moment, all you had to do was survive.

You took to running yet again.

He did not chase after you this time, at least not at first.

You knew he was playing some kind of twisted game. He could easily catch you the moment he so wished. Instead, he wanted to give you a glimpse of hope, a taste of salvation, only to drag you back down and crush all of it to pieces with you.

Now the question was – who was to become the winner of this little game?

***

“I saw how you looked at her just now and I’m warning you – you had your chance, and you wasted it. She’s my prey now so you better stay out of the way, you got that?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you plan to do with her. At least I’m not that stupid – she’s the child of two CCG investigators. Ain’t exactly the best ‘prey’ you could wish for.”

“What are you talking about – she’s perfect. Aren’t I doing all my fellow ghouls a favor? She’d just become another dove the moment she steps foot into the real world anyway. I’ll just make sure to get rid of her before it comes to that.”

“Tch. I told you – I don’t care. You can do whatever the hell you want...”

***

Bakugo thought back to the exchange he’d had with the girl’s ‘date’ (though he knew better) just earlier that day, shortly after he’d invited her to go out with him.

He’d known the new guy was a ghoul the moment he’d walked in – that bastard had reeked of death and corpses, at least to his keen senses. He despised how he had clicked in with everybody else right off the bat too.

Frankly, he had no family business in the second ward. Or any business here for that matter. He’d been going to the fourth ward, where his home and a certain cafe he was stuck working at were.

Yet when [F/N] had sat next to him and cheerfully initiated a small conversation, as unexpected as it may have been, he’d suddenly blurted out the place which he had heard to be her meet-up spot with that wretched ghoul.

He had zero intention of stopping whatever was about to go down.

So then… why was he hesitating to leave!?

He had asked himself that many times already, but his eyes had remained glued to the single text message he had received.

‘Forgot to wish you a good time with your family!^^’

Not long after, the first scream had sounded. He had grit his teeth through it, finally finding the resolve to walk away. Far, far away.

Because a ghoul was not supposed to have compassion for some human, dammit.

Following the momentary sound of ragged breathing and a pair of frantic and uneven footsteps, a body collided with his back from just around the corner, sending him stumbling a few steps forward.

Though he easily kept his balance, something fell to the ground behind him. He turned to see the bleeding girl at his feet, only to stare at her collapsed frame in shock.

While he was at a loss for what to do, [F/N] let out a few painful coughs, clutching at the wound on her shoulder, and continuing to crawl ahead instead. It was a pitiful sight.

Just when he’d begun to wonder if she’d even noticed him at all, she raised her head and as her eyes that were overflowing with tears streaming down her scuffed cheeks met his, her face suddenly flooded with relief.

But that relief was then immediately washed away, replaced with a look of pure horror.

Huh? Why was she scared of him now?

Wait, scratch that. Why was she even still alive!?

“You...” her voice trembled. “I-I know...” She made a move to lift herself up, yet fell back to the ground, her ragged breaths more frequent now. Not knowing where to go, she slowly crawled back, as far away from him as she could, before she leaned her back against the wall, leaving a red stain right behind her shoulder. Her watery eyes looked wide from fear at the sight of the blond towering above her.

“You’re a ghoul too!! I know, I’ve known for- for a long time!” For someone losing blood as quickly as she was, she was shouting and crying out at him like it was no big deal. “How you always seem to drink coffee, how you never eat during the breaks, how you twitch whenever someone mentions ghouls – all of it!!” Her voice cracked. Then she went quiet and looked down, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“I thought… I thought you were good…! You- you’re part of his plan too, aren’t you!?” Her crying seemed to choke her words. She then remained silent again, curling onto herself.

Had she… given up already? Had she realized she stood no chance with two monsters on her trail?

Bakugo grit his teeth. She was right in front of him. She knew what he was.

And she was helpless, blaming him. So why not kill her right here and just put an end to all this – to both of their misery…?

Would that annoying voice at the back of his head finally shut up for good then!?

…

Before he could come to a conclusion (or rather, talk himself out of the conclusion he had already reached a while ago but sternly refused to accept), a new pair of footsteps, this time accompanied by infuriating laughter, approached. Soon, a fellow ghoul came into view, and his eyes, while scanning around for the girl he was pursuing, locked onto Bakugo instead.

Oh, how he hated this.

He hated himself for ever considering it.

And he hated himself for actually doing it.

Bakugo growled.

“Be fucking grateful, [F/N]. You’ll get to live another day.”

***

Your world was still a blurry mess, though it was much worse than it had been earlier. Your eyes refused to adjust to the black spots clouding your vision.

By this point, you were more than ready to meet your end. You just wanted the pain gone.

Was it going to be Monoma? Or perhaps Bakugo?

Whoever it was, you regretted to be done in by one of those monsters. You didn’t want to give them that pleasure.

Then again, you only had yourself to blame. The signs had been there all along. Even knowing what Bakugo was, you still let yourself believe he might be different. And even not knowing what Monoma was, you were too blind and trusting to foresee what was to come.

A pair of feet moved in front of you, blocking your view of Monoma. Or the blurry shape you assumed was him anyway. You noticed a kagune you hadn’t seen before, most likely Bakugo’s. In that moment, you closed your eyes.

Muffled words were exchanged, whether spoken to you or between the two, you didn’t know. In that moment, you were only praying your end would be swift.

…

And yet, the pain… it never came.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you were still very much alive. At this rate, the blood loss might end up being the thing that does you in.

Despite not knowing what was happening, the sounds of clashing, fighting, movement were coming from seemingly every direction. Or were your senses too distracted to pinpoint them?

You shut your eyes tight. Perhaps it was better this way. You wouldn’t mind drifting off to sleep in peace.

But that peace was interrupted when a hand touched your uninjured shoulder. Though the touch was warm and light, you flinched.

“Hey, pipe down. You’re safe.” The low voice brought you so much comfort. But wasn’t this the same voice that had sent you in another wave of panic earlier? The rest of the noises had stopped, leaving only the unpleasant ringing in your ear. You decided to be hopeful and slowly forced one of your eyes open. Upon finding a pair of tired red eyes and a head of spiky ash blond hair hunched over you, your mind flooded with questions.

Why were you still alive? Why hadn’t he killed you? What was he doing?

Was he… helping you…?

You tried to speak, but your voice was nowhere to be found.

Bakugo sighed and grabbed the arm on your uninjured side, gently pulling you up, as your quivering body was left to lean against his sturdy frame. Only then did you notice the blood splatters and twitching chunks of what appeared to be Monoma’s kagune scattered about everywhere. Your attacker himself however, was nowhere in sight.

“He… ran away…?” you somehow croaked out, much to Bakugo’s surprise, though he quickly composed himself and nodded.

“Yeah. Bastard was quick. Couldn’t catch him,” he said, as he slipped off the sweater he’d been wearing on top of his black t-shirt, and tied it carefully around your wounded shoulder, earning a couple of groans from your barely conscious self. “Though I doubt he’d ever have the guts to come near you again. Or return here at all, for that matter.” You relaxed against him. Not that you really had much of a choice in that regard, as your body was quickly shutting off its functions one by one.

“I’m… such an idiot...”

“You may be an idiot. But you’re alive now, which is all that really matters.”

“Mhm. Thank you, Bakugo-kun...”

The words caught in his throat and he paused. You were light-headed and the pain must have been getting to you. No way you were going to say something as ridiculous otherwise.

“Hey, I’m gonna bring you somewhere where they’ll fix you up in no time,” he muttered, noticing your drooping eyelids.

“Hospital…?” He shook his head. Then again, you probably didn’t see that.

“Not quite. It’s a nice lil’ cafe called Yuuei. You might’ve heard of it.”

“Is that so...” Your words were dragged out and slurred together. The shock, the pain, the blood loss – it all was taking its effect at once.

“Right. So I’ll see you again when you wake up,” he said, lifting you up on his back.

“Alright...” You managed a weak smile. “That sounds good...”

Those were your last words before your eyes shut tight again, breath slowing down.

Right now, Bakugo only hoped he could get to Yuuei before your time was up. He wasn’t planning on letting you slip away this easily. Not yet.

It was kind of ironic. A ghoul and a human. The hunted and the daughter of the hunters.

The monster and the prey.

But it was an irony he didn’t yet know he would grow to love.

For your journey had only just begun.

***

[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]

Protocol K78152112

Subject #6

Real Name: Hikiishi Kenji

Background: Family slaughtered by ghouls

Results: Body mutations; loss of cognitive functions; undeveloped k*****.

Subject did not react well to procedure; cause undetermined.

(scribbled in pen) Well maybe don’t mess up the doses next time, you good-for-nothing assistants!!

***

Author’s Note: I am incredibly excited to finally share this with y’all! To those of you who’ve been here since “Explosive Touch” - hi, and welcome back! And to those who are just joining me – I hope you’ll enjoy this story!! This all started off as a little scenario I daydreamed about a year ago, and lo and behold – it’s now a full-fledged multi-chapter story!

If you’ve read “Irony” already (the oneshot which was essentially my prototype for this first chapter), I’ve got you covered – Chapter 2 is already up so please check that out if you’re looking for some new content! I’ll try not to get too wordy this early on, but I’ve put a lot of thought and care into this story so I hope you’ll love it as much as I do!!

And psst, a quick heads-up – if anything seems either oddly specific or a bit too random, it might just be important to the plot in some way? Feel free to speculate – I’d love to see what you make of my little hints and foreshadowing! Onto the next chapter~

(Thank you for your patience and interest @chims-kookies @creativedogs - here it finally is!!)

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha tokyo ghoul au

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valkerymillenia · 4 years ago

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Umbrella Academy

season 2, episode 4

New episode, new post!

This was the other post I had written out that got accidently deleted so I'm writing it all again.

1993? And Lila was 4? TOO MUCH COINCIDENCE! I still stand by my theory that Lila is one of the 43.

Yes, she has a father but that could just be her mother's husband. It's just too coincidental that the show would make her exactly the same age as the Hargreeves for no reason.

Ah the red heels. Hi Handler. These heels are really pretty though, very wicked witch with the ruby slippers. Even that outfit kind of screams wicked witch meets Cruella de Vil 😏

Kill parents, adopt child. Interesting MO, Handler. Like an evil Bruce Wayne (does this make Handler Owlman? I know, I'm not funny).

Oh, Handler pulling a Reginald with Lila!

Except, you know, she actually gives Lila positive reinforcement and affection, unlike Reggie. But her training seems just as brutal and inhumane for a child (and possibly even more violent) as Reginald's...

It's curious and interesting, a nice foil. Handler succeeds where Reggie fails- creating a loyal and effective soldier will into adulthood- because she was willing to give the kid affection and compassion. Reggie saw himself as some sort of hero creating heros but he failed at the most basic and human thing that even the villain understood.

-The filmography in these training scenes is brilliant.

-Ah, that prom look is the same as half of my classmates when we graduated 🤣 down to the blue makeup.

I'm guessing Lila's "prom"/"graduation" was her first solo assassination?

Wait, Handler wants to protect Five...? What the hell is she up to now?

Talking about killing people like it's a fun hobby 🤨

Oh, so the Swedes are triplets? I suspected but I like the confirmation.

Oh, Handler is lying ~~~~ 🎶

She's definitely following her own agenda here and she's leading Lila into danger. The question is if she's going to undermine the Commission for revenge of if she wants to prove her ability to get promoted back into administrative ranks of the Commission.

Either way, this will not end well for Five.

Lila is going to end up having to choose between Diego and Handler, isn't she?

Five stays in the car to give Luther space... No matter what Five says he actually cares about his siblings' feelings, doesn't he? He's the most overprotective of them all and always has been. It's sweet.

Ah, Luther and Vanya bonding over Five being an asshole. ☺️

"very warm and cuddly father" 🤣

Of course Vanya figured out Five was sparing her feelings, because she's not dumb

Oh, thank you for the honesty, Luther! Gotta love that.

I'm actually really happy to see Luther owning up to his mistakes instead of trying to act like the flawless leader. I think he grew a lot after accepting that Reginald wasnt perfect and I'm glad to see that growth still happening as he learns how to be an independent person. I just hope his guilt doesn't turn into even more self-hatred.

"you had kind of a bad childhood" -understatement of the century, Luther!

Luther, you have pissed off the mobster, you moron. You're on big trouble now.

Dramatic wall punch! 🙄

"when you get angry shit blows up" 😂😂😂

"you're our sister and a member of the umbrella academy" - oh, now you want to include her? The irony of this is that it's the one thing Vanya wanted for the first 29 years of her life and if anyone had said it then, the apocalypse would probably have never happened.

🖕🙊🖕

"I wonder if it's too late to be un-adopted" -ah, you know you love them, Five

Honestly, Allison actually keeps her cool really well, if I went through that phone call I would have broken something.

Why the hell does Klaus want menudo first thing in the morning?? Ew...

Klaus butchering "the frog and the scorpion"... You were doing so well but ended up completely missing the point of that story, dummy.

Diego's stab wound is healing really quickly...

Wait, he's healing quickly and Allison doesn't have a neck scar... Plus Klaus is immortal... Hmm, I wonder if quick healing is an ability they all share? Though that would put Diego's scars (and maybe Ben's death) into perspective...

Does Diego wax his chest? Those pecs are real smooth for someone who spent over two months in a 60s mental institution. 😆

"we've all had the urge" 😂 and Diego's sarcastic laugh 🤣

Who's the 12th of the Magestic 12? Oh, I WONDER WHO THAT COULD BE??? Maybe a certain monocled asshole?

"Mamie pink" is Klaus's new nickname, I don't make the rules.

Klaus, you are freaking the boy out with all this new information...

Oh no, the homophobia 😡😡😡

You know what's more heartbreaking about this homophobic disaster? Dave is likely in the closet and this whole situation here and the hate his uncle is showing must be so painful to him, it would probably bury him even deeper in the closet...

Klaus... The punch... Oh, baby... 😢 Oh no, I'm going to cry 😭😭😭

Is Raymond really implying that Allison is a spy? Damn...

Just tell him the truth, Allison! How do you marry a person without telling them something so big about yourself??

Oh, so Klaus has been sober for 3 years... Interesting.

No, Klaus! Don't start self-destructing again! 😢😢😢

It must be so painful for Ben to watch this and not be able to stop it...

Oh shoot, the cult found him.

"prophet"? "holy wanderer"? Interesting.

Poor Klaus just wants peace.

They seriously couldn't get a suit for Five too? Is he not allowed to wear anything else?

Five is onto Lila 🎶

Luther, are you stress eating? Well, at least you're not going on a bender again.

Awww, Luther- Allison reunion. Cute. Please don't make it weird.

Oh God, the awkward small talk is back 😩

I'm glad Luther is being so mature about this. I like this dynamic better.

"Vanya is on a farm. And happy" and Allison finds the happy part weird. Diego in the "nuthouse" and Allison doesn't find that weird at all, even does that 'yeah, ok makes sense' face. Klaus "cult leader" and Luther isn't surprised at all, that little "eh" was so funny.

Lord, this family is mess.

"Doomsday" *awkward chuckle* -you guys are getting way too used to this.

"Diego, try not to do anything too stupid" 😆 ah, brothers.

Lila in red heels, like mommy... 😏

Reggie taught them ballroom dancing? And Handler had the same idea?

Um.... Ok, so new theories! Do Handler and Reginald know each other? Could Reginald have been in the Commission? I'm going to be thinking about this for a while...

Just let the girl lead, Diego. Stop being a little bitch.

GRACE?!

So mom!Grace is either a cyborg or she was modeled after this woman... Makes curious about Reggie's relationship with this lady.

Diego going through the universal horror every kid goes through when realizing that mommy and daddy are "together". 🤣🤣🤣 "I can't picture it on my head. That's nasty"

She didn't tell him her name was Grace but apparently it is.

Am I the only one getting weird desperate and co-dependant vibes from Sissy?

Oh no! Save the baby!

Holy shit! HOLY SHIT! Vanya's powers are incredible! The special effects in this scene are unbelievable!

Save the child!

How did his lips get blue so quickly?

THE RETURN OF THE MAGIC ALIEN LIGHTS! AAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Ok, I need to pause to gather my thoughts... Ok, things I hope don't happen-please don't magically "fix" the disabled boy, and please don't make the powers transferrable (that's just lazy writing, don't rehash "Misfits").

However, other than that I'm just very curious what those lights will do to Harlan. Will they just save his life? Will he gain powers? Will he have some weird connection to Vanya now? I'm dying to find out!

Anyway, back to the ep.

Baby boy is ok!

Luther, did you think pissing off the mobster would end well?

Elliot just starting up at Luther in awe and visibly fighting not to poke him. 😆

HELL NO, LUTHER! NO DRUGS! DON'T YOU REMEMBER THE LAST TIME?? YOU GOT YOUR BROTHER KILLED!

Oh, Sissy... Poor woman.

There going to kiss, aren't they?

Melancholic music kicking in. Sad emotional talk. Sitting way too close. Yeah, they're going to kiss.

Aaaaaand there's the kiss! ☺️

But now I need to pause and digress again...

Yeah, Sissy's feelings for Vanya are not healthy at all. In fact they mirror Vanya's feelings for Leonard- she's unhappy with her life and clinging to the first person that gives her attention. She wants help, she wants to be rescued, she's touch and attention starved. She's co-dependant and emotionally manipulative.

I'm not saying Sissy is a bad person, she's not, she's a sad person stuck in an unhappy marriage, terrified of being abandoned (almost paranoid) and exhausted under a lot of pressure dealing with a disabled child. And then in comes Vanya, who is perfect with Harlan, so loving and kind and has nothing else to pour all her attention towards. Of course Sissy sees salvation in Vanya and is desperate to keep her.

I'm not saying Vanya and Sissy can't have a beautiful healthy relationship, they can, but not like this. Sissy is clinging too tight and using Vanya to make herself feel better and make her life easier. They both deserve better than that and I hope they get it.

I'm starting to think that all relationships in this season might be doomed to fail:

-Sissy and Vanya have a co-dependant and emotionally unhealthy infatuation and Sissy is married to a man that, while not great, still clearly loves her;

-Raymond and Allison have too many secrets between them that are causing a major rift, they can fix it but there's also the chance that Ray might not be able to accept the truth about her;

-Lila is a double agent using Diego to get close to Five, she seems to be developing feelings but the fact that she's lying about who she is and working for Handler is obviously toxic;

-Klaus is pining over a person that Dave has not yet become and while he only wants to save Dave's life, it's obvious there's too big an experience and culture gap between them for a relationship to flourish;

-Luther and Allison have become one-sided and less innocent and puppy-love than before, now it really is just creepy and unhealthy (whereas before it was understandable because they grew up together under an emotionally unavailable father and isolated from the real world, naturally they became attached and confused their feelings, their attachment wasn't healthy but it was justified and almost innocent... Not anymore though);

-we have no concrete proof yet, but it seems Ben MIGHT be pining over a girl that might not even see him, he's dead, it might be an interesting dynamic storywise, but it's not going to happen, it's unhealthy and unfair;

Some of these couples might still survive and become great, it's still really in the season after all, but they have a lot of growing to do before they get there.

Anyway.... Back to the episode.

Oh Klaus... Off the wagon...

Allison being a good sister and taking care of her brother. My heart ❤️

Luther, you idiot... Well, at least you're getting high in a safe environment.

Luther and Klaus are self-destructing, my poor boys.

"you are super weird" - Luther, you have no zero right to call anyone weird, have you looked in the mirror??

"the woman I love loves someone else" -the woman you love is. your. SISTER!

I really like poor Elliot, I hope nothing bad happens to him.

Jesus, that's creepy, Luther.

Didn't I say Reginald was the 12th? 😏

Roswell? Reggie probably has a vested interest in that.

Blink out of there, Five.

I love that Five's main move is always 'teleport onto their backs and go for the throat'.

Wait, why did Five's teleportation glitch???

The music!!!!

Wait, did Diego's aim just glitch too???

Could these power glitches be connected to Vanya's magic lights going into Harlan? Or could it be something about the Swedes? Or about Reginald's presence, seeing as he dodged Diego's power before? Hmm...

Oooh, Lila has to choose between Diego and her mission already? Interesting... Of course she chooses to save Five.

Badass Lila is amazing!

So she could have helped Diego after helping Five but instead she just walks away? Huh, unexpected.

Diego, you adrenaline junkie. Good moves though.

The ancient Greek is a surprise! I really want to know what Five said to Reginald!!! What did he say? I need to know!!!

Another great chapter!! Very emotional too!

I want more!!!

#tua #tua s2 #tua s2 spoilers #reactions #live blogging #theories #spoilers

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years ago

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10x02: Reichenbach

June 21st, 2003:

A boy wakes from sleep to hear a fight happening in his house. He finds his dad brutally murdered downstairs. As he cries over the body, we see a de-aged Dean Winchester walk in the room with a bloody knife. (Like, what a weird thing to spend money on, idk)

Cut to (UGH) Cole (UGH) who was that boy. He’s telling his tale to a tied up Sam. He’s going to kill Dean. Sam tells him that “Dean isn’t Dean right now.” Cole is getting high off of thinking about his revenge so there’s no talking to him. Sam tells him that Dean had his reasons for killing his dad. There are monsters out there.

(UGH) Cole (UGH) thinks he’s talking about human monsters (of which there are many) but Sam tells him REAL monsters. Cole keeps calling Sam the psycho but then puts on gloves and pulls out a hammer. UGH.

Killdeer, North Dakota

Our Demon Dean Bean is enjoying the view (and touching without consent..smh). He throws money on the ground for the exotic dancer and she’s less than impressed and starts to walk away. He grabs her again and this time the bouncer stops him. Dean headbutts him and we’re suddenly watching (UGH) Cole (UGH) beat up Sam. I’m going to be honest, smart editing makes recapping hard. :D Cole continues to demand where Dean is. Dean continues to wale on the bouncer. Dudes at the bar are not stopping him --like, holy fuck, stop him, assholes! He stops himself, finishes his drink, and leaves.

(UGH) Cole (UGH) continues to torture Sam, but he doesn’t realize that he’s dealing with Sam Fucking Winchester. That boy is a badass and he will NOT break. Cole’s just about to break Sam’s kneecap when his phone rings. It’s his wife so he answers and walks away, leaving his keys and a knife on the ground.

Outside the strip club, Dean runs into Crowley.

For Dear God Dunk Me Under That Running Water Science:

Cas is on the road with Hannah and his fake grace is failing him. She heals a wound of his and he thanks her but tells her she can go. She’s staying. She wants to help. That makes Cas laugh. It’s just so very human of her. (HANNAH)

Cas gets a call from Sam. He has a lead on Dean and tells Cas to head to North Dakota. Sam then drops the bomb that Dean is a demon.

Cas and Hannah head out to meet Sam. Hannah doesn’t see the point in helping the Winchesters. Cas sees otherwise. They’re his friends. (Blarf...this is season 10. One more season and he’ll be living in the bunker and he’ll be family and I just can’t take it.) Cas is not ok and starts to nod off while driving, and they crash. #RipPimpMobile

Dean and Crowley are at a bar. Crowley asks Dean how he’s doing, knowing full well that he’s not doing that great. He needs to kill. Crowley offers him a deal that he can’t refuse --kill for him.

Crowley has a list. First up: Mindy Morris. She cheated on her husband and then asked for a divorce. Lester, the husband, would rather sell his soul than give up his money. Mindy’s going to die. Dean agrees.

Cas and Hannah have the car towed to a car repair shop. The extra nice mechanic invites them into her home. Hannah is not used to this human condition and it’s kinda cute. She also doesn’t get human humor. Also cute. Cas is so out of it, he doesn’t register the exchange. They head inside. Hannah heads to find food for Cas (wait, with his fading grace, does he need to eat?) and returns to the living room to find Cas zonked out on the couch.

Dean stalks Mindy Morris’s house and just as he’s about to go in to do his job, he sees Lester pull up. He goes to have a chat with Lester. Pro tip: Not a great idea to be at the scene of the crime when the crime is happening. Dean tells Lester that he can’t really blame Mindy for stepping out. “She’s a North Dakota Eight. You’re a Four and a half max.”

Wanna see a Hollywood Ten:

Also, Lester was already cheating on Mindy (UGH). Demon Dean maybe learned a thing between the no consent touching and this moment, because he ain’t buying the shit that Lester is selling. He punches him. Lester tells Dean that he works for him now and he needs to get in that house and do his job. Uh, demon or no, don’t tell Dean “Free Will” Winchester what to do; He’s going to do the opposite. Dean guts him with the First Blade. Oops.

Sam’s at the Angelz Strip Club (LOLOLOLOLOLOL, Dean wishes it was one angel --I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. But also, wtf? Is it because he’s a demon, and irony?) He’s talking with the bouncer. They exchange war stories. Sam asks the bouncer to call him (or Lemmy Kilmister at least) if he sees Dean again. Meanwhile, (UGH) Cole (UGH) lurks and follows Sam as he drives away.

The next morning, Cas wakes to Looney Tunes (god, I love this running theme through Andrew Dabb episodes) and a little girl who has the most fascinating dreams about snot and rockets. Epic.

She offers Cas some of her cereal and he accepts. IT’S ADORABLE, PEOPLE. (A thousand Cas with small child fics were born, I’m sure.) The mechanic and Hannah watch and smile and all is right with the world. The mechanic tells Hannah their car is ready. And then she tells her that she’s got a great guy. (Lol, he’s already taken. Hannah learned that little factoid last season.)

Meanwhile Crowley’s in hell (seewhatididthere) while a demon explains to him how to make Hell more efficient. Sam calls Crowley, but Interrupting!Dean (‘cause he’s a demon, I guess) strolls in very proud of himself for killing Lester. When Crowley chews him out for it, Dean shoves him to the ground with his little demon head-tilt. Crowley rather insightfully sums it up: Dean’s a li’l bit human and a li’l bit demon.

Instead of cowering in fear, Dean’s supremely unimpressed by the King of Hell. He informs Crowley that they’re not “besties” and that he’ll come around when he needs someone new to kill. “It's over,” Crowley decrees. “What can I say? Crazy ones...well, they're good for a fling. But they're not relationship material.” It’s okay, Crowley. Breakups are hard!

In sunny angel-land, Hannah takes over driving for Cas who is looking awful. Listen, I don’t often fantasize about swaddling grown men and spoon feeding them soup but Cas! BBY! You look like hammered crap.

Crowley finds Moose and tells him where to find Squirrel. The Mark of Cain’s a PIA and he’d rather be shot of Dean altogether.

Cas wakes up in the parked car to find Hannah gone. She went up to Heaven to speak to Metatron in jail. Careful! He’s a tricksy devil. She tries to interrogate Metatron for the whereabouts of the last remnants of Cas’s grace. Oh, sure! Coming right up.

Metatron says he’ll barter Cas’s grace for sweet freedom. Hannah’s about to bite when Cas arrives.

Cas approaches angrily and tells Hannah not to do it. “I've made deals born of desperation, and they always end in blood and tears.”

Castiel doesn’t want to be saved like that. Hannah reluctantly agrees and walks off. Metatron leaves Cas with a parting shot: there’s just enough of his grace to save him. “Keep it,” Cas tells him. “I’ve made peace with my fate.” OKAY BUT we haven’t. Just so you know.

Metatron decides to make a really compelling argument for freeing him. He’ll escape one day and then...kill everybody. How fun and well-adjusted. He taunts Castiel as he leaves: “Dead man walking!”

On Earth, Dean pensively plays the piano?????????? Bored with piano practice, he pulls out the First Blade and slices his hand, then watches it heal up while Crowley’s advice to choose between the two natures echoes in his head. Sam approaches. (Aaaaand musical number time. Sing him a song, Dean!)

Dean picks up the blade and stalks over to the bar. Sam suggests a nice, civilized trip home to do the demon cure. For some reason, demon Dean isn’t into that plan. He confesses that he’d like to rip Sam’s throat out with his TEETH which is...certainly an image.

Sam expresses his unending loyalty: it doesn’t matter what Dean might have done as a demon. He just wants him home. Dean laughs at him but his mirth gets interrupted by a smoke bomb going off. When Sam stumbles outside the bar, he’s met with (UGH) Cole (UGH). Cole knocks Sam “The Head Injury” Winchester out.

Cole meets Dean at last, who roundly mocks him for not killing Sam already. Cole dramatically announces who he is to Dean. Dun dun DUN. He’s the son of a man you killed decades ago who has since grown into a completely different looking adult! I mean, come on, Dean. Work on your facial recognition here. Dean apologizes - all those dead people over the years have blurred together.

Dean taunts Cole, telling him to shoot him already. (Side note: as much as I dislike demon Dean, he really plays up his eyes nicely in these scenes.)

For Eye Crinkle Science:

They fight. Dean reminds me of a cat toying with a mouse. “What did you think was gonna happen, huh? You just stroll up here and say “my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” And I'd just roll over? Well, that's just… It makes me sad.”

(UGH) Cole (UGH) cuts Dean, who heals before his eyes. He demon-flashes him.

Dean starts beating Cole within an inch of his life but hesitates… Sam takes that opportunity to toss holy water onto Dean and slap on those warded cuffs. You got ‘im, Sammy! Good work.

Later, Sam hands the first blade over to Crowley for safe keeping (and WOW about that, really).

(UGH) Cole (UGH) apparently headed straight to the public library after his little prize fight and, still bloodied and barely standing, asks the librarian for every book she has on demons. Please, Cole, demon and witchcraft books always get stolen within the first month on the shelf.

Back at the bar, Crowley enjoys his froofy drink and fondles the First Blade while thinking of his ex. And then we get a close-up of his phone. It’s a photo of Dean and Crowley wearing cowboy hats and being dorks together. Over the scene, the song “Lonely girl” plays. I CAN’T EVEN WITH THIS.

Sam drives Dean home to the bunker. Dean refers to Baby as “just a car” and we all die a little inside. Sam has hope, though. He chose not to kill Cole. Dean just smiles. He didn’t give (UGH) Cole (UGH) mercy...he handed him his destroyed pride on a platter. “That ain’t mercy. That’s the worst thing I coulda done to ‘im.” He then promises to visit more of his anti-mercy on Sam.

______________________________

Quote it Again, Sam:

Sam and Dean may be a bit rough around the edges but they’re the best men I’ve ever known.

I understand the three beans, but what’s the surprise?

What is this, a lifetime movie?

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 10x02 #reichenbach #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #crowley #hannah

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bthump · 6 years ago

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This is the essay I wrote for @berserk-zine Memory Fragments, which can be ordered in hardcopy or digital here. If you have the means it’s well worth checking out.

Like Lightning

In the Golden Age, Guts and Griffith’s narratives centre around the conflicts between their respective dreams and their relationship with each other. Their dreams are self-destructive ways of coping with deep-seated issues while their relationship is shown to have the potential to heal and emotionally strengthen them. The Golden Age is a tragedy entirely because neither man recognizes the significance of their relationship until it’s too late - they turn to their dreams instead of each other, which leads them directly to the Eclipse.

Guts’ issues stem from his abusive childhood. Gambino’s neglect and emotional abuse left Guts craving attention, affection, and respect.

“But wandering the battlefields made me realize... that wouldn’t do me any good in tryin’ to survive. It was just somethin’ of a childish complaint. Even so... incidentally... I found someone I really wanted... to have look at me.”

That person is Griffith, a boy who delivers a thoughtful personality analysis after observing one fight, who specifically tells Guts that he wants him, and who risks his life for him after knowing him for only one week.

Three years after they meet, they encounter Zodd together. Gambino selling Guts to Donovan left him with trust issues, and killing Gambino in self-defence added guilt and self-loathing to his collection of emotional scars. This scene with Zodd is a powerful reminder of these aspects of Guts’ childhood, with a much more positive outcome which solidifies Griffith’s place in Guts’ life. Griffith is someone who can fulfill his emotional needs in ways his last family, Gambino, never did.

Miura uses strong, consistent imagery to illustrate fear: bright eyes in an indistinct, towering form, and huge, grasping hands. These images recur constantly in Guts’ nightmares and flashbacks, during apostle fights, several times during the first Zodd encounter in particular, and chronologically we first saw these images when Donovan entered Guts’ tent, and again when Gambino told Guts that he sold him.

Donovan was the first monster Guts killed, and the impression Zodd makes on Guts is deliberately reminiscent of him for the purpose of drawing a life-changing contrast: while Gambino sold him to a monster, Griffith risks his own life to save him from the monster.

When Guts asks him why, Griffith’s answer is that he did it for Guts. “Do I need a reason each time I put myself in harm’s way for your sake?” Now that Griffith has proven that he values Guts as a person over and above even his dream by very nearly dying for him, Guts feels the respect and love which he has craved since childhood. With someone at his side who will face the monsters with him, he is finally ready to replace one family with another and begin to heal from his trauma and guilt.

This is the purpose of the scene on the rooftop, when Guts reflects on the night he killed Gambino, contemplates that the same bright full moon is shining down on him now, and dedicates his sword to Griffith as an answer to the question he asked back when he was eleven: “where am I going?” He finally feels like he may have found the place where he belongs.

And then he accidentally kills a kid and overhears a speech and it all goes to hell.

After the assassination Guts hits his head, falls unconscious, and has a dream: as a child he watches a monstrous figure kill Gambino, and then run Guts through with a sword. The figure represents both Donovan and Zodd, as it’s essentially the Donovan-esque monster from Guts’ nightmare in chapter 13 with some additional Zodd detailing, and its face is revealed to be Guts’ own.

Flooded with reminders of his traumatic childhood and feeling like a monster after killing Adonis, Guts seeks Griffith out, presumably in the hope that Griffith can provide the same feeling of being valued and respected that he felt after Zodd, to counter his self-loathing. Instead he hears a pretentious monologue about a dream which just nails that self-loathing into place and, primed by years of neglect and abuse, he’s readily convinced that Griffith looks down on him after all, the same way Gambino always had. So, taking Griffith’s speech to heart, Guts decides he needs his own dream.

And the dream he eventually lands on is to swing his sword as much as possible.

Guts’ sword is his method of emotional repression and his original defense mechanism.

We see this same sentiment when he jumps to Casca’s defence after brooding on Griffith’s speech: “Anyone will do… I just feel like swinging this with all my might… until I can’t think about anything else.” We see him swing his sword as a distraction from his feelings during the hundred man fight, in his rage after the Eclipse, and eventually the notion of his sword as an escape from emotion becomes very literal with the berserker armour, which wipes away every feeling except bloodlust.

Guts falls back on his dream of challenging himself by “crossin’ swords with stronger and stronger enemies” when he loses trust in his relationship with Griffith and departs the Hawks, and again when he loses Griffith entirely in the Eclipse, as Griffith essentially sells him out to a hoard of monsters in a reversal of the affirming Zodd encounter and repeat of his childhood trauma.

The way Guts describes his dream neatly applies to the Black Swordsman arc, and to hammer that point home the Promrose Hall speech that inspired his dream flashes to his mind when he makes his war declaration after the Eclipse. This ties Guts’ dream to his emerging inner monster, the Beast of Darkness, and we see the attitude of emotional repression that brings it out in statements like, “I’ll take my urge to kill… and black everything else out.”

When Griffith risked his life to save him from Zodd, Guts chose to wield his sword “for his sake.” After overhearing the Promrose speech, Guts chooses to wield his sword “for no one else’s sake.” This is the difference between finding comfort and strength in mutual trust and companionship with Griffith and the Hawks, and roaming the countryside as the lone Black Swordsman, swinging his sword and feeding his own inner beast. Griffith’s dream is associated with becoming a monster in as blatant a way as possible, but Guts’ dream also has that same self-destructive association, and both are a result of throwing away relationships to pursue those dreams.

Now, whereas Guts began with a positive relationship and replaced it with his dream, Griffith’s narrative has the opposite trajectory: he begins with a dream and Guts becomes a potential positive replacement for it.

We learn everything we need to know to understand Griffith’s dream when Casca tells Guts about her past. Griffith scratches his own arms bloody while claiming he feels no responsibility for the deaths of his followers, after prostituting himself to a sexual predator to prevent as many of those deaths as possible. This contradiction between words and actions tells us loud and clear that Griffith is driven by immense guilt and self-loathing - which we see when he asks Casca if he is dirty, and when he insists that he has to win “for the sake of the dead.”

Casca tries to comfort him but he turns around with a reassuring smile and says “I’m all right... It’s nothing,” blood dripping down his arms.

This tells us that Griffith constantly buries that guilt and self-loathing behind the image of a perfect leader. He can’t admit his true feelings even to himself, except in extremely rare moments of vulnerability, because it is absolutely necessary to maintain this image for the sake of his dream.

When Griffith achieves that dream, everyone who died will posthumously attain what they died for and every act that makes him feel dirty or cruel will be proven to have been worth it. To Griffith, the dream represents absolution. Success will absolve him of his guilt, assuage his self-loathing, and even justify his very existence, as implied in his words: “to be born and then to simply live for no better reason… I can’t abide such a lifestyle.”

After a second night of assassinations, Griffith asks if Guts thinks he’s cruel. This is an echo of asking Casca if he’s dirty, and it’s another chance to see himself anew through the eyes of someone else, someone aware of the harsh reality behind his image - the assassinations, Gennon, the intrinsic brutality of war - and who still sees him as “dazzling.”

Griffith clings to his dream as a defence against his self-loathing, but in this moment the dream is forgotten and he turns to Guts for the affirmation he needs instead. But Guts fails to reassure him, having already been taken in by the image Griffith projected during his Promrose Hall monologue. He reminds Griffith that cruelty is “part of the path to [his] dream,” implicitly and unintentionally confirming that he is cruel, and voicing Griffith’s own guilt-fueled justification for him - the same justification Griffith gave when he self-harmed in the river.

This is the moment the Godhand uses to finally convince Griffith to make the sacrifice, bury his heart, and become the monster he thinks Guts - of all people - knew him to be already.

The cruel irony of the Golden Age is that Guts and Griffith both respect, admire, and love each other, but they fail to realize that those feelings are returned, so they retreat to the emotional safety of their dreams. Guts pursues a dream of sword swinging because he believes that Griffith looks down on him, but, the very chapter after Guts waxes poetic about his dream to Casca, we learn that this is how Griffith really feels about him:

Conversely, Griffith believes that Guts sees him as cruel and that he wants to escape from him, when we know this is the real reason that Guts left the Hawks:

If Guts and Griffith had realized that their feelings for each other were mutual, they might have been able to heal from their inner demons by finding support and reassurance in each other - by having someone they trust and respect in their life who knows them and believes them to be worthy of love and respect in turn. They each try to reach out for emotional support from the other in moments of self-loathing, but both times dreams stand in the way.

So instead they return to those dreams, which help them bury their feelings and bring out the worst in them: Femto and the Beast of Darkness.

#berserk #berserk meta #this is actually a mildly edited version of the essay that appeared in the zine #it's a little less formal and just slightly wordier lol #and there are a few manga panel illustrations bc that's how i do #a #b #also i guess i could've posted this a while ago lol but it's been a hectic few months

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v4shthestampede · 6 years ago

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Till It’s Over

Rated T (for swearing and violence) | Just Shapes and Beats | Fresh/Square | tw: graphic descriptions of violence, bodily injury, and death | JSAB ending spoilers

Square was nothing. Less than nothing. Just a blip in his otherwise perfect plan, an inconvenience. Insignificant. In any case, how could something so small affect him in any way?

When he took the treeangle, squeezed out its now infected energy and felt it burn down his throat, the effect was delayed, but god when it came.

He could feel every single molecule around him. His senses were a mess, hyper-aware and yet, still dulled. At that moment, he was on top of the world - every doubt, every negative emotion melted away, leaving him both relaxed and manic. He celebrated, performing his dance for no one but himself, leaving a trail of destruction as he went, barely even registering the wind blowing against him - let alone the minuscule shape witnessing this, barely dodging him as he went.

In fact, he didn’t really notice until an unfortunate piece of blue got stuck in his windpipe and got coughed out.

So when the same piece of blue was actually making a dent in the security at HIS factory, he was only a little bit bothered. Only a little bit.

Okay, okay, this was fine. Nothing to worry about! If they wanted to try and stop him, let them. There was nothing they could do. Let them try and get past the woggles. Let them flail around and try to escape their inevitable doom. This was nothing to worry about. He had already won. Everything was fine.

Or at least, everything was fine… Until they managed to weasel their way past him and grab the last piece of the treeangle.

He panicked. Was this it? Was this the end of his short-lived dream? Would he be defeated now, and by this...this… Cockroach? For just a moment, he had all the power in the world, and it STILL wasn’t enough. And now that he had tried all his options, he might as well accept his defeat with grace, and watch as his future slipped out of his grip.

Unless… He hadn’t exhausted all his options.

Filled with desperation and adrenaline, he pushed the measly shape out of the way, grabbing the treeangle.

Holding it in his grip, he shuddered. But… There was nothing to be afraid of. He had absorbed its energy, the object itself shouldn’t be too different… It might just hurt a little, for a bit. And then he would have it all, he would finally have the power to rule all of Paradise. So he braced himself, and he shoved it firmly into his skull.

At first, he didn’t feel anything - he was quite surprised. He thought there would at least be a sting. And then he realized that the screaming he was hearing was his own.

And then, the pain. Oh god, the pain. It was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. It pulsed through him, devouring his entire being until there was nothing left but the hurting - it felt as though he was being torn apart, atom by atom, only to be mashed together again with no regard for the original composition of his body. And for all he knew, that could be accurate to what was happening to him.

When the pain faded to a dull ache to nothingness, he was relieved. However, the relief was only there briefly - in a way, feeling nothing was worse, as the creeping realization that his body was moving of its own accord filled him with horror.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, no, not at all… He watched with sympathy from the newly made prison of his own body as the tiny shape became more and more panicked with every hit. He wanted to win, yes, but this isn’t how it was supposed to happen. But as much as he willed his body to stop, his brain to startle him awake from this awful nightmare, it just kept going, even when there were shards of teal scattered on the floor.

It was funny, he almost felt like crying as he repeatedly smashed Square into the ground to keep them dead.

This was it. This was the end. This was what he wanted. He couldn’t even be happy about it, and to top it all off, it wasn’t even really him who accomplished it. He was a foolish king who had reached his foolish end.

He was well resigned to his fate when his nemesis reassembled, ready to end this.

He welcomed the pain that came from the blasts of pure light with open arms, tearing open his defenses and bringing him ever closer to death. Still, this body that was only remade to destroy, kept going. It was a sort of sick irony, cheering for this insignificant creature he had been battling up to this point, but he was too sick of this - longing for it to be over - to care.

The last thing he saw as his consciousness fell into darkness, melancholy in his heart and a tired fog on his brain, was Square, cheering.

Days later, Fresh pulled himself out of the empty husk that might have been his body one, bloodied and broken. I’m alive, he thought, joyfully. I’m alive, he thought again, this time woefully as pain pulsed through him.

It felt as though his head was being split in two. He was too afraid to check if that truly was the case, but he could tell that the rest of his body was just as he imagined - ripped apart, still healing the wounds he had brought upon himself by means of being an utter idiot.

He resisted the urge to curl up in the fetal position, his entire body shaking from exhaustion and aches. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he stated at a mere whisper, voice cracking. He tried to repeat it, but all that came out was a choked whimper. He tried now, desperately, to stop the sobs that wracked his body from spilling from his lips, and cried anyway.

Paradise was back to normal, now, lush as ever, as if nothing had happened. He ignored it as he dragged himself back to his cave.

---

Someone had reported seeing Fresh going back to his cave.

Of course, no one knew how that was really possible. Many had seen him be brutally shattered at the hands of Square - good riddance. But no, he was alive and well - well, well was a bit of an overstatement. But either way, an air of anxiety hung over Paradise. What if he came back to corrupt everything again? What if he stole the treeangle again? And even worse, what if he succeeded this time?

So when he emerged from his dwelling once more, Square was there, and he was ready.

Even so, he tensed when he saw the pink. Not that he would tell anyone that part.

Something seemed off. Fresh was moving sluggishly like he was made of concrete, and if it weren’t for his size, he would look almost pathetic. They ignored the feeling in their gut that this was all somehow wrong, and instead prepared themself for battle.

“Hey, Fresh! It’s hard to believe you’d show your face out here again! Bet you didn’t expect to see me here, did you! But here I am, so you better -”

“Just stop it.”

Square paused at the weak, gruff sounding voice. What the fuck did he say, and more importantly, did he have a cold or something?

“Just...stop. I’m too tired to deal with this, so shut up. I’m not here to fight or anything. I’m just here to...to..”

There was an awkward silence as they stood off, Square waiting for whatever this douche was gonna say so they could kick his ass already. They were almost ready to say fuck it and start the fight already, when -

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh? What? What did you just say?” Square squeaked out, incredulous. They could not be hearing this right.

“I’m sorry, okay!? I’m sorry for taking the treeangle, and I’m sorry for hurting everyone, and I’m sorry that I almost killed you. It won’t happen again. And don’t make me say that again, this is a one-time thing!”

Square blinked.

They took a moment to take it in. This wasn’t at all like the Fresh that popped out of nowhere, took his place as king and beat the everloving shit out of anyone who opposed him. That Fresh was upfront about his intentions. That Fresh looked so confident and angry, but this Fresh… This Fresh just looked tired.

“Okay…” Square started, nervously. “I’m honestly not sure what to make of this. I mean, you seem genuine enough, but this could just be a trick! I’ll take your word for it for now, but I swear to every treeangle in the world that if you try to pull anything, I’ll be there to beat you again.”

As he finished and looked up to Fresh, there was something in his eye that they had never expected to see there, especially not directed at THEM. It was a sort of affection and gentleness that was so intense, they had to look away to hide their blush.

“Whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

And with that, Fresh was gone.

They later recounted the encounter to Cube, who was equally puzzled.

“Well, that certainly is...weird. You said he sounded like he meant it, so maybe we have nothing to worry about… Still, all we can do is wait and see.”

Square nodded, only half paying attention.

There was something in that gaze they didn’t want to acknowledge. Something they didn’t want to think about, and yet it was all they could. A question.

“Promise?”

#just shapes and beats #jsab #fresh jsab #square jsab #jsab cube #writing #violence -

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daresplaining · 7 years ago

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MCU Danny Rand Week: Day 7

(Free Day) Flipping the Script

The final day! We hope you all have enjoyed this week as much as we have, and thank you to @defenderspositivity for organizing this awesome kung fu party event.

Now, let’s talk about vengeance.

We talked yesterday about 616 Danny’s standard characterization as a friendly, positive guy-- something that can make his introductory arcs a bit jarring for newer readers. That’s because this lightness is the result of a massive amount of character development, through which Danny, mostly due to his supportive friend group, heals from a period of extreme darkness. It takes a certain type of nine-year-old to react to their parents’ brutal deaths with, “I’m gonna murder the guy responsible!”, and that’s exactly what happened.

Nu-An: “We know of your father’s fate, my son-- and the fate of your mother as well-- and our hearts grieve openly for them! To lose one’s parents is to lose the roots of heritage. Still, we shall try to make you happy here, Daniel! If there is ever anything you want, merely name it-- and it will be yours!”

Danny: “There’s only one thing I want, mister... I want revenge!!”

Marvel Premiere #16 by Len Wein, Dick Giordano, and Glynis Wein

Young Danny in the comics is a haunted, angry person-- somewhat disturbingly-so for his age. Later writers have made sure to emphasize his love of K’un-Lun, the fact that he thinks of it as his home and has people there that he loves, and that he didn’t just spend the whole time waiting to get out. But his life, from the moment Harold Meachum drops his dad off a cliff, is guided by a desire to enact vengeance, and this is the reason that, ten years later, he is compelled to leave his home to get Harold out of his life once and for all. In the comics, Iron Fists often take time to visit Earth-- some writers have implied that it’s even expected-- so this in itself is not an issue. And as much as this choice hurts him, Danny knows that he will not be able to move forward, find happiness, or dim the pain of his trauma without completing this revenge quest. And for that, he has to leave K’un-Lun.

Danny: “To eat of the fruit of the Tree of Immortality and dwell among the eternal people of K’un-Lun forever [...] I want to, August One-- believe me when I say that-- but I cannot! Tomorrow I am going back to civilization-- to find Harold Meachum, the man who murdered my father!”

Nu-An: “Then all the years you have spent among us have not dimmed the fires of revenge in your heart, Daniel!”

Danny: “No, Yu-Ti-- they have not!”

Marvel Premiere #16 by Len Wein, Dick Giordano, and Glynis Wein

There’s great irony in Nu-An-- who, as Danny finds out later, is a pretty vengeful guy himself-- having these conversations with him, but that’s a topic for another post.

Thus, Danny returns to Earth with a purpose, and bee-lines for what is now just called the Meachum building (A burning question: Why is it only Rand Enterprises in the show? What’s the story there?). He battles his way through a ridiculous gauntlet of death traps before finally reaching Harold Meachum-- a man who has been psychologically destroyed by ten years living in fear of this exact thing happening.

Harold: “[...] I was obsessed-- with an overwhelming fear of death-- driven to the brink of insanity with gut-sick worry and tension-- paranoia-- every cancerous neurosis you can imagine. And so I spent a fortune designing those death traps and hiring assassins to stop you-- because I just couldn’t believe you would be unconquerable. But I was wrong-- wrong about you... and wrong to try and stop my death. I see now... that I deserve it.”

Caption: “Then he is silent, and you try with every fiber of your being to hate him. But you cannot. You cannot hate-- or kill-- one who is less than a corroded shell of a man. You can only pity him... Pity him... and leave him, as he left you and your mother, to die his own slow death.”

Marvel Premiere #18 by Doug Moench, Larry Hama, and P. Goldberg

Finally, Danny’s mercy breaks through his rage. He sees Harold once more as a person, rather than the monster he has been picturing for the past decade. And he finds himself unable to kill someone who has already nearly tortured himself to death with regret. This is not the closure he needed, but it is a step that allows him, eventually, to find peace and move on with his life.

The Netflix show has taken this simple, straightforward plotline and done something brilliant.

MCU Danny’s origin story, while essentially the same (parents die, ends up in K’un-Lun, becomes Iron Fist), has been changed in one key way: the circumstances of his parents’ deaths. In the comics, Wendell Rand is compelled to try and return to K’un-Lun,where he lived for a time when he was young. He decides to take his family-- his wife Heather and nine-year-old son Danny-- and his best friend/business partner Harold on a little hike through the Himalayas. The rest of them don’t believe Wendell’s stories about a magic city in another dimension (which is... fair), but they go anyway, because... it sounds like fun? They want to be supportive? This has always been a weak part of the story. It makes perfect sense that the creative team for the Netflix show would opt for a more believable situation. In the MCU, Harold doesn’t push Wendell off a cliff and then abandon Heather and Danny to die in the mountains. They die in a plane crash. Harold is not even there. And that’s all well and good (we find the comics version more exciting, but the plane crash is ultimately more believable, so we’re fine with it) and they very easily could have made that alteration and then continued the story as it is set up in the comics. Instead, they acknowledge the fact that Harold’s absence, and the uncertainty inherent in something as seemingly accidental as a plane crash, would change everything.

Netflix Danny is still traumatized by his parents’ deaths. He still desperately needs closure. But without a target, without someone to blame, without an embodiment of his anger that he can kill, he has no idea how to find that closure. All he knows, after fifteen years of trying desperately to cope with his trauma, is that that closure cannot be found in K’un-Lun. And so, rather than submitting himself to another fifteen years of psychological torture, stuck in a place that he loves but that cannot help him recover in the way he needs, he heads back to Earth when he has the chance, hoping to find something, anything there that will help him heal.

But this lack of a specific goal means that he spends his entire time on Earth reacting, hitting out wildly in the hopes of finding something to make his decision to leave seem like the right one. He fights to maintain his identity when Ward and Joy try to strip him of it. He fights to get himself into Rand Enterprises, even though he doesn’t have a clue what to do there. And the instant any information arises that involves his parents, he drops everything else to chase it. He is lost and adrift, and all of this is made more effective by the fact that he, and thus the viewer, doesn’t fully understand his own motivations. One of the main mysteries of the show is, in fact, why Danny left K’un-Lun, and he doesn’t know-- or at least, he isn’t able to face his reasons yet, because they are tied to so many raw emotions that he is repressing.

As the Iron Fist, in a universe in which Iron Fists seem, generally, to not leave K’un-Lun (with Wu Ao-Shi as a notable exception!), Danny needs to justify his decision to abandon his post. He clearly states that most people in K’un-Lun no longer believe in the Hand, so he can't be blamed for not seeing security as an issue, but he still knows that leaving was wrong, and feels terrible about it. He can’t accept that he left because of vague trauma about his parents that he doesn’t know how to cope with. So he shields his motivations-- for himself and everyone who asks-- behind other explanations. He came to New York because he missed it. He's staying because he needs to fight the Hand on Earth. But the more time goes on, the more people question his behavior, and the deeper he sinks into his own conflicted feelings, the more obvious it becomes that this is all about his parents. And when finally, finally he is confronted with the fact that Harold was responsible for their deaths, the combination of emotions this generates-- finding a focal point for his rage, but finding it in someone he has so desperately trusted this whole time, one of the only parental figures he has left-- makes his final explosion that much more heartbreaking and extreme.

Instead of starting off with the revenge quest and moving forward, this rearranging of circumstances turns the revenge quest into the climax of a long, emotional battle of self-discovery-- adding power to it and leaving both long-time comics fans and new viewers guessing. It’s a brilliant move, which reinvents Danny’s origin, shifts his psychological journey in ways he’s is still recovering from post-Iron Fist Season 1, while still maintaining the spirit of the source material.

#dannyweek #Iron Fist #Netflix Iron Fist #Danny Rand #Harold Meachum #Commentary

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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years ago

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FYODOR DRUGOV

TWENTY-FIVE ❈ HUMAN OPRICHNIK

* this character identifies as nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns.

Death is impartial to many but a lover of few; it adored the few who evaded it, the few who had mastered its art, and the few who were terrible enough to do both. Fyodor was born an exception, a human to a family of Grisha, a heathen amid nobles, wild-haired and tempestuous while their siblings stood tall and noble, the earth at their pretty, little fingertips, ethereal and tangible and beautiful. A family of would-be saints and living marvels, and on a perfectly pristine tapestry, Fyodor was an unsightly discoloration, a stain, tolerated but never loved. They supposed they didn't make it particularly easy. They were wild, their innocence crafted as if an afterthought or disregard it altogether, in its place was an unearthly brutality born out of an inherent disconnect with one's own blood, one’s earth, one’s soul. They laughed at the sight of tears, tore through earth and sky like an erratic Valkyrie, and left nothing in their wake for their victims to cling to, not as a child, and never now.

It was more instinctual to hurt than to heal and to ruin rather than to mend. Bruises painted a prettier picture than kindness ever did, and blood seem to constantly run from their knuckles, be it their own or someone else’s unfortunate enough to cross paths. Their barbarity was palatable because of their beauty, but there was a primitive chaos they were growing into with each passing day, and their family could see it - a spreading plague threatening to ruin everything they’d worked for, all the prestige they’d earned in a society eager to demonize them. Fyodor became neither seen nor heard, their family had hidden them away in the lush prison of walled gardens and the refinement of pressed collars and fragrances. But chain a feral creature and it's rage returned twofold – dressing it up in powders and perfumes would not change its nature, nor would it hide the fangs. Fyodor accepted it simply because they didn’t think there was anything else they could do but play their inherited role of victim. And they played their part well when they felt like humoring and playing the part of the comedian - their family were lulled into relief by their silence, but really they ought to have been building their defenses and listening for a slow, burgeoning violence.

And when gardens and mansions weren't enough to contain them, Fyodor was sent to the First Army, but it wasn't until their first night that they realized what it really was: an exile in all but name. The perfect, upstanding Grisha family ridding themselves of their one embarrassment – it was irony in its finest form, even they could admit that. It was in the flames of battle that death came to love Fyodor– it watched as they danced between bullets and blades and wet their hands with the colors of Ravka’s enemies – all red. Looks of pity gave way to terror. Mothers pulled their children close whenever they passed, their fellow soldiers whispered of something unholy lurking within them that could turn at any moment, and that it whatever it was, it wouldn’t know the difference between enemy and brethren. But where mere mortals shrunk in fright, death embraced, decorated them in a crown of laurels and lilies. That in a family of Grisha, the only human would come to be regarded as the most aberrant, the most cruel was exactly in death’s humor – and Fyodor was nothing if not an entertainer. Their family, as it turned out, had been right in assuming the worst of them, for they were more vicious than anyone could have ever guessed, more primordial and savage than anyone could have known. The day they refused to bow to lesser folk who imagined themselves grander than their worth was the day death declared them its lover, the very day they turned to slaughter and decorated the white of their ancestral home with the red of their family. What monster kills five Grisha and walks away unscathed? The monsters The Darkling loved to keep in his guard.

They looked death in the eye, laughed in its face, and kissed it before it even had the chance to blink first. Ever since then, Death has been smitten– like a broken-hearted lover that clings to something that was once immaculate. Although, nothing about them have ever been holy. Not the words that spill from their lips – tunes that only the Devil cares to hear – nor the deeds that their hands have wrought. Yet Death considers them something holy. It lays bodies in their wake, corpses in the place of flowers, offerings not unlike those that are brought before gods. But even gods fair better than they, for the gods, at least, show mercy to those who bow before them. Mercy is a foreign language that Fyodor cares not to learn, no, not this chaos-bred child. All they offer is lightning in the place of blessings, wildfires where answered prayers might be, and storms when all cry out deliverance. One has better luck asking mercy from a wolf than asking it of them. Wolves, at least, know the order of nature. But Fyodor? They know only the beat of their own heart and what dark deeds bring laughter to their lips. When they laugh, though, oh when they laugh one cannot blame death for falling in love with them.

CONNECTIONS

SVETLANA GAVRIKOVA & ADRIK VAHKROV: Together, they are the most feared in Ravka. Together, they are brutal. They all made a home in death’s maw and shadows, and all the familial attachment that had nowhere to go when Fyodor was growing up extended to this strange motley crew of fellow Ophrichnik. And just like them, their affection was consuming, biting, and unrelenting. The only loyalty they’d ever known so far and quite possibly the only they’d ever know, it’s an informed devotion, being aware of the kind of twistedness that existed in those they chose to call kindred and admiring them all the more for it. But predators never stopped being dangerous, and though Svetlana and Adrik’s lethality was more refined and restrained, Fyodor would never forget what they were capable of. What they all were capable of. Forgetting the nature of a beast was what got their family killed, after all.

IRA SOROKIN: She is a wolf woman with a spine of stone and silver, feral and fierce and every bit a beast as Fyodor was, two predators born of different wombs. There is never a moment where they’re anything but dazzled by her, and they think if they’re well-adored by death, then she must be the sun’s favorite idol, golden and openly vicious in spite of all her enemies who had dug their claws into her heels, unstoppable all the while. Fyodor doesn’t make it a habit to know many Grisha, but the Durast is the very antithesis of everything their family had stood for: pride versus propriety, honesty versus refinement, torn dresses and loose hair and claws versus upturned noses and painted faces. She and them, what a wretched, perfect pair.

DMITRI ALEKSEEV: The bloodletter thinks himself far too highly, and that’s all Fyodor has to say on the matter. To them, he pales in comparison to the company they keep, to the likes of Svetlana and Adrik and Ira and The Darkling himself, that his lofty arrogance is utterly laughable. He can play all the parlor tricks he wants, he can show off with all the easy targets he likes, but the second Aleksander bores of him, Fyodor will be there to ensure the rivers run red with his blood, and they’ll be laughing as death looks on, grinning and eager and reverent.

FYODOR IS PORTRAYED BY MARLON TEIXEIRA & IS TAKEN BY CAS.

#lsrp #literate rpg #bio rpg #new rpg #fantasy rpg #nb #a #military #fyodor #fyodorbio #closed #closednb

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focsle · 8 years ago

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Bloob oc meme

Tagged by @thesaint-jimmy to do @princeofmorley‘s lovely bloobloo meme. I’m copy and pasting some things from the brief thing I already wrote about him but HEYY.

Name: Obediah Mercy Nickname(s): I call him Obi. No one else would call him Obi. Age: 62 Gender: Male Sexuality: Straight but...the coldest of fish. Height/Build: 6 ft stickbug

Personality description: He has an air of arrogance about him because of his thread-like associations to aristocracy, but ultimately is a subservient person. If he respects someone, he’s an incredibly stalwart ally. To those he thinks are beneath him however (of which there are many), he has a talent for being both polite and vaguely disdainful at the same time. He can be vain when it comes to his abilities and background, but there’s a bit of weariness to him too. He’s fairly taciturn. He rarely shows any outward displays of strong emotion, but has a tendency to hold lifelong grudges. He’s a stickler for propriety and ritual. While he’s usually a very dry fellow, he does appreciate irony and has a bit of a gallows humor on the rare occasions when it strikes him.

Physical description: He’s tall and slight, though his movements are very graceful and nimble in a way that belies his age. He dresses in the unnecessarily extravagant livery of a cainhurst servant, but is a bit ratty as far as personal grooming is concerned. His hair is relatively long and lank, and though he tries to be clean shaven he usually has a couple days of beard growth due to having other things to be concerned about. He tends to have a drawn, disinterested expression, and his facial expressions are very reserved in general so it’s hard to sense what he’s feeling. Bit haggard and hollow looking. Vocally, he’s got this Brummie-esque drone, and like his facial expressions, his inflection rarely betrays any kind of strong emotion.

BACKSTORY

Introduce your hunter and their backstory. Obediah was a servant at Castle Cainhurst, operating as, essentially, a footman for a noble family. A flashy murder-butler. He dealt largely in a pest control capacity, quietly dispatching beasts (and cainhurst’s strange fauna) for the benefit of his masters. It was an occupation passed down his family line, held by his father, his father’s father, stretching all the way back. It wasn’t a job of high rank in any respect, but he carried himself as though it was. I technically have him pulled into an EARLIER iteration of the dream before Cainhurst falls...and its when he wakes up that he finds the place in ruin...so I’m gonna be…FUDGIN WITH QUESTIONS HERE. It’s not like time has ANY meaning whatsoever in bloodborne ahaha.

Which class/origin did you choose for your hunter? Does this tie into their backstory? I chose the Professional just cos I wanted to start my skill build off easy. I suppose it does tie a bit into that backstory in that he has training and experience.

Where is your hunter from? What brought them to Yharnam?Cainhurst. He was quite ill, fatally so, and came to Yharnam for a blood ministration to hopefully cure him. IT WORKED in the sense that he got dragged into the weird-dream-horrid-immortality-until-further-notice instead.

Did your hunter know any of the characters from the game before they entered the Hunter’s Dream? He knew of Annalise but never personally met her prior to becoming a vileblood after the fall of Cainhurst. The family he served was on speaking terms with her though...which gave him an ego by-proxy.

Had they fought beasts before entering the Dream, or is this their first experience as a hunter? Yep, he’d fought them before. That was his job. Pest control.

CHARACTER DETAILS

How do they react to first waking up in the Hunter’s Dream? Do they remember anything about their life before the Dream? He doesn’t remember anything about his life before the dream. He’s disoriented and frustrated at his circumstances but he takes to it quickly. Even if he doesn’t recall his background for quite some time, the skilled murdering thing is all muscle memory.

Do they align themselves with any Covenants or other factions (the Healing Church, the Choir, the Old Hunters, the Unseen Village, etc) Vilebloods.

Do they befriend any NPCs in particular? Make enemies of any NPCs? I think he’d be quite fond of Arianna. He’d probably get along decently with Eileen too. Strongly dislikes Adella. He’d WANT TO WRECK ALFRED but I think Alfred would probably wreck him.

Are they in a relationship? If so, with whom? No lol. HE’S A BRICK WALL.

How does your hunter feel about the Healing Church? About blood ministration? He thinks blood ministration is practical, and he’s familiar enough with it since Cainhurst had their own blood shit going on. He is, predictably, very venomous about the Church though.

Do they fear the scourge? Are they afraid of turning into a beast? Afraid of becoming blood-addled? Of the unknown Cosmos? What are they afraid of? He doesn’t fear the scourge, and doesn’t think about the possibility of becoming blood-addled, though that’s what happens to him eventually once he’s out of the dream. He’d be very afraid of kin though. Great ones. All that. He doesn’t have a strong fortitude when it comes to the unknown.

Does your hunter relish in the Hunt or revile their bloody work? He enjoys the hunt. Gives him a sense of purpose. And it’s familiar to him.

What is your hunter’s attitude towards Gehrman? Do they resent being trapped in the Hunter’s Dream? He finds him irritatingly cryptic at first, but comes to respect him well enough. Mostly because Obediah does best when he’s in service to someone, and Gehrman is the only someone around.

Does your hunter sympathize and associate with fellow hunters, or are they more of a loner who avoids other hunters? Do they leave notes for other hunters? He’s a loner, and also very opportunistic. He hunts other hunters. Not very sociable. He wouldn’t leave notes. Though if he met a hunter presently in the dream he would be sympathetic to them and not fight them--partly because he doesn’t want to possibly add another death to the list, but more practically, he could never outpace someone immortal.

Does your hunter worship the Great Ones? Do they worship blood? Or do they have a different belief system? If they’re not devout, what do they value or prioritize in life? Obediah is loyal to both the people he respects and the ideologies they hold. He’s very comfortable being in service to someone and in fact, absolutely needs to be for his own validation. His sense of worth comes from what he does for other people. And if he is serving someone, his viewpoints are quite malleable under the influence of that person.

Do they have a special place where they feel safe or “at home”? Is there a place they’re afraid of or that they avoid? I don’t think he feels at home anywhere. Cainhurst definitely doesn’t feel like a home anymore, given the state that it’s in, but he does have a small part of the castle he holes up in. Still spends time in its intensely drafty library from time to time. If he knew about the shit that went down in Upper Cathedral Ward he’d definitely avoid it, but he doesn’t know.

Are there any particular items your hunter holds onto for sentimental reasons, or items that serve to comfort them? He gets some comfort from a hand lantern. It just makes him feel more grounded. Also just...his weapon and occupational garb since, again, it’s something normal and familiar in the face of the life that he knew being uprooted and destroyed by the Executioners.

Do any of the discoveries in the game (about the old blood, the Healing Church, the Great Ones, etc) shock them? How do they react to these revelations? He’d…almost come undone when it comes to great ones. Yahargul would fuck him up. He’d feel like he was treading incredibly dangerous ground concerning the mensis ritual, and also the church’s activities in upper cathedral ward. But I don’t think, when he’s in the dream, he comes to that understanding about Great Ones.

Does your hunter want to discover the secrets of the Healing Church and the origins of the scourge, or do they just want to kill some beasts and escape the Dream? What motivates them? I think when he’s in the Hunter’s Dream he DOES want to find meaning in it. He wants to know why he’s there, and what his tasks are leading him to.

How does your hunter feel about being effectively immortal? How do the unending deaths affect them over the course of their time in the Dream? So tired. He’s so tired. Every time he dies he hopes it’s the last time. The dream ages him significantly.

COMBAT AND STATS

Which primary stat does your hunter most rely on (Strength, Skill, Bloodtinge, Arcane)? Do they prioritize Vitality or Endurance? Skill, and he prioritizes endurance. Can’t hit him if he keeps moving.

What are your hunter’s trick weapon and firearm of choice? Why? In the dream he initially uses the threaded cane, but once he reconnects with cainhurst and becomes a vileblood, he uses reiterpallasch. It’s a familiar weapon he’s at ease with. (tho I personally love rakuyo so that’s what I use with him)

Do they make use of any hunter tools? Old Hunter Bone. He’d use numbing mist too. He fights dirty.

What type of armor do they wear? Why? In the dream he wore decorative old hunter’s garb, because the dream ends up making him quite superstitious. Again, once he reconnects with Cainhurst he wears the knight’s garb because he remembers that’s what he used to be. It’s only PROPER AND FITTING.

Describe their fighting style. Obediah’s fighting style is brutal, but efficient, though in his age he’s not as adept as he used to be. He prefers to fight with finesse, and favors swift and lighter hitting weapons over slow, harder hitting ones. While he’s still quite nimble, his balance is easily thrown. His aim is to not let a foe touch him, because it’s not hard to knock him down. He tends to rely on sneaky visceral attacks instead, because his aim is to deal as much damage as quickly as possible so the opponent doesn’t have the opportunity to get the upper hand of him.

Which Caryll runes does your hunter keep equipped? Anti-clockwise metamorphosis because he needs his stamina, and blood rapture and clawmark because he tends to eviscerate things and likes to get REWARDED for it.

How much Insight does your hunter have? How does this affect them? Mercifully, Obediah would not have much of it. If he was seeing amygdalas everywhere he’d like…lose it.

Does your hunter take advantage of Beasthood to fuel their attacks? How does it affect them? Nope, not at all.

Is there a beast or type of enemy your hunter likes to fight? An enemy they avoid? He likes fighting other hunters because it’s a challenge to his skill but also quite satisfying to his ego when he defeats them. Kin terrify him. Especially winter lanterns and brain suckers.

Do they often summon the Old Hunters or hunters from other worlds to aid them? I DO SOMETIMES but Obediah wouldn’t, again, loner factor. He will handle things on his OWN.

PLOT DECISIONS

Does your hunter’s story deviate from the central plot of Bloodborne? In what ways? Yes, in that I imagine he was in the dream prior, and in the events of bloodborne he’s just a mortal vileblood. Does your hunter try to rescue any of the civilians of Yharnam? Are they successful? This would not be his concern at all.

Does your hunter kill the Impostor Iosefka or let her continue her work? He would kill Imposter Iosefka due to her link to the church.

Do they fight Djura or befriend him? What about Eileen the Crow? He thinks Djura is a FOOLISH BLEEDING HEART of course he would fight him. He likes Eileen, but he’d take issue with fighting the Crow of Cainhurst. Though when he realized he was blood addled, he’d be less bothered by it.

Do they choose to side with Alfred or Queen Annalise? Annalise. Naturally.

Does your hunter enter the Chalice Dungeons? Yes, again in trying to understand what would be going on in the dream.

Does your hunter enter the Hunter’s Nightmare? Do they defeat the Orphan of Kos? If he goes to the Hunter’s Nightmare, it would probably be because he’s blood addled himself, and would be in no state to even reach the Orphan of Kos.

What is your hunter’s final choice at the end of the game? He lets Gehrman chop his head off. Doesn’t even matter if he wakes up or not. He just wants to be DONE.

If they accept Gehrman’s offer, what does your hunter do once they’re free of the Hunter’s Dream? After he wakes up he has a bit of amnesia to work through. But he ultimately goes back to Cainhurst despite its ruin and serves Annalise. He’s inwardly unenthusiastic about her motivations, and wishes the castle and its population could be revitalized again but that is NOT ON THE AGENDA.

If applicable, how does your hunter die? He ends up becoming blood-addled and is killed by a fellow hunter.

#dainty ol man #bloodborne oc meme

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ourcollectivefantasy · 8 years ago

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Outlooks

In the late, dark hours, the hours between late night and early morning, the quiet figure of the Lady of House Akh’Argar walked down the hallways of Bloodsword Hall on bare feet, wearing only a casual priest’s robe. She was unkempt, with dried blood and a few tufts of pillow feathers clinging to the loose crimson curls that hung freely down her back, but there was a healthy color to her cheeks that bespoke of a sated hunger. The Lady moved with the sure confidence of someone who belongs right where they are, though a secret smile lingered about her lips because by all other definitions she did not belong there at all. Nevertheless, no one can stop a traveller from going where they please, and she always embraced the philosophy that if you can be there, you belong there. In truth this woman had never walked freely down these halls before, and there would be a great deal to do before she was made to leave. Best to familiarize herself while she had the time.

Many centuries ago, in another world, a very young girl lived in a place like this with parents and a sister. But that girl didn't even exist in memory now, only in forgotten stories and faerie’s tales. This woman who appeared as the Lady of the House was an outsider here, and always would be. Even with her own family, she was now an outsider.

The outsider woman walked down the dark corridor, sometimes pausing to poke a head into a room, sometimes walking in and looking around. She found a couple guest suites, a sitting room, and a large library where a table covered with papers, open books, and files was an island of disarray within an otherwise organized room; she made note to come back and have a better look. From there she turned back to the corridor and wandered a bit longer, turning down one hallway or another, having a thorough look around “her” estate.

At some point she came to a room painted in warm, bright colors with toys and children’s decor and she immediately knew this was the nursery for Lady Bloodsword’s twin children that she only discovered existed this past evening. The woman stepped inside and looked around; it seemed the children were not currently in residence at Bloodsword Hall. That seemed a bit strange, but she supposed if Iloam was watching them for the noblewoman, they would possibly be wherever Iloam spent his days. It certainly didn’t prevent her from furthering her designs.

The woman who appeared as Lady Aelberyn Bloodsword had everything she needed to do what she intended. She simply walked into the nursery and gently closed the door behind her. An hour later, she emerged, and head for the library to sit down, light a cigarette, and decide what to do next.

Some people might be surprised to know that I’m not a masochist. I mean, certainly a little pain can amp up sexual pleasure - I’ve always enjoyed biting, for instance - and I’ve been party to a number of painful sexual situations. Besides, a talented lover can make a lot of unexpected things very enjoyable with a bit of patience and foreplay, and I do not lack for a talented lover. Nevertheless, I cannot imagine any kind of talent or foreplay that could adequately prepare anyone to be whipped with a scourge. This isn’t your “Daddy’s” flogger, switch, or whip: the thing that succubus used had metal barbs that would hook into your skin and rip it right off the muscle, and she knew precisely how to use it. You had the pain of a whip, and then she’d give it a yank and off came your flesh. I didn’t even pretend to not feel it, I shrieked loud enough to echo in my own ears, even without a tongue. And then she’d turn a knob, and the boards would stretch just a little more, and my arms and legs would pull that much further. And then she whipped again, gave it another yank, then turned it again. This went on for quite awhile.

I was already terrified going into this “punishment.” The irony of it was that it wasn’t my own observations or knowledge that inspired my fear; it was Iloam’s. Years ago when I was restoring his memories after an incident of supreme foolishness on his part, the one memory I chose not to restore was of the period he spent in the Twisting Nether, chained to a rock and endlessly tormented and devoured by succubi to the point of death, only to be returned to life and suffering anew. Some time before then I had seen the memory for myself, and felt Iloam’s horror and despair at what he feared would be his ultimate fate. Recalling those memories lent an additional sense of fear to my own impending torture session. Particularly as it had been his mother that damned him to such a fate as well.

While I've been injured, quite brutally even, in battle a number of times, I had never personally experienced torture before. All I had to go on was what I've observed from victims of torture, Iloam's memories, and my occasional forays into extreme kink. But it was nothing like that; nothing like kinky sex or what I've observed… I had no control at all over what was being done to me and how long it would last. I couldn't fight back, there was some jewel or circlet on my head that prevented me from any offensive use of the Light or shadow, and even my defensive spells were limited. I couldn't concentrate on healing or shielding. The best I could manage was an instant of Pain Suppression, and even that was incredibly limited.

The vile creature chained me to a rack and had me stretch in between each blow that landed. She inflicted some demonic effect that wracked me with additional pulses of burning agony that seared through every nerve ending. I don't know how long she had me. If they had just drained my mana, if I had the ability to use the Light or shadow at all, I would have drawn from the energy of all that pain and blasted that demon back into the nether. But I couldn't use my skills, and I was in Suramar, surrounded by mana-hungry Nightborne of the same ilk as the Zin-Azshari nobles who first enslaved people like Ta’Srith and used them as living man batteries. So, somehow I endured the pain. I tried to use every exercise I knew to clear my mind for meditation and let the agony rip through my physical form.

Unfortunately, meditation has always been a bit difficult for me. After an hour, maybe more? Or less? I couldn’t help it anymore. I focused instinctively on where my life stream pooled at the points of the most pain and drew in the pure, primal mana from it. I cried out as the energy burned through my body and confused my senses. Now I was feeling the pain, even more intensely than before, but with it came the colors and flavors and tingling pleasures that had me exploding in the most profane and fundamentally wrong climaxes I have ever felt. And yet, in the midst of so much pain inflicted, it was somehow liberating to seize just this one piece of control in the midst of helplessness. I couldn't stop what was being done to me, but I could twist it into something else. I could change it, in ways this demon or her mistress never intended.

Such overstimulation from multiple sensations at once was too much to handle, and I passed out. If the succubus or anyone else tried to wake me for more, they did not succeed. When I did awaken I was back in the dark cell, save there was no bed to break and craft a weapon from, and arcane shackles wrapped around my wrists. I was laying on the mattress face down, and every single part of my body hurt. My shoulders, elbows, knees and hips were in agony, likely dislocated. My back… I couldn’t see what had been done, but from the searing, burning sensation of air touching exposed muscle, I had a feeling that it was quite a mess. That was definitely going to scar, and it was not going to be pretty. I silently bid farewell to backless dresses from now on.

I don’t know how much time passed, or if they’re going to continue. I don’t know if they noticed me drawing mana and would do something with that knowledge. I don’t know if they intend on letting me heal or not. Right now, all I can do is lay here and not move for a bit, because moving hurts so much, and try not to wonder why no one has come for me yet. I’m afraid for Iloam, and for the children. As long as Maebh was out there, they were all in so much danger. Light, please let that woman not have killed my family.

I need to think of another escape plan. ...Once I’ve rested a bit.

Vrykul were expert fishermen, and the ones who lived this close to Suramar were used to finding all sorts of strange things washed up on the shore. Ufuk had taken his son Arvid out with him because he would not send the boy out alone when there were so many naga swarming in the waters lately. He could have gone alone, but Arvid needed to learn. Odin clearly had been smiling on someone that day, because his son’s young eyes spotted bobbing in the tide what Ufuk had written off as just driftwood.

When Ufuk drew the blood elf out of the water, he was tempted to kill him like the Nightborne elves that often wandered into Jandvik. But Arvid pointed out the smaller size and the colors he wore similar to the colors of those who attacked Suramar city a week earlier. The armor the elf wore was light, leather, but pierced through the chest. Still, somehow, the elf was still breathing.

“Arvid, run home, have your mother stir up the fire and prepare a bed.” Ufuk carefully carried him across the shoreline as he instructed his son. “It looks like we have an injured elf on our hands.”

#rp blog #maebh blacksong #aelberyn #elraine #current events #maebh is mean

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