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3d-wifey · 1 year ago

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And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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bloghrexach · 10 months ago

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🇵🇸 … How much longer is the world willing to endure this spectacle of wanton cruelty?” Bertrand Russell!

By: LaillaB, Founder of ‘Reclaim the Narrative’, from LinkedIn …

“As the siege and bombardment of Gaza continues at full force, killing hundreds each day, maiming many more and wiping entire families out of the civil registry, the international community is still watching idly.

Today, the fear of what comes next is looming larger for Palestinians than the cruelty of the world's apparent indifference to their suffering.

This time, the Nakba is being televised, and it has a stench of finality to it. What is happening in Palestine can no longer be described as genocide or even ethnic cleansing. It is beyond mass extermination - it is total erasure.

Alongside the deranged and morally rotten military campaign to extinguish the lives of innocent Palestinian civilians - most of whom are women and children - is the equally if not more sinister campaign to entirely erase their identity.

Open Apple, Google or any other digital map. Type "Palestine". You won't find it.

You will only find Israel.

If you're lucky, you may be directed to a small patchwork of what is called "Palestinian Territories" firmly embedded inside Israel lest anyone mistakenly think it is an independent nation-state. And of course, you will find nowhere on any map the keyword that precedes Palestinian Territories to lay bare the ugly, but necessary and harrowing truth: “Occupied."

It's not just the Palestinian people or the name of the country that's disappearing, but the word Palestine itself. Palestine is being deliberately erased from our consciousness and discourse.

The current genocidal campaign being waged by the occupying state of Israel against Palestinians is being universally - and erroneously - described as "a war between Israel and Hamas".

Somehow the Palestinian

people, who have been subjected to Israeli occupation and oppression for 75 years before October 7, no longer matter.

This sinister public relations move is deeply problematic,

It allows for a simplistic story of “good vs evil”, where Israel takes on the role of the peace-loving, civilised democracy minding its own business and Hamas the inexplicably evil and barbaric militia group - decorated with all the anti-Muslim trimmings and tropes imaginable - that attacks it out of the blue.

The simple truth is that the word

"Palestine" is deeply damaging to Israel's image on the international stage.

Which is why the only way to get rid of the heavy moral burden of Palestine, Israel seems to think, is to literally get rid of "Palestine" altogether, and that includes totally erasing it from the map.

And yet, it is Israel that stands in front of the United Nations, year after year, pleading to be protected from the “barbarian" nations that supposedly wish to erase it from the map.

The irony may be hysterical, but the hypocrisy is real!! … 🇵🇸

أشد الفاقة عدم العقل

“Lack of intelligence is the greatest poverty” #FreePalestine … 🍉

#ReclaimTheNarrative 🕊 #AlJazeera …

#dr rex equality news information education #graphic source #graphic #graphics #hortyrex ©#horty #quote #it is what it is #war #gaza genocide #free gaza #palestine #moral burden #injustice #israeli occupation

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lis-likes-fics · 2 years ago

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Apple of My Eye

Pairings: Dream of the Endless x Reader Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: Angst, torture, injuries... A/N: I really love this idea and this character, she’s just so fcking sarcastic and dramatic while literally being tortured, and I think that’s beautiful. Enjoy!

"I give you the sweetest apple blessed with Asmodeus' curse."

Roderick Burgess stood before a summoning circle as his cult of worshippers surrounded him in dark cloaks and darker magic. The room was silent, other than the silent chants of his followers underneath his demanding voice.

"I give you the rare black lily of the calla."

Eight years after his failure to capture Death, and now Burgess has decided to take a new approach. If he couldn't summon Death, he would try for a different type of being. One who would have no choice but to give him what he wants. Someone bound to him.

"I give you a feather plucked from the wing of a sacred dove."

A muse.

As he discarded the pure, white feather, he felt the force of his magic under his palms. He reached off to the side where Alex slowly stepped forward to offer a small knife to his father, who all but snatched the blade from his hand with the urgency of a bitter old man.

"I give you the blood from out of my veins." He watched the thick, red liquid seep from the cut made in his wrist and into the concoction of offerings.

A follower presented him with a silver platter, which lay a still organ fresh from an animal's chest. "And I give you the heart of the sacrificial goat, for you to feast upon the darkest desires which reside within it."

He felt the air swirl around him, frantically grasping onto whatever stillness it could as magic disrupted it with the stench of greed.

"I summon you with love." A bright light shone from above their heads. "I summon you with agony. I open the threshold, I open the gates. I summon you in the names of the lords of desire. Himeros, Pothos, Eros, Asmodeus."

The circle began to glow, a bright light shining from its boundaries in white light. "We summon you together. Come!"

Burgess' demand resounded along the large room. A bright flash blinded them all, and they covered their eyes to protect themselves from its glow.

Then the light disappeared and the room stilled at an abnormal speed, drenching it in shadows once again. Each person slowly peaked out of their shielded stances to see what had changed. Their breaths were held as they saw a woman, a beautiful woman in a gown lying on the cold floor with weak eyes and a limp body.

"Get the chains, go," he demanded Alex, who quickly moved to grab the freezing metal to pass over.

Roderick bent down to fasten them to the woman's hands, the thick shackles binding her as she lay still on the floor. He watched her eyes blink slowly, so hooded and nearly shut from the exhaustion of his spell.

His lips pulled into a small smirk, cockiness flooding his gaze as he stared at her. "You belong to me."

She didn't respond, she simply stared back at him until her eyes slowly fell shut and she was consumed by darkness.

A breath suddenly filled your lungs as you opened your eyes. Consciousness slipped into your skin, soaking into you as you awoke. You felt the ice cold pinch of the ground against your face, your bare arms burning with the sensation. You let out the breath, shifting to sit up in a more comfortable position as you willed your body to wake before you did something rash and got yourself killed.

Your eyes flicked to the shackles on your wrists and the summoning circle around you. The cold metal chaining you here was attached to the ground, embedded so deeply that, with all your strength, you could not move it. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get out. They were unordinary, they magical bound you in a way that made escape impossible.

You were trapped.

You heard footsteps, along the rhythmic tap of a cane against the stone floor. You turned your gaze to the man advancing toward you, your gaze hard and dangerous.

"You're awake," the older man spoke. He was the one you saw before you succumbed to the darkness, your captor. "So good of you to join us."

Your lips formed a hard line as you watched him. Your gaze raked over his form. His suit was highly expensive, his cane even more so, and his hair was golden with strands of grey and white in its mix. He was a tired, old man whose eyes gleamed with greed.

You licked your lips and let out another sigh. "Where am I?"

"Oh, good," he breathed, glancing away as if looking at something before turning his cold gaze back to you. "You aren't silent."

Your gazes never wandered from one another, not when a boy behind him shifted uncomfortably, not when men flanking the door that was her escape shuffled on their feet as they stood at the ready.

"I am Roderick Burgess," he said, "and you are, as I gather, one of the nine muses." You tilted your head to the side as his evaluation. He raised a brow, "Am I correct?" You mirrored his expression, head tilted and brow raised. He was getting impatient. "Well, which are you? Clio? Melpomene? Calliope?"

You rolled your eyes but relented, almost humorously at his terrible assumptions. "I am not a muse."

Burgess hummed, "Oh? Then what are you?"

You didn't respond. You did, however, allow the smallest hint of a smirk to grace your features as you looked up at him.

He took your silence with an exasperated sigh. "Now you are speaking, are you? Just like him?" His voice raised slightly, paranoia sinking in. "Are you with him?"

He pointed his cane toward something. You turned your head in the direction he gestured to.

You nearly gasped at the sight, eyes widened slightly as you took in a man. No, he was no man. He was Endless.

You looked at him, the Endless you knew could only be known as Dream. The Dream, Ruler of Dreams and Nightmares, kin to Desire—your ruler.

You watched him stare at the both of you, watching your interaction with silent lips and guarded eyes. His pale skin seemed to glow, his dark eyes sparked with the galaxies that were held within them.

You turned away before you couldn't. You shook your head at Burgess, steeling your face once more as you returned to stubbornness. "No."

"Hm," is all he said in return. He contemplated for a moment, taking in the sight of you with calculating eyes.

You sighed, "Why am I here?"

He considered before telling you. "I want something. Give it to me, and I shall set you free."

You glanced over your shoulder, but did not look at the Endless behind you. "And him, too?"

Burgess furrowed his brow. "What is he to you?"

You didn't respond, offering your silent alternative to your cooperation as you gave him a look to let him know.

He rolled his eyes and huffed. "If you can give me what I want," he looked at you, "you will both walk free."

You smiled, leaning onto your side with a sudden lax. If all you had to do was your job, then you would.

"What do you desire, Roderick Burgess?"

He was quiet before he spoke. "My son was stolen from me by Death, lost during the Gallipoli Campaign." Your smile faltered a moment. "If you can return him to me, alive and well, you both may leave."

You sighed, your smile falling from your lips as you looked down at his shoes. You sat up again, "Your desire is beyond me."

He tilted his head, not as upset as you thought he'd be. He must be used to the rejection then, "You won't give him to me?"

"I can't give him to you. I can only grant certain desires, not fabrications like," you had to contain your laugh at the prospect, "life after death." You shook your head, locking your bottom lip before facing him again.

His exasperation was sinking in as he huffed angrily. "Can no one give me what I want?"

You shrugged, "What you ask to is improbable, impossible."

He focused his hard gaze on you once more. "What can you give me?"

"What do you desire that would set me free?"

"I want my son back."

You sighed, granting him a look full of pity, taunting and teasing. "Then I will say no more."

You did just that, sitting back and showing the end of your cooperation as you stared at him.

"Very well, then," he said. "I will take what I can." Then he turned his back and began to depart from the cellar you were trapped in. The sound of his footfalls were soon accompanied by those of the boy who trailed quickly behind him.

"I will get what I want."

You rolled your eyes as the doors shut, your shielded face falling slightly as you turned away. You looked straight at Dream, his prison of glass and gold binding rendering him just as imprisoned as you as you stared.

He shared your gaze with a look of sympathy and knowledge.

For a couple of times, Burgess ignored you entirely. He came in once a day to go to Dream, to demand from him gifts he did not deserve and or could not, only to be met with more silence from the dream lord that would not speak.

But something changed when he came in and made his way directly to you. The determination in his eyes was near elation as the smile on his face gave you a paranoid look. He knew.

He stopped in front of you, looking down on you like you were a creature meant to be crushed under his boot. He spoke after a long silence as you simply stared back at him.

"Since you will not give me what I want, I will simply have to take it from you." The words lingered in the air as you remained silent.

His hands, which were clasped behind him, moved to reveal a book he had hidden behind his back. He showed it to you, a grimoire filled with old magic and you would rather not have laid eyes on.

"It is amazing," he started, "what information you can find in a book." He opened it up, flipping to a page with a self-satisfied grin. "And it appears to me that the Malum are creatures that come from the Endless called Desire."

Your eyes widened slightly at his revelation, a confirmation of what you suspected he'd figured. He knew. He knew who you were, what you were.

He knew the Malum were beings made from Desire, beings who granted desires to those who asked. He knew how to summon you, he knew how you granted desires, and he knew how to force you to give it.

"So I am right?" he chuckled, closing the book loudly. You clenched your jaw. He shook his head, no sign of annoyance in his face as he smiled triumphantly, confidence oozing from him.

"That's alright. I don't need your words." He pulled a pocket knife, small and ornate with small details made with golden design. He set the book down, out of your reach. "I only need your pain," he said as he knelt. He took your right arm in his, forcing the chains up to reveal the inside of your wrist. He just needed the confirmation as he revealed to him the dark little marking of an apple's silhouette.

You tried to scoot away, but he was stronger with your chains on. He grasped your arm tighter, pulling you toward him.

For a moment, for a reason you could not explain, your eyes found Dream. And, in that moment, your eyes pleaded for aid you both knew he could not give. He raised his hand against the glass, wanting to reach you, to help you. But he just watched, lips parted in regret as Burgess' blade sliced a small incision in your skin. A few droplets of blood seeped from the wound, pooling there but hardly dripping in a more merciful wound than you knew he was capable of.

You winced at the slight pain that bloomed there. "Let's start small, shall we?" he wondered, sliding his knife back into his pocket. He held your arm in a vice grip, squeezing it in a way that allowed more blood to bubble from the wound. He looked at you, his icy gaze sending a tremor through your spine.

"Give me the riches that I asked from him when he wouldn't give it." A sickening smile spread over his lips. "This is my desire."

You felt as he forced the magic out of you. He saw the flash of crimson in your eyes, a signal that his desires were being granted to him. He let go of you, dropping your arm carelessly with a force that shoved you to the ground.

"That's more like it."

You glared at him, holding your arm to cover the wound. You brought your hand up to see the flood staining your fingers before covering the wound and looking at him. "I cannot bring back your son. I don't have the power."

"I know," he promised. "But I have use of you yet."

With that, he left you behind to sit on the cold floor. You looked at your arm again, watching the blood smear.

Your eyes met Dream again, his gaze softer than you expected as a bubbling anger lay beneath them. You looked back down to the ground, shrinking under his gaze.

You let out a long breath and laid down on the cold floor, your mind racing with everything that has just happened in merely a few minutes.

And what might continue to happen to you for what felt like a long time to come.

You recognized you were caught in the remnants of a dream as soon as you saw it. You recognized Dream even quicker, the way he stood among the meadow uncharacteristically placed within your sleeping mind. You moved to stand next to him, sighing gently. You breathed in the scent of open freedom, you could almost smell it.

He stood silently next to you, his cloak flowing in the imaginary breeze, hands stuffed in his pockets. You both stayed like that, standing next to each other in silence as you enjoyed with him what you believed to be the first dream he has entered since his capture.

The guards never slept for fear of his escape, but you could never escape, so you had that freedom at least. Sweet, sweet dream.

"Will they come for you?"

His words were deep and bellowing in a voice smooth as sweet vermouth. But you shook your head, looking out onto the horizon you longed to see again in person.

"No one will come for me."

"Not even Desire?"

A gentle chuckle rose from your chest, and you shook your head. "They either do not care or have too many Malum to notice that I'm gone." You ignored the sinking feeling in your chest at the reality of your words. "I am alone."

He hummed deeply. "Perhaps not entirely."

You looked over at him, and he finally looked at you. A slow smile spread over your lips before you turned away again. Both your gazes fixed on the setting sun in your dream, the time you had left.

"What is your name?" he asked.

You thought for a moment before you told him, granting him another glance. Dream repeated it, staring across the landscape to compare it to the sunset.

"I am truly sorry for the life to come," he said. If you hadn't been listening, you would have missed how deeply his sincerity reached.

You hummed in response, nodding gently before turning your body to look at him. He tilted his chin toward you, but continued to face the horizon.

You tilted your head and smiled. "What is it you desire?" you questioned, examining each detail of his face with a new appreciation to his beauty.

"Our freedom." He put it simply, inclining his head away from you and toward the sky. You hummed and examined the splotches of pink on his pale cheek.

He spoke again, a new edge to his voice as his steely gaze hardened on the sun. "And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

You smiled, mischievous and satisfied as you turned back toward the sunset, which had almost disappeared from view. You took a leap, hooking your arm through the crook of his still left open and taking a step closer into his side. You didn't look at him as you did so, opting to avoid any unwanted looks that may be waiting for you if you did (although, there were none to be found).

"One day," you promised.

Two years later, your promise had still been unfulfilled. But Burgess' was.

Burgess had desire after desire, each more selfish than the last as he granted himself riches and wealth and power and fame. Soon, he opened the offer to those appointed at your guards. Some of them were more than happy to exploit that offer, to take from you their own selfish desires and expose them to be the cruel beasts you had always known them to be.

One day hope came, and it seemed as though men were all too eager to prove their evil.

All you heard was the frantic flapping of feathers, loud and beating as you slowly sat up from the icy ground. A bird flew into the cellar, a white bellied raven who beat and tapped against Dream's cage. His eyes glittered, sparking with a sense of joy you had yet to see on him until then. And, for the first time in years, he smiled. He watched her, watched her struggle to free her master—her friend—from his containment.

But you saw Alex. You saw him and Burgess and the guards at the door as he held a shotgun tight within his grin. You moved without thinking, reaching toward the bird to grab her attention before the unspeakable could happen. But your chains ripped your hands back down to the ground as you tried to move, willing your body to get closer and protect her.

You let out a shout, drowned in the sound of a thunderous gunshot. The blood spattered along the glass, red dotted your face and skin. You stared wide eyed at the animal shot dead on the cold, hard ground. The chains shuffled as you tried to reach out to take her after coming from your statue-like state.

The movement and the sound startled Alex, too sudden and too much for his adrenaline packed mind as he suddenly pointed and shot at the first moving target he saw. A shout clawed its way out of your throat, falling back against the ground from the force of only a few of the bullets lodging into your flesh. He'd mostly missed.

You lay on the ground, breathing thickly as your head swarmed with signals that shouted Pain! Pain! Pain! Blood pumped loudly in your ears, your heart thumping heavily to try to focus on what to do in response without the use of your hands.

You couldn't hear anything of what was going on. Your pulse was too loud, your heart thunderous. It took your mind a long time to clear before you could gather enough thought process to shift enough to be able to bring your hands to your right shoulder, where the most pain was coming from.

You looked down, watching the blood stain your dress. Moments later, a woman came toward you with a case at her side. She was dressed in white from head to toe as she set down the white case in front of you. The Burgess' were gone, only Dream and the guards were left. You had not noticed them leave, or the guards sit, or the nurse even come in.

She knelt beside you and began working to fix your wounds. You were too useful to Burgess for you to die, weren't you? No, he would be keeping you. A gunshot wound from his sun was just an inconvenience. You would be spared for the use of more torture later on.

Your hazy gaze met Dream's teary eyes after a moment, your brain too slow to process too long a look as you stared at him, committing him to memory like you had done so many times before.

Night had taken over. You were sitting in your poorly cleaned spot, staring at the chains shackled to your wrists as you tried not to move too much. Your shoulder was plagued by sharp pain, stitched and patched to let it heal. You were trying to fall asleep, to rest so that you could at least spend a short dream with your fellow captive, but the pain was too great.

The guards had stepped out of the room, something about a smoke break. It was late enough that they would not be caught neglecting their duties if they stepped outside for a few moments.

When you heard the door open, you suspected the guards. You were wrong as the soft, slow footsteps of Alex Burgess resounded along the room. Both your gazes dragged up to him, darkened and dangerous, daring him to come closer.

He was holding a plate in his hand. You can smell the fragrance of the fruit on the plate as he takes slow, hesitant steps forward. His face is drenched in sorrow and regret, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"I thought you might like something to eat," he mumbled when he had enough courage to speak.

You tilted your head and said nothing. His eyes shifted between you and Dream before he finally took slow steps to get to you. He sat just outside of your reach to set the plate down, scooting it over for you to take.

You looked down at the plate, sliced honeycrisp apples.

"I don't know if," he trailed off, looking between you and the fruit and adding another regret to the mix, "if you like apples..."

Your gaze finds him again.

He sighed hopelessly, thinking through his next words. "I'm sorry...for what I did." His gaze lifted to Dream for only a moment, his glare far too intense for Alex to withstand. "To both of you."

He was met with no cooperation, only silent stares.

He swallowed thickly. "What can I do?" He winced at that question, realizing his mistake as soon as it left his mouth. "Nothing, I suppose."

You sighed, licking your lips as you thought about how to put your thoughts into words. You leaned forward, unblinking as you watched a flash of hope cross his face at the prospect of you answering him.

"You fucking shot me."

He winced at your words, and that satisfied you enough. You leaned back, sighing as you felt the request from his desire seething beneath the surface. You tilted your head, scowling at him as you whispered like you were telling a secret. "That hurt."

He thought for a moment before surmising, "You want me to claim my desire..."

"That's all men care about: their own selfish desires," you looked him up and down with a huff. "Claim it and leave me, I have nothing to say to you."

He shook his head, staring at his lap to avoid your harsh eyes. "I don't want to claim it."

"You have to," you snapped.

There was silence as he contemplated an idea before speaking it aloud. "Could I...Could I wish for your freedom?"

Your eyes widened slightly at the idea, but you nodded anyway. "You could," you put it simply.

He scooted forward, looking down at your chains to pick them up in his palms. "I want to," he breathed.

"Then say the words."

"I will," his voice was urgent. Then a sobering thought crossed his mind, and you knew you had lost him. He looked up from the chains and at you once more, apprehension heavy in his eyes.

"But how do I know you won't come after me?"

"..." You stared blankly at him.

"I want you to promise," he nearly whispered. "Promise you won't hurt me—or m-my father."

You opened your mouth slightly, but no words came out. You stared.

"Please," he begged. "I don't want to trap you here, but I can't have you taking revenge to hurt us. Me."

You shook your head, his words sour on your tongue as you leaned a little more away from him. You looked down at your shackles, over to Dream's prison.

You huffed out a breath, eyes darkening. "You will get what's coming to you," you promised. "That is my desire."

He shook his head, blinking, "I'm sorry. I can't."

You hummed, leaning forward until you were invading his personal space. Your lips curled in disgust as you looked his face up and down.

"Selfish."

He refuted meekly, "I'm trying to protect my family."

"You're trying to save yourself," you disagreed, sitting up straight again.

He was frantic, desperate to prove he wasn't selfish and greedy like his father as he shook his head. He leaned forward, perching atop his hand and reaching out to you, hoping to change your mind about him. "No. No, that's not true."

The door opened, the two guards returning. Alex turned away from you quickly at the shock of being caught.

"Alex, what are you doing here?"

Was it necessary? Probably not. Could it have gone better? ... Probably not. But you did it anyway.

You leaned forward while he was distracted and clamped your teeth down on the hand extended to you. It was more rage-filled than it was plan-filled.

Alex startled, trying to remove you from him, but your grip was too tight. You only let go when your ears rang and a horrible pain bloomed from your arm. You stumbled back, stifling your shout into a pained moan as you closed your eyes shut. Alex stumbled to his feet.

The guard who shot you just sighed and rolled his eyes. "A fucking holiday," he spat. "That's my fucking desire. God, I hate this job." He mumbled the last part to himself, shaking his head as he moved to sit. He threw his feet on the desk and tossed his gun, which clattered metal on metal.

Alex watched you grasp at your arm, eyes shut tight and mouth filled with air to keep the sounds in. The bullet missed, just grazing your arm, which was now leaking blood that stained your hands and your clothes once more. The other guard sighed, exhausted, "Go get the nurse, Alex. Shit."

Alex's eyes lingered on you a while longer before looking back up to Dream. Their eyes locked for merely a second before he was rushing away from eyes filled with angry blackholes that bore into his soul.

You tried not to cry, you tried to keep it all in. You should not—you could not—appear weak in front of these people. But you had been shot twice in one day, and you were well-beyond your limit.

You hid your face in your knees, your body dissolving into shuddered breaths and a few escaped whines as the tears fell without your consent.

Dream's heart squeezed in his chest, his throat tight as he watched you. He didn't have to watch, he could have just looked away and ignored you. But how could he? How could he leave you to suffer alone? He simply could not, he would not.

And for a moment, your red-rimmed eyes locked across the room and you saw the promise in his gaze. He raised his hand to the glass, setting his palm against the cold prison. You set your chin on your knees and stared back.

Your witty comments had become far more scarce in the years to come. After your assault against Alex and, quite frankly, mostly for your sarcastic remarks and the exasperation they brought Burgess, he had further reduced himself to fitting you with a muzzle. The leather of the constricting piece of wear was constantly covering your mouth, keeping you from speaking your mind with more than eye rolls, sighs, and muffled mumbles.

For seventeen years, you wore that muzzle. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, and just downright uncomfortable. Some old scars healed, more took their places, but your gunshot wounds were embedded too deeply within your skin to be removed. You had to live with them now. They were a part of you. They always would be.

The days have begun to drone together, long and tiring periods of time from sunup to sundown. A day for an immortal was hardly even a blink of time, sure, but a day of suffocating monotony, filled with pain and torture and more boredom was a lifetime of its own.

Sleep was far and few as time passed, and you missed finding what felt like just a few minutes talking to Dream and listening to the rich honey of his voice. Mostly, you just sat there and waited for the end of another continuous day. Sometimes, you spent hours staring at Dream, mapping him out in your mind. Other times, he stared at you, mapping you out in his mind (and sorrowing in the many scars you have gathered over the years). Sometimes, you watched each other and got lost in the many stories hiding behind the eyes of the other immortal.

As Burgess' steps sounded down the halls before he even reached the door, you noticed the difference in urgence as he thrust his presence into the room with his overbearing stature. He ignored you as he had done for years, except for the days when he actually decided that he wanted your forced service, and made a beeline for Dream's cage.

He was quiet for a while, examining him and disregarding you like a grain of sand on his boot or speck of lint on his expensive coat. "The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune," he finally admitted, leaning on Dream's dome with one hand as he supported his weight on his cane. You snorted, but he ignored you with the roll of his jaw in favor of continuing to speak to a very unyielding Dream. "She's also robbed you. She's taken your helm, your sand, and your ruby."

"Now, I can unlock this, you can go after her...if you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality." You rolled your eyes at his tedium, but found a sense of pleasantness rising in your chest as his frustration creeped into his voice. "Oh, you're a god. These things are nothing to you."

There was a long pause as he continued to bore into Dream's face. "Don't you want your weapons and your freedom?" Dream tilted his head but gave no other response.

Burgess' anger got the better of him, and he lost his composure. Impatient, angry. "Speak to me! Speak to me! Speak to me!" He punctuated each word with a sharp strike at the glass with his cane, making his rage quite evident. "Come on! Speak to me!"

You began to laugh, unable to contain your elation at his complete lack of control. The bubbling sound was muffled by the muzzle, but your joy was obvious and his frustration ran deeper. He turned to you quickly, finally paying you mind after so long barely sparing you a sidewards glance. "What's so funny?"

You just raise your brow at him, your smirk covered as you gave him an answer that only hastened his impatience and rage. He walked over to you, ripping the muzzle from over your head. You flexed your jaw, stretching it out and getting used to the feeling of being able to use it again. It wasn't often he was annoyed enough to allow you to trick him into letting you speak and worsen his personal experience with celestials.

You tilted your head, smiling at him slyly. "I enjoy watching you squirm," you admitted.

He wasn't in the mood for your sharp comments and contemptuous attitude. But, to be fair, he was never in the mood. It only added to your fun. He leaned forward, invading your personal space as he curled his fist into the neckline of your dress and pulled you forcefully to him. "Then you must love a bullet in your pretty little skull, too. I will put one there."

You tilted your head, unphased by his constant harshness as you gave him a tearful smile. "Aww, you think I'm pretty." His face screwed up in half-disgust, half-vexation. You shrugged a shoulder, "Either way, you won't."

He stared at you long and hard before letting you go in favor of towering over you from your spot on the ground. "What makes you so sure?"

You gave him a smile, a shit-eating grin, before answering his question. "You already found use of me. You won't give me up so quickly." if you could have tapped his nose, you would have as you scrunch your nose up to feign awe. "You like me."

His disdain was clear. "I wouldn't be so sure. I can just as easily replace you. There are hundreds of you." He gestured toward you with his cane, pressing it to your chest and shoving you down. You sat back on your elbows and raised a brow.

You hummed, shrugging a shoulder, "Thousands, actually."

He was fed up, his voice raising in his irritation. "Do you want to die? Because I can certainly help with that very easily, pesky demon."

You laid down on your back, closing your eyes shut as you feign hurt and sorrow, bringing the back of a chained hand up to your face and over your forehead. "Oh, ouch. Owie!" you cried. "You called me a demon. Whatever shall I do?"

Dream's lips nearly curled at your show of dramatics. You smirked and rolled your eyes and flailed your arms as much as you could, having a field day in making this man's life a living hell in return for all the hell he'd brought down upon you.

But Burgess had had enough, and Dream's entertainment was gone just as quick as the old man raised the cane above his head, ready to put you back in your place for however long the beating lasted (it would likely only be a few seconds of silence before another regrettable remark fell from your lips). You raised your hand to protect yourself, turning toward the ground to shield your face from his upcoming blow and nearly cowering with panic.

Alex, ironically, came to your rescue, snatching the cane and stopping its descent as he caught Burgess' attention. "It's alright, father!"

"Get away from me," Burgess insisted, twisting out of his grip. "If you were any kind of son to me–" He swung his cane at the boy, but he simply dodged it. They fought for a moment as Alex scrambled not to get hid with the hard stick before he caught it again with another firm grip. "If Randall were alive today–"

"If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do."

Burgess huffed curtly, forced Alex away from him and not anticipating his refute. He stumbled back, losing balance as he was pushed away suddenly. His head smacked against the glass quite loudly, causing you to flinch slightly at the sound, and he grunted. He brought a hand back to see the blood smeared on his fingers. He slumped to the ground barely a distance from you.

You stared down at him, solemn and unfeeling as your cold gaze glared into his fading one. His eyes were wavering between the two of you, immortal beings watching a miserable mortal life come to an end. He shook his head, wasting his last remnants of life on resentment and contempt. "You're never getting out of there," he said, eyes drifting. "Never."

His gaze stuck on you as you watched him fade, watched the life drain from his eyes and become a void of death and emptiness. You leaned forward, your lips curled in a scowl as you stared at his face that has more feeling in death than it ever did in life. Under your breath, leaking venom and bitter toxins, you spoke to his corpse.

"This is my desire."

You spared him one last glance before disregarding him forever. Alex backed away from his father's body, disoriented and dazed as the shock sunk in and muddled his mind. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and looked around with confused eyes. Alex's gaze found Dream's, and something happened.

Dream stood in his glass dome. His lean body stretched tall as he reached out toward the glass. The boy's eyes focused on him, beholding his power with a special kind of reverence. He reached out for him.

The guards, who had flocked to Burgess, were nervous as they watched the scene play out. "Don't do it, sir," he begged, ignoring the glare you shot at his interference. "He'll kill us." Alex didn't listen, lost in Dream's will as he continued to allow himself to be drawn by his glory.

"What would your father say?"

And, just like that, Alex stopped. Reality came crashing down on him all in one moment as he returned his hand to his side. He backed away from the glass with a deep frown embedded into his face. "I need to think."

Alex swiftly turned and left. You dropped your head in a sigh, but felt a weight lift from your shoulders at the realization that this tyrant of a man was gone. But you would have to suffer with the remnants he left behind in a son conditioned to obey, one conditioned to fear.

You shared a long glance with Dream before monotony returned to you once more.

"Oh, my God."

The voices roused you from your shallow rest as you slowly sat up to see who had just entered the cellar. You rubbed at your eyes and blinked a couple of times as you took a breath in, watching as Alex and a boy walk in, his guests looking between you and Dream with wide eyes and a face a mix of terror and wonder. "Alex?" he muttered, unbelieving as his eyes saw.

"Hello," Alex greeted the both of you instead. "This is my friend, Paul." You looked him up and down, taking in the sight of him and deciding whether or not you would waste your breath. Alex turned. "Paul, these are our unwilling guests."

He stared, unbelieving as he took in the sight of you. You tilted your head at him when his gaze fell on you, furrowing your brows as you looked him up and down. When Alex spoke again, it was to you and Dream again with another plea for peace.

"Look, we've been talking, Paul and I, and if I let you out, will you promise not to harm us?" he asked. His insistence had faded slightly, past attempts returning to his mind as he knew that you still would not budge on your position. "If you could just speak to us," he urged.

You both stared blankly at him, not giving even the slightest hint of aid. The last sparks of Alex's hope flickered behind his eyes as he shook his head. "You see, I told you."

Paul refused to give up so easily. "I'm telling you, you have to keep trying." He drew straws in his attempt to persuade Alex to persuade you. He motioned toward you, "Or claim your desire to set them free."

You raised a brow, turning your head at his suggestion. Alex was quick to shake his head, "No, they'll hurt us."

Paul kept trying. "Show them that they can trust you. Show them that you mean it."

Alex's eyes turned back to the both of you once more. That same gleam of hopefulness fills his gaze again as he steps forward. "I do mean it," he promised. "Just promise that you won't harm me or Paul, and I will let you out."

And even as his plea rang through the air with a special kind of desperation, you didn't give him what he wanted. You did not give him what he desired. So Alex gave up, head hung low and defeated as he muttered his sad response to Paul. He finally accepts it, turning to leave with Alex.

You licked your bottom lip. "Paul." He turned around quickly at the sound of your voice, eyes wide as he heard you for the first time. You gave him a smile, small and gentle. "I want to ask you a question."

He glanced between you and Alex before clearing his throat and responding with the nod of his head. "Um...yes?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice just above a whisper. "What is it you desire most in this world?"

He was caught off guard by your question, raising a hand to the back of his neck. He scratched it before shrugging limply. "I... I don't know."

"Come now," you chuckled. "There must be something?" When he didn't answer you, you began listing off suggestions. "Wealth? Fame?" You noticed his eyes shift between you and Alex again. "Love?" You put special emphasis on the word. "You only need to wish it, and I will give it...as an exchange for our freedom, of course."

Paul sighed, stepping back again with the shake of his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't."

Paul turned his back on you. Your gaze found Alex again, a knowing look piercing his gaze as the word formed in your mouth but did not articulate into the space between you. "Selfish."

Alex looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet before he shook the word off his shoulders. "Come on, Paul," he breathed. "Let's go. This was useless."

And they both left you alone to swap out one captor for another.

"I miss this place." You looked around the little apartment, dark tones and paintings depicting scenes of passion or agony. Deep reds accented the rooms of the small home, rugs and curtains and trims on furniture. You sat on the plush couch in the tiny living room, reaching for the mug on the coffee table with an apple painted on it. You turned it in your hands, smiling at it as you showed it to Dream. "I love symbolism," you confessed, like it was some naughty secret you were telling him to keep quiet.

"Your home?" he wondered, glancing around the overall tidy apartment and ignoring the bra hanging from a lamp shade. You noticed it and threw it under the couch with an off-handed request for him to forget he saw it—not out of embarrassment, but more out of consideration for his comfort level.

You shrugged a shoulder at his question, "Away from home." You pat the spot beside you to offer him a seat, giving him a teasing smile. "Don't worry, everything's clean." You shoot him a playful look, "For now." And then you winked.

He knew it was a joke, it was just in your nature, but he didn't laugh. You didn't seem very phased by his lack of amusement. You had been trapped with him long enough to separate his stoic amusement from his stoic boredom or disappointment.

He sat next to you, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He was quiet, as usual, looking around the room with curiosity to see what it was you used to live like.

You watched him look around, examining the slight shifts in his face at the information he was taking in with each little detail your brain managed to rebuild in your little illusion. "Do you miss the Dreaming?" you asked after a while, tilting your head.

He glances at you, but his gaze did not stick. "Constantly," he responded after a long break of silence. He removed his hands from his pockets to fidget with his long, slender fingers. His brows furrowed in deep concentration. "This is the closest I get."

You fell silent, rubbing your hands together before sinking further into the couch and turning your body to see him clearer. "What was it like?"

You saw the slightest tilt of his lip into a smile. "The stars were everywhere, countless," his eyes gleamed with remembrance. "So many planets and moons. The most precious of flowers, the tallest of trees. The rivers sang, and the oceans were mighty. Life was everywhere." His words were so poetic, distant liberation shining in his gaze as he remembered the feeling of the Dreaming's sun on his skin, the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, the joy of the dreams that resided in his realm.

You sighed, sitting back and staring at the lamp casting a golden glow over the room. "It sounds perfect," you muttered, imagining the paradise he'd explained to you.

You looked at him again, your gazes lingering for too long before you took in the room again. You shook your head quickly and slid off of the couch so you were sitting on the floor, your arms propped up on your knees and your face in your hands. "This is dangerous."

Dream looked around, watching the warmth and intimacy of the room disappear into the cold, sterile echo of the cellar they had spent decades trapped in. You were chained again, wearing the same shabby dress and covered in your scars once more. Dream's prison is gone, leaving the room empty of everything but you and your shackles.

You sat on the cold floor, tugging at the metal bolted into the floor. "All this reminiscing," you shook your head and faced Dream again, "we can't keep doing it."

Dream walked over to you, his steps slow. He knelt in front of you, reaching for your hands. He took them, tracing his thumbs over the back of your palms. He reached down, his fingertips brushing the searing chains. They clattered to the floor, and he took your hands to slowly stand with you again.

He held your eye contact until you were turning away from him again. "I keep wasting my dreams with this illusion of freedom, instead of just accepting the reality of things."

Your eyes found the wall, and Dream quickly realized that the door that served as the only exit was gone. Come to think of it, Dream hadn't seen a door in the wall or windows behind the curtains of your apartment living room before.

"We're never getting out of here."

Dream's frown deepened. "There is always hope," he tried.

"Not now there isn't," you shook your head. "It's just you and me. Alone and powerless."

Dream stood in front of you, invading your space as he towered over you, his chest nearly touching you. His eyes stared at you. From so close, you can see how magnificent they really are in the light of dreams. A thousand galaxies, infinite stars glittering with the hope he tried to give to you.

"We are not alone," he said. He was so close, you could feel his words on your cheeks.

You watched him closely, taking in his endless beauty. Your lips parted, and you held your breath. You stepped forward, raising a hand to his chest.

Dream stepped back, ducking his head almost bashfully, like a scolded child. He was soft when he spoke again, you thought he might stutter. "I only meant that–"

You stepped forward again, throwing your arms around his neck and just staying there. Your face buried in the crook of his neck as you relaxed against him, sighing gently and holding him tight.

Dream stood there, arms awkwardly at his sides and eyes wide with shock. It took him a long time to catch up, to get over his surprise and realize what this was. A hug. You were hugging him, seeking comfort in an embrace meant only for him. "I know what you meant."

Slowly, but surely, he raised his arms to hug you back, holding you close and leaning into your comfort. He sighed, pulling away after too long and risking a curled finger under your chin. "We will get out," he promised, putting his hand back down by his side. "Have hope, little apple."

You smiled slyly at him, your teasing remarks returning a little with a gentle laugh. "You got a nickname for me now, dreamer?"

He hummed, and you could see the traces of a smile on his lips. You felt your heart swell in your chest. You could have sworn you saw Dream's eyes flicker to your lips. You could have sworn you saw his hand raise to your cheek. You could have sworn you saw him lean in close...

Alex chose to remain ignorant. Every day, he and Paul came down to bargain their safety for your freedom. Every day, they were rejected and sent away until the day came where your revenge would rain down on them all.

The guards were not kind. Hardened by unethical work, they ignored Alex's orders not to hurt you. When he wasn't looking, when he turned his back and closed his eyes, they would be there with a new desire of their own to pull from your skin.

The years passed and the torture continued with you being scarred by greedy men and Dream having to watch, powerless to help. Years turned to decades and decades turned to a century.

Alex got older, and as time passed, he still had not sired an heir to ensure you stayed locked up. With no Burgess to stay in charge, the guards would likely discuss amongst themselves who would take on the role. Who would continue to torture in the name of fame and wealth and power. That made you restless, worried for what was to come when ignorance was returned to cruelty.

You feared how much the future could become.

"I could have asked you for wealth, like my father did."

Your attention was caught again by the voice of Alex Burgess, elderly and confined to a wheelchair. He looked tired, exhausted by life's hardships. Most of which consisted of a silent god and a snarky demon (although, you were not technically a demon) trapped in his basement.

"But all I wanted was to be free of you," he said, the dejection clear in his tired voice. "Surely, you want that, too."

Paul placed a hand on his shoulder, the golden ring on his finger flashing slightly. His worry translated through his words as he shook his head. "Alex, darling, please."

There was a silence as Alex acknowledged his husband's words with a gentle nod. "Take me upstairs, Paul." He sighed and turned toward you and Dream again, "I won't be coming down here again."

It was a farewell, your last chance to claim his offer before you never saw him again and were stuck to be tossed over to your next captor. Paul wheeled Alex's chair away, turning it as it creaked slightly. Then he paused in the middle of a step as he turned to look at the floor. You followed his gaze to where the golden seal surrounding Dream's cage was now broken.

Your lips parted as the sight brings a swell of hope to you. It was happening. It was really happening. You would be free as Paul's gaze lifted again to meet Dream's.

It was purely an accident, breaking the seal. But upon that accident, Paul figured that it was one last deed in service to something much more powerful than him. Laying an issue to rest instead of letting it fester into something terrible that the world could never imagine.

He walked away, leaving the two of you alone for the last time. You looked at Dream, your eyes meeting as a promise he made to you decades ago echoed in your mind.

"What is it you desire?"

"Our freedom. And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

Dream nodded to you in acknowledgement of your new opportunity for freedom. It was so close, you could taste it as the doors were closed with a loud clunking noise. You could hear the guards beginning to chatter about something, little remarks about "draculas" and "demons". You almost rolled your eyes. Why did everyone assume you were a demon?

But you were preoccupied with Dream. He shifted his body, adjusting himself so that he was leaning against the glass, crouched down like he was hunting something. His eyes dangerously trained on the guards, who remained entirely unaware of the threat that had begun to stalk them. You watched as one of the guards yawned, being taken by sleep under the dark influence of Dream's power while the other droned on about a vacation.

Trapped in vivid hallucination, the guard stood to his feet with his gun in his hands and approached swiftly. He aimed it at the glass and shot, a look of complete terror grasping his features as the other rushed toward him. You turned and shielded yourself uselessly from the fire, though you were never touched by the bullets.

As soon as the glass shattered, Dream was free and a blinding light burst into the air. Wind raged and whistled as Dream's power dominated the space between them. He ignored the shouts of the guards as he climbed out of his prison, tall and stalking.

Dream, without breaking the gazes of the guards, knelt down and took your shackles in his hands. They simply clattered to the floor, as though they were nothing, and he set you free. You could have cried! Finally being able to rub away the cold bite of the metal that had been searing into your skin for a century. Your wrists were bruised, the nastiest of colors left behind due to years of captivity. You almost could not see the apple on your wrist, discolored and discernible.

But you were free. Your power had returned. You could claim your own desires.

Dream dealt with the guards, knocking them unconscious with a fistful of sand. With wind still whistling in the air, Dream turned to you, his face fallen in solemnity. "The boy is mine," he demanded, and you were in no position to disagree.

You smiled at him and gave him a simple nod. "All yours."

Dream's gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he allowed himself to be taken by the blinding power source that had been a portal. The blaring lights dismissed and left you in the cold cellar once again. But instead of being chained to the floor, you were the one chaining them up, confining every guard in the manor to this room and rendering them useless to stop you with the whisper of a command and a kiss to your wrist.

As you looked over them all, you could not help the sense of pride swelling in your chest. It felt good to be the most powerful being in the room again (or at least having power enough to be able to say so). Most of them looked around, dazed and confused to figure out where they were and how they got there. You walked toward the two sleeping guards, the ones knocked out by Dream, and slapped each of their cheeks to wake them.

They shook their heads, coming to before they finally saw you standing in front of them. "What the...?" the man asked, brows furrowed in confusion before a look of fear flashed behind his face. You smiled at the influence you were seeing in his eyes.

You backed away from him, looking over everyone staring nervously at you. "What are you going to do?" one brave soul finally asked you, voice trembling.

You thought about what you were going to say carefully before the words left your mouth. "Desires are dangerous things, you know," you began. "It's so interesting how men forget that your greatest desires are just reflections of your greatest fears."

"So?" She was the current guard's partner, the one who'd tried to stop him from freeing Morpheus. Your talk of "men" and their desires made her question whether or not she was even supposed to be there, you supposed.

"So," you exaggerated, "I know the deepest, darkest desires that lay in your hearts, and the hearts of all those that pierced my skin to obtain their selfish wants." You smacked your hand against your forearm to accentuate your point. You sighed, "You see, I personally believe in an eye for an eye policy, but that would take far too long, and I'd rather be anywhere but here. So instead..." Your expression shifted, turning into something much darker and much more dangerous than anywhere could have ever imagined seeing on you. They were used to your snark and sarcasm, not this looming threat that could turn their lives into waking nightmares. That was what they feared of the trapped dream in the basement. But you could be just as worse, it seemed.

Your voice was low, your face fallen in malice and ill-contempt. "To every person who forcefully claimed a wish from me, I lay upon you the curse of a plague made of the very things you fear worse above all else in this world...for as long as Death has planned of the rest of your miserable lives."

One of the staff shook his head and stuttered out the words he tried to say to you, frantic and terrified of your wrath, which was very clear to him as you cursed them. "You can't do this," he pleaded meekly.

You turned to him quickly, your eyes wild and your lips curled in a crazed smile. "But, you see, I can." You brought your wrist to your face and pressed your lips to the bruised apple on your skin. It flared with warmth, its color seeping into a dark red. "Because this is my desire."

Nearly everyone in the room slipped into unconsciousness as your power took its first hold of them. There were only a few of the staff left awake, those who had not committed a crime against you and you had deemed innocent enough to leave be. They stared at you in frantic worry as you simply flashed them a smile and let them go unharmed and uncursed, disappearing like a flickering flame.

It was late. The night had taken hold of this part of the Earth, and there was a small commotion upstairs. Upon finding yourself in the doorway of a room, you leaned against the frame and peered into the room. Alex lay in a bed, twitching and flinching as visions flashed behind his eyes, terrible nightmares cursed to him by Dream as punishment for all the crimes he'd committed during your captivity.

Paul's head was ducked as he clutched Alex's hand, sorrow filled him at the state of his husband. You merely watched, face fallen this time in the same solemnity that Dream had casted to you before he left. Paul stood after a moment, turning around to leave the room for something before stopping short at the sight of you.

Then he stepped forward with a pleading face. "Can you help him, please?"

You turned your gaze toward Alex, still struggling in his sleep, and then back at Paul, unphased and uncaring. Your cold expression pierced his soul and made him shiver. "I probably could," you said, filling him with a false hope that you quickly crush beneath your heel. "But I won't."

He fell to his knees as you pushed yourself off the door frame to stand up straight. He clasped his hands together, shaking his head as his eyes continued to pour tears down his cheeks. "After what I did for you?" he shook his head, unbelieving. "I set you free."

You let silence linger for a moment. "But not soon enough."

"How could you...?"

"Paul," you silenced him, your voice raised a little louder as you spoke. A shudder rushed through him at your tone, and he shrunk into himself. "I was trapped there. For decades, for a century. I was chained in that cellar with no one but a silent cellmate and guards who hurt me to get what they wanted. You were innocent, until you weren't. So, Paul, freer or not, I must have my revenge on the ones who hurt me. I will not interfere with Dream's punishment, but I can take my vengeance through you. And that is exactly what I'm going to do."

He trembled as a silent cry shuddered through him. "What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?"

You shook your head, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I won't beat you. I won't cut you the way they cut me. I won't shoot you the way they shot me," you told him, tucking your finger under his chin to make him look at you. "But I will claim the desire that is rightfully mine without Alex to claim it for himself."

You dropped your hand from his face and sighed. "For a century, Dream of the Endless was trapped in that cellar with me. For years, he had to watch me bleed without being able to lift a finger to help me." You shook your head, "I won't make you bleed, but I will make you watch as Alex suffers in his slumber for the rest of his life, and there will be nothing you can do about it. You cannot leave this room, you cannot calm his mind. You're helpless, he's hopeless. And it will be like that until Death comes to take whoever is first to perish."

Paul shook his head, wiping at his face to be rid of the tears falling from his eyes and onto his cheeks. "Please. I didn't do anything."

You shook your head gently. "No, you didn't. But he did, and he will know." You raised your wrist once more, whispering your words into the space between you as you sealed your promise with a kiss to your apple. "Because this. Is. My...Desire."

And when Paul blinked, you were gone.

It felt like forever since you laid eyes on Dream again. After you parted ways in the cellar, you suspected he had been quite busy repairing his realm and fixing the patches that have risen within humanity. His absence was felt.

But it seemed like yours was not.

You returned to the Threshold after you were freed. Nothing had changed, the sameness was unnerving. A century gone, and a few of the Malum welcomed you back warmly, some were indifferent, and others just could not have given less of a shit that you were gone. When you went to Desire, they greeted you with a smile and good wishes before you were off again. You thought they wanted to show more affection, to prove they cared about what happened to their Malum, but they just didn't want to risk losing their edge.

You understood, it was how all the Malum were. One of the most basic desires in the hearts of humans was love, and the closest most of them ever got to it was sex. You were all born of those desires, and your Endless was a reflection of them, so it was natural for affection to be...minimal in cases of care and concern for the type of relationship between your ruler and their servants.

So you left. You left the Threshold, and you returned to the human world to explore a century of development. It did not take long for you to settle in, despite how different everything had become, more difficult. But you were free. Out of that cellar and out of that life, ready to take on what else the world had to offer you, and that seemed to be a lot.

With your power back, your scars had begun to fade a little more. Some small ones disappeared, but most were whispers of cuts and healed wounds that were hardly discernible from normal flesh. You were back to granting desires, more wary and cautious of every person you granted them to.

It was nice to be back.

After a long day, you were back in your new home. Dark tones and red accents decorated this just as much as the last, but the intimacy was of a different nature. Stepping into the living room with a hot mug in your hands, you let the cool air of night seep into the room through your slightly ajar windows.

You felt the shift in the air and smiled, turning around to see your visitor in the night. "Dreamer," you smiled, sighing gently at the sight of the Endless standing in your living room. His coat was longer, a dark cloak which hung off his shoulder and cast stars in the underside of its trim. You only saw them for a moment before they disappeared. You raised a brow at him, smirking as you spoke into your mug, "Been busy?"

"Quite," he responded, almost amused. His face was not as stern as you had grown used to, much more at ease as he cast his gaze upon you. "How have you been keeping, little apple."

You smiled at the nickname, shrugging your shoulders and moving to sit on the couch in the living room. "I'm wonderful," you told him. "There's fresh air and strong drinks and the smell of sweet, sweet freedom in every day."

He looked around your home as he listened, taking in the comfort and feeling it seep into his body. "I saw how you punished the guards," he said. "Clever. Even in their dreams, they are plagued by nightmares."

You smirked at his subtle praise, chuckling gently. "Thank you. I took a page out of your book."

The corner of his lip turned up in a small smile, so slight, you would miss it if you weren't paying attention. You couldn't help your happy grin at the way he smiled at you. "Now, isn't that a sight?" you muttered.

Dream moved to sit beside you, a little too close as your thighs touched just a bit. "Have you returned to the Threshold since you got out?"

You paused for a moment at the mention of Desire's realm before nodding gently, taking another sip from your cup. "Once. Right after," you hesitated as you thought about it. "It didn't feel the same."

He did not verbally respond, merely nodding his head in a silent agreement as he turned his gaze away. He sighed gently, the sound was almost inaudible. You turned to him with another teasing smirk, "Quite the talker, aren't you?"

There it was again, that little smile that curled the end of his lips. You sighed gently, letting the quiet linger for a while as you both stared again for too long. "Would you like some tea?"

He shook his head, "No, thank you."

"A snack? Perhaps, an apple?" You wiggled your brows at the suggestion, laughing gently when he refused your offer with a chuckle of his own.

"Perhaps not."

You set your mug down on the coffee table and make your way to the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a small bowl on the counter and beginning to slice it up after taking a long sniff of its skin. Your knife cut through the apple with ease as you spoke up again. "So why have you come, Morpheus?"

He breathed out a silent chuckle. He didn't think you knew that name, you had always referred to him as "Dream". But you were just being you, he supposed. He stood from the couch and made his way to join you in the kitchen. "I wanted to see you," he stated blatantly.

You looked up at him and shook your head, laughing gently. "You watched me for a hundred years. You want to see more?" Dream didn't laugh. In fact, his face fell slightly as he looked away from your face. You mentally scolded yourself for your attempt at humor. "Bad joke," you muttered, a silent apology.

He turned his gaze to you again, watching you slice your apple as his eyes caught sight of the scars you thought were mostly unnoticeable. There were plenty of slits, but most of them had gone by now. The tank top you wore offered a perfect view of the bullet scar on your right shoulder and the graze on your left. They were more obvious than the mostly-healed cuts. The bruises around your wrists were mostly gone, too. They were slightly discolored, but you would not notice them unless you were paying far too much time and attention to them.

You looked down to where his gaze had traveled, realizing what he was staring at. "They've healed well," you said. "Some of the scars have gone away without my chains."

Dream reached out, grabbing your hand gently and holding onto it as he stared regretfully, punishing himself all over again for something out of his control. "I'm sorry for what they did to you." His voice was so soft, full of a special kind of sorrow.

You turned to him, "You have no reason to apologize. There was nothing you could do."

He didn't argue with you. He just inspected your scars a little more before bringing his gaze back up to yours. "I could take the scars away," he said after a moment, offering a way to help even after all of this time.

You looked down at them, your eyes glazing over the bullet scars with the shake of your head. "No. I think I'll keep them," you said, looking up at him again with the shrug of your shoulders. "The ones that heal with heal, but..."

"But?" He raised a brow.

You sighed. "I got these scars with you. They mean something to me. I don't want to let it all go."

He fell silent, processing your answer before looking back down at your arms. He let go of your hands, and spoke slowly. "You gave Paul my curse."

You nodded once. "I did."

"Why?"

You stared at Dream, bringing your hand up to his cheek to brush his skin for a moment before pulling away. "You watched them abuse me. You didn't have to look, but you did every time so I never felt alone...but I know that it hurt you, too. I didn't want you to be alone," you confessed. "Alex will share my pain while he endures your punishment. He will have to continue on knowing that the one he cares about most will have to watch him suffer every minute of every day, and there's nothing he can do to change it."

Dream blinked, thinking about your response. "The one he cares about most..." he echoed, making your cheeks heat under the revelation of his words but discarding it.

"I do care about you, Dream," you said. "With all that time, how could I not?" Silence lingered between you, heavy in the air but in a way that was comfortable, rather than unnerving as you did that thing where you both just stared at each other for far too long. You licked your lips, "I've never cared about anything the way I care about you. You were there when I was alone. Whether you wanted to be or not, you were there."

He reached out and grabbed your arm, supporting the back of your elbow to just feel your skin. "I'm glad I was there with you."

Your lips twitched in a small smile. You found yourself confessing these words without meaning to, "I lied a little earlier. I'm not wonderful." He tilted his head. "Truth is, freedom is lonely without someone to share it with."

Dream raised his hand from your elbow to your cheek, cupping your face in his hand and bringing you closer to him as he put aside all of his inhibitions in favor of just doing what he wanted to. He kissed you, his lips brushing your and inviting you in a gentle embrace that filled your soul and made your chest swell with affection for him.

You leaned into him, breathing a sigh against his lips as you stepped closer into his space. His hand shifted down to your waist, holding you close to him as you brought your hands to cup the sides of his neck. He pulled away from your lips to lean into your touch, his eyes still closed for a moment before he opened them to take in the sight of you, so close and so entirely beautiful.

He whispered to you, his breath fanning gently over your face. "I want to be your freedom," he confessed, taking your hand and raising your wrist to his lips before setting a gentle kiss to the apple. He stroked your skin, "This is my desire."

You smiled at him, bringing your own wrist to mirror his actions. "Then let it be so." You leaned forward and kissed his lips again as he breathed freedom into your soul.

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n1kolaiz · 4 years ago

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"Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death. Death is endlessly consumed by men in cities and in literature. It is a singular event in one's life that none may reverse. That is what I desire."

Character Analysis: Dazai Osamu

Age: 22 || Ability: No Longer Human

I've done a lot of research concerning Dazai's character because of how complex he'd initially appeared to me. It is still a question as to what his personality type is; some say he's an ENTP while others argue that he's an INTJ, and his enneagram would most likely be 7w8 (The Realist), but that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on.

According to general databases and fan analyses, his temperament is dominantly melancholic. A person's temperament is basically how they react to and live in this world. For those of you not interested in such details, don't worry, I'll get to my point.

The melancholic behaviour is characterised by individualism, self-reliance, and reservation. People of the melancholic temperament are described as having been overcome with sorrow and depressive thoughts, which is beyond the feeling of "just being sad."

Nonetheless, they are generally calm beings, with a tendency to hide how they truly feel by keeping their composure, even in events that demand severe reaction otherwise. Other aspects of melancholic temperaments is that they are absorbed in the cruelty and tragedy of this world, and tend to get lost in their thoughts.

Sound familiar?

Dazai is seen to be as the comic relief of the adaptation, and he'd never fail to bring about a sense of lightheartedness to relieve the serious moments; we all know that for sure. Remember the time both him and Kunikida found Nobuko Sasaki in that godforsaken hospital, and how Kunikida asked him about his opinion on the current state of affairs?

But, despite having developed a calm and serene personality, Dazai's dark side was more apparent during the Dark Era. There was a type of intimidating and arrogant flair evident in his behaviour, or even on his face. It was the type of demeanour that came off cold and terrifying to the rather unlucky people he dealt with. In a moment's notice, they could literally die by his hands. And I believe most of them usually did. It was during this time, he was more brutal and vicious. He lacked remorse. Plus, Dazai's suicidal ideations were more dense during this Era, and his suicidal tendencies did not do anything to alleviate the depth of how dark his character was posed to be.

Side note: Unfortunately, people misunderstand this 'depressed' part of Dazai; they minimise his character so much to the point that people use only a single word to describe him: suicidal. He is, in fact, so much more than that. I'll elaborate more on that in a while.

"Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia? I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that… I would be able to find something—a reason to live."

Dazai's approach to life is that of an aimless soul, weary of the world's oppressions and exhausted from the concept of living itself. Nevertheless, what he said above about having an expectation made me realise something: he had a goal, which he wasn't that enthusiastic about achieving—seeking for a reason to carry on with life. So he joined the Mafia.

And there, he met Oda Sakunosuke.

Despite how resilient Dazai carried himself to be (especially during the Dark Era), this specific excerpt stands in direct opposition of how he effortlessly embodied all things daunting:

"With every step I take, I feel as though the earth has opened up into a bottomless pit as I fall endlessly. As Dazai pointed to his forehead and approached the muzzle, the look on his face – like that of a child about to burst into tears – had already been branded upon my eyes."

- quoted by Oda Sakunosuke, excerpt from Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era Light Novel.

When I read this, it sent my mind into a spiral of despair and confusion. It was so vague, yet it made so much sense. Dazai was desperate to escape from this life, but part of him seemed to live in conflict with his desire for death. I won't elaborate more on this, because this specific excerpt has personal meaning to me, as I'd expect it to have for others as well; so I wouldn't want to ruin anyone else's perception on it.

Back to my point: Odasaku was one of the only characters who managed to interpret the complexity of Dazai's mindset and was able to compartmentalise the specific details of his persona that made Dazai the way he was. Oda knew that Dazai wasn't just suicidal.

"For most things in life, it's harder to succeed than fail. Wouldn't you agree? That's why I should attempt suicide rather than commit it! Committing suicide is difficult, but it should be relatively easier to fail at attempting suicide!"

Others boasted about how he was just a suicidal maniac, and that was only because of how good Dazai was at concealing his own feelings whilst flamboyantly priding himself in new, risky techniques, which he sometimes elaborated on. But Oda, on the other hand, saw through his jokes, and empathised with his friend, never wanting to ever barge into his vulnerability without Dazai's permission, but still trying to be there for him.

"Listen. You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be ale to find a reson to live. You won't find it. You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

Notice how Odasaku recognised Dazai's despair, before Dazai even dared to acknowledge his very own emotions? That was why, at Oda's death, he took the initiative to uncover Dazai's bandaged eye to show him that there was no use in concealing his feelings anymore.

Odasaku's last words to Dazai was to "be on the side that saves people," for he was aware that even though Dazai didn't believe there was a clear distinction between good and evil, he thought that perhaps Dazai would find meaning in his life, even if it was just a little bit of purpose.

In Dead Apple, we briefly relive this moment, but I'll write more on that some other time.

And when Dazai joined the ADA, he loses that dark side to him. No, wait, let me rephrase that: he loses a part of that dark side to him. He eliminated the raw sense of bitterness against the world from his face, and instead, he is seen to be a little more passive, and a little more adaptive. No doubt, he still does explicitly state his desire to die, but his wishes are very specific, if you know what I mean.

And a few years later, his journey with Atsushi began.

Atsushi and Dazai's relationship is just one of a kind. I think it isn't a matter of whether Atsushi needed Dazai, or whether Dazai needed Atsushi. It's the fact that they both needed each other. It's the way they both worked hand in hand, and how they sustained each other in ways they were lacking.

The two were polar opposites, but they had a tender kind of warmth embedded in their protectiveness for each other. Atsushi was just as lost as Dazai, but somehow, they worked together just fine. It was like their duality was meant to be. It was the type of symbiotic relationship, where their care for each other was implied, but very deep.

Does this also sound familiar... perhaps, in relation to Dazai's friendship with Odasaku?

Side note: Oda and Atsushi have the same enneagrams, which is Type 2, 'The Helper.'

There is a sort of balance that is brought about by two opposites. Odasaku taught Dazai many things, and I believe Oda learned a lot about a man's life from the way Dazai lived out his life with the innate desire to die. Atsushi sought for the right to live, while Dazai searched for a reason to live; in addition, Dazai validated Atsushi's feelings, and Atsushi was able to acknowlegde the amount of pain Dazai was going through.

Despite how Dazai's perspectives and beliefs stood in contrast with those of Oda's and Atsushi's, a type of inseparable bond connected the man who no longer felt like he was human, to the people who was the most human.

No Longer Human in the Japanese romaji is 'Ningen Shikkaku.' Ningen means "human," and Shikkaku means "disqualified." The late author, Dazai Osamu, wrote the book No Longer Human. He had gone through the rough throes of trauma and wrote this book as a semi-autobiography, whose plot was centred around a man who faked happiness, for he was tainted by the truth that everyone around him was fake themselves. He turned his life into a joke in order to protect himself from the delusions of this world.

This brings us back to the melancholic temperament, where a person was too deeply immersed in the sad truths of reality and the world itself.

And that's what Dazai's character and ability is based on: being disqualified as a human being, because he wasn't well-versed with what being human was actually like. The fabrications of being human sprung up all around him, but he wasn't willing to be fooled by how ingenuine the world truly was.

“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind—of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.”

- excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

People who don't feel human emotions or don't react to circumstances the way humans do have a variety of ways of explaining how they feel inhuman. They are highly intelligent, which separates them from the average class of humankind, since they've analysed and untangled the truths of life in order to attain understanding, which they value above all else. But, this understanding of the world and its painful truths results in a deep kind of sorrow, which only a few people can seem to empathise with in order to help them out with that burden.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

-excerpt from Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

Don't you think that this deep sorrow that lies in the heart of the intelligent, makes them the most human of all? They're too human, to the point where they don't feel human. Perhaps, it is a type of defence mechanism, where the mind numbs the heart from feeling normal human emotion, because logically breaking down such concepts is easier than feeling them. But it comes at a price. The heart is willing to recklessly comprehend and fathom any sort of emotion, including pain in its true form, but the mind bears more pain in understanding such concepts because it seeks to decipher every single agonising detail of how complex human emotions are. The mind thinks, the heart feels. There is a clear distinguishing factor between the two. Whether feeling hurts more than thinking, or thinking hurts more than feeling, or whether both these processes work hand-in-hand to make up the reality of life itself, is up for an individual to decide.

Only a few people can seem to empathise with intelligent people who are deeply sad at heart, in order to help them out. As for Dazai, it was Atsushi and Oda. They never took away the pain, but they made him grow from it; it worked vice versa, too.

Of course, there are less tedious and more appealing aspects to the concept of Dazai's intelligence. Dazai was seen as a threat to his enemies because of how manipulation and his keen skill of deduction made up how sharp his mind was. Besides, no one could commit '138 murders, 312 cases of extortion, and 625 cases of fraud, along with various and sundry other crimes,' without having a certain level of intelligence, right?

Dazai had the moral alignment of 'chaotic neutral.' He was more focused on using his intellect to achieve the desired end results of a predicament, and he wasn't afraid to use the wrong means. A famous example was when he deflated the airbags of Ango Sakaguchi's car in order to gain the assured protection of Kyouka Izumi.

Justice is a weapon. It can be used to cause harm, but it cannot protect or save others.

Another example was when he blew up Chuuya Nakahara's car.

Just kidding. That was just a simple pastime (；・∀ ・)

His moral alignment points to what Oda said about him: the part where he mentioned that Dazai didn't really see any difference between good and evil. As long as his ends were achieved, especially if it were in the benefit of his fellow colleagues, he wasn't afraid to exploit, threaten, or endanger others' wellbeing. Because, at the end of the day, the end result triumphed the morally bad methods utilised to achieve it, correct? He always had a reason for his motives and actions, even if those actions were evil and inexcusable.

(eg. action: the psychological abuse he bestowed upon Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

motive: to enable him to hone his own ability favourably and to curb his arrogance)

But the consequences of one's actions will always catch up with a person, no matter what heights they've achieved.

Okay, we're reaching the end of my rambling very soon, I promise.

“If I had to go, I’d like to go out just as beautifully.”

“I’d prefer you don’t go.”

This part of the post is highly inspired by iwachuwu!!

An important factor of Dazai's development is highlighted BSD Wan's episode 10:

I'd like to appreciate that this scene focuses on how much Dazai actually means to Atsushi. When Atsushi responds with "I'd prefer you don't go," he said it lightheartedly for he thought Dazai was joking. But he wasn't. And once Atsushi absorbed the fact that Dazai meant what he said, he was overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of ever losing Dazai. Dazai, on the other hand, had a sense of longing on his expression. There was that look of pure desperation on his face. He was so desperate, yet he knew he couldn't act on his desperation due to a promise he'd made to someone dear to him. But keep in mind, Dazai is unpredictable, so we can never be sure of what's going on in that headspace of his.

Nevertheless, this time, Atsushi recognised Dazai's suffering, as no one usually cared to do, and Dazai didn't put in any effort to hide how he truly felt, as he habitually did. And this mutual emotional connection happened countless times during all the times Oda spent with Dazai as well.

To summarise,

Dazai's character had been carefully wired and patterned out in a way only a few would put in the effort to understand. Dazai was more than just suicidal; he was a being wandering from place to place with no specific aim. He was too smart for his own good. Dazai understood too well of how the world worked and deemed it void of any sort of hope.

Side note: Yes, the truth does come at a price, but it all comes down to how a person understands the truth. As for Dazai (both character and the author he was based off upon), well, it was quite tragic. But that's the way it is for some people, I suppose. But everyone has a different path to travel on, remember that.

His transition from working with the Port Mafia to the Armed Detective Agency was proof of how well-executed his character development was. It was two different personas morphed into what he is today: a womaniser with questionable morals a person who is still standing even after the rough refining process endowed upon him by the realities of this life.

However, he had people along the way come and teach him a thing or two, which perhaps made his life a little more interesting. Perhaps these people were passing clouds that hid the void out of sight for just a moment, and Dazai was always seen to be grasping on to these moments, and letting them go whenever it was time to let go.

His outlook on life makes his intellect look all the more intriguing. It shows that not only does his intelligence contribute to his own wit and shrewdness, but also the practical sense of realism that explains how tired he is of the concept of living because of the truths there are to bear.

However he's enduring the pain right now is by far the most bravest thing a person could commit themselves to doing. It takes courage, and it takes strength, but only a few would ever take the time to recognise such efforts.

Dazai has one of the most beautiful character developments, but I do hope that the development doesn't reach its end anytime soon.

fanart credits: @S7dOZPN3jWBB6cW on twitter

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.”

excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

#bsd #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs wan #bsd wan #bsd dazai osamu #bsd characters #literature analysis #literature #dazai osamu #bsd odasaku #bsd atsushi #bsd analysis #bsd atsushi nakajima #.ryley.speaks

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megaera-of-pigeon · 4 years ago

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Volume 2 but more chronolgically:

Nikki and Momo return from North where they’d wound up at the end of volume 1 along with Ace and Kimi. They go to Apple where they bid Kimi farewell because she has to stay and work there. Kimi gives Nikki a ring before they part.

Ace, Nikki, and Momo go to the Ash Institute of design where the 9 days war took place; they are looking for clues about King Sayet’s designs because they believe that Nidhogg posses something designed by him and they think that is a potential clue to the plot. They find a special mysterious symbol that is present in some of King Sayet’s works and believe it to be important. The principal of the school mentions Bobo had been there to look at King Sayet’s designs.

After their stop at the school, they decide to go to Bobo’s hometown because they miss her and are concerned :( They learn she and her mother are both missing from their home, but they find several letters Bobo had written to her mom that remained unopened, and deduced that Bobo didn’t know that her mom wasn’t there the whole time she was with Nikki.

They find a design in Bobo’s house that has the same special symbol that King Sayet had in his works! Using that, they discover information related to The Enlightened, and Ace narrates that story for them about the king who wanted peace, but when he was murdered placed the blood curse. They decide they need to get more information about this so they head to the Lilith capital to talk the the casket fairy that the royal family has since they guessed it would know the truth behind the legend, being old and associated with royalty and all. Conveniently, Royce sent someone to fetch them just as they were thinking of going to see the casket fairy.

Ace gets a carrier pigeon and has to peace out.

They meet up with Royce (it actually seems that our chapter picks up the scene literally the day after the Tree of Memories hell event lore with Royce and Neva takes place so refer to that for more on those two). The casket fairy gives them more information about the Enlightened and leads them to a chest that belonged to King Sayet. They open the chest via styling battle and see a phantom of King Sayet that gives them a cryptic directive to find “three paths” and unravel the poem in the rosebud

This is where our most recent chapter ends so I’m not sure how long until our actual storyline catches up with the rest of the volume. If we remeber back to chapter 1 of this volume, it picks up Nikki’s quest for King Sayet’s (three?) relics/designs that we learned about in chapter 6. I think ultimately the three items might be these objects?

I still don’t know where Ransa comes from. The Iron Rose had been disbanded by Elle for failing to get adaqute results on finding Sayet’s relics. Ransa is now with Nikki but they’re traveling to City Oren to talk with Elle because Ransa thinks that will help Nikki’s quest for these relics.

Nikki gets arrested by Elle when she goes to Pigeon to ask her questions because Elle is obsessed with finding the ‘final secret’ of the relics and the Rose casket and she believes Nikki has that answer.

Nikki is not aware of that answer.

Ace has to break them out of the palace and reveals that Elle is her sister. They put together some more clues: Sayet had been imprisoned in Pigeon Kingdom’s monastery for some time and is said to have seen the secret of the blood curse. He wrote a ‘poem’ on the wall that Nikki had seen, one they referenced a ‘destined girl’

Ace declares the Iron Rose reformed and makes Nikki their leader. Ransa, Debbie, and Mela show up and join her too. Now that that’s settled, Chloris is waiting to see Ace so they decide to go to the forest.

Nikki Momo and Mela were waiting on the edge of the forest away from their group for some reason. They get lured into the fog and wind up meeting a kindred child named Kyle. They were supposed to go find a girl named Rachel who guards the epic of the forest but Kyle tells them about this girl Elaine who also knows shit. They go to see Elaine. Elaine lets them look at her book the Memory of Time and they read some nonsensical stuff about the blood moon and a frigid dragon 🙃 not like a prophecy or anything.

Part of what they need to craft King Sayet’s relics is something called ‘elven star” and their clues plus Elaine’s book now point them to the stars’ reflection (or, lack thereof) in Lake Bovaly. Time to go to the lake of super happy fun times :)

Meanwhile, Ransa, Debbie, and Ace find Chloris and also realize Mela, Nikki and Momo are missing. They go talk to Rachel who says her sister Elaine had seen them—Elaine is in the Shadow City, and the only exit has been sealed for a thousand years

Nikki and Mela and Momo realize they’re actually in the Shadow city and are in trouble. But happily, Chloris lifts the thousand year old seal so they can get out (provided they change into a cute outfit first). The kindred are free and threaten to start a war again, o no wonder how that will end. Wonder if Chloris will have to mobilize the furries.

Chloris is very weak from lifting the seal and then Cesare biting him so the next morning they look for information to help him recover. Before they can do that they’re attacked and Chloris has to use the rest of his magic to protect them. He faints into his infamous coma. [unclear how he is walking around and fighting in the upcoming war for our hell event as they don’t solve this. Maybe he just needed a nap]

As Rachel and Elaine are trying to help Chloris, Nikki and the Iron rose put together more pieces about this elven star—Nikki believes it’s referring to Sayet’s technique of embedding memories into clothing. (My guess is Nikki will rediscover this technique and utilize it to create the Star Sea out of her memories of her friends in Miraland after the apocalypse event happens, which is where we get that cool SN video).

They can’t wake Chloris. Debbie suggests they go try to wake up the sleeping dwarf elder who is the oldest living being and probably knows how to help Chloris. Debbie also mentioned he’s connected with one of the relics and my guess is it’s that frangipani the dwarves gave to Nikki at the start of our last hell event lore. We didn’t get to read the story of what happened before our event started but that’s what I would predict.

Before they can get going Nikki is pulled into an illusion by Xiao zong who appears and starts on his whole “noooo Nikki don’t be the savior it’s so haaaard to take on the sins of the universe just give me to secrets instead” [at this point he makes Nikki ‘live’ the 9 days war via illusion which was the story we played during the Steps of Sorrow hell] Nikki won’t agree to give over the relic so they style battle. Nikki is getting her ass kicked.

The ring given to her by Kimi waaaaaay back at the beginning of this that was originally made by Sayet starts to glow and gives Nikki major stats boosts. Nikki defeats Xiao Zong. The world goes black. This is as far into Nikki’s story that we have accounted for, except perhaps in hell events that I didn’t realize took place after this point.

MAJOR TAKEAWAYS: The main goal for Nikki in this volume is to discover the secrets left behind by King Sayet through his designs/his three infamous ‘relics’. She also discovers a connection between Sayet’s work and the True King/The Enlightened, the originator of the blood curse, who happens to be running around in Bobo’s body right now. There is also some connection between Sayet’s work and the secrets of the elves/Kindred, although since our 1,000 benchmark of when shit last went down big time with them was *before* the curse of blood was placed, the connection likely has to do with Sayet utilizing elf magic or elf techniques to create his designs, while also connecting those designs to the secret of the blood curse. At different points it’s mentioned that Nikki is looking for his designs/relics, but then I believe she finds his design(s)? somewhere between where the two sections of the volume are blurry, or potentially in a hell event, and it’s a recipe she has to craft—which turns into looking for ingredients to craft said designs by the time she gets to v2ch1. The hope is by completing the cryptic quest left by Sayet, she will uncover the secrets of why North went to war, why Elle and the other participants in the 9 days war are losing their memory, and how to save Bobo from demonic possession. And while I personally adore a story that takes a nontraditional approach to its narration, boy is it ridiculous the amount of legwork required to actually get a handle on this timeline.

#long post #love Nikki lore #love Nikki volume 2 #if anyone is interested I do recommend reviewing the chapter stories because they’re actually more interesting now #that we’ve sort of got a better sense of how they’re all working!!!

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sciencespies · 4 years ago

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Giant Panda Cub Xiao Qi Ji's Best Moments—in Video

https://sciencespies.com/nature/giant-panda-cub-xiao-qi-jis-best-moments-in-video/

Giant Panda Cub Xiao Qi Ji's Best Moments—in Video

Smithsonian Voices National Zoo

January’s Best Giant Panda Moments—In Video

February 10th, 2021, 8:44AM / BY Laurie Thompson, Marty Dearie and Mariel Lally

January was a month full of firsts for giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji. The growing bear played with enrichment toys, took his first bites of sweet potato and bamboo, and had his first encounter with snow!

January was a month full of firsts for the Smithsonian’s National Zoo’s giant panda cub, Xiao Qi Ji. The growing bear played with his first enrichment toys, sampled his first sweet potato, took his first bite of bamboo, let fans into his habitat during his first livestream and experienced his first encounter with snow! Through each of these milestones, giant panda assistant curator Laurie Thompson and keepers Marty Dearie and Mariel Lally helped keep fans at home connected to our cub.

1. Tumbles and Toys (Jan. 11, 2021)

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Spending more time out of the den presents our cub with more opportunities to explore — and play! While we have presented Xiao Qi Ji with enrichment items before (most notably a pumpkin for Halloween) we have seen his interest in them grow exponentially since the beginning of January. These items encourage our giant pandas to keep physically active and mentally sharp; they also give the bears an opportunity to use their natural behaviors and choose how to spend their time.

With Xiao Qi Ji becoming more aware of and interested in his surroundings, keepers gave him two toys to investigate: a small red Jolly Egg (perfectly sized for a panda cub) and an empty PVC puzzle feeder. When Xiao Qi Ji is exploring the habitat and happens upon them, he usually stops for a few minutes to paw at them, pick them up and give them a nibble.

Some toys built for cubs are made from softer materials to help the animals grasp or chomp on them. Our team is very careful to watch Xiao Qi Ji as he plays during the day, since Mei Xiang’s more powerful teeth and jaws could damage the toys. Before we leave for the day, we remove these toys from the enclosure. Neither Mei Xiang nor Xiao Qi Ji seem to mind, content to eat or play with their bamboo overnight.

Personality-wise, Xiao Qi Ji seems to take after his mother. Like Mei Xiang, he is careful and cautious when it comes to exploring his environment. Now that he has mastered walking, he has started to practice his climbing skills. He is very deliberate about the paths he takes when traveling up or down the rockwork—more so than siblings Tai Shan, Bao Bao or Bei Bei were. He has taken a few tumbles here and there, but not nearly as many as his brothers and sister did at this age. Luckily, these bears are built to be robust and have thick, wooly fur to cushion their fall.

2. A Playful Panda Cub (Jan. 15, 2021)

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Giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji’s word of the week seems to be: play! Our 4.5-month-old cub’s interest in his surroundings really took off this week. He seems to explore the world with his mouth. He nibbles on everything from his paws and enrichment toys to mother Mei Xiang’s ears. While she is eating bamboo, we often see Xiao Qi Ji try to initiate a play session with a few not-so-ferocious bites. After Mei Xiang shifts outside in the morning, he often emerges from the den to “supervise” the keepers as they clean and get the habitat ready for Mei Xiang’s return.

Xiao Qi Ji received his first enrichment toys a few weeks ago and plays with them whenever they catch his attention. Those who have followed his siblings’ stories have asked when Xiao Qi Ji will get a rubber tub. With the adults, we often put leaf-eater biscuits or sensory enrichment (like bubbles) into these tubs. Cubs, though, seem to enjoy the exercise of climbing in and out or just sitting in this cub-sized space.

We weigh Xiao Qi Ji in one such tub. This week, he tipped the scales at 19.8 pounds (9.04 kilograms). He also receives tubs to play in during the day. He is not quite big enough to get out from underneath a tub if it were to overturn on top of him, so he only receives this enrichment during the day when we can keep an eye on him.

3. A Parcel of Sweet Potato (Jan. 22, 2021)

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Just like his mother, Mei Xiang, our giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji is curious yet cautious about the world around him. Yesterday — the day our cub turned five months old — we decided to introduce him to something new. Using a piece of bamboo shred as a spoon, we scraped some cooked sweet potato onto the end, then handed it over to Xiao Qi Ji. He grabbed the bamboo in his mouth, paused for a moment to take in the new taste, then lay back and licked the remainder. When we offered him more, he wouldn’t stop nibbling on it!

Xiao Qi Ji clearly enjoyed this new treat, which is not surprising since both Mei Xiang and his father, Tian Tian, are also fond of sweet potatoes. In addition to bamboo, nutrient-rich biscuits, carrots and apples, sweet potatoes are part of our pandas’ balanced diet.

Even though Xiao Qi Ji is beginning to sample some new foods, Mei Xiang’s milk is still his main source of nutrition. Around 1 year old, bamboo and other solid foods make up the majority of a panda’s diet. However, Xiao Qi Ji may nurse for comfort up to 18 months of age. He typically nurses at night and in the early morning. On Wednesday, Jan. 20, he weighed 20.79 pounds (9.45 kilograms), and continues to make good gains.

4. Livestream with Xiao Qi Ji (Jan. 27, 2021)

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This was a big week for our little panda cub! On Wednesday, Jan. 27, the giant panda team hosted our first-ever virtual encounter with Xiao Qi Ji. An important part of saving species is being able to tell their stories, and it was wonderful to see in the comments that many of you are as enamored with our adorable ambassador as we are. Your kind words and support for our bears and our team are much appreciated, especially as the Zoo remains closed and we continue to navigate this “new normal” brought about by the COVID-19 pandemic.

Xiao Qi Ji’s newest enrichment toy made an appearance in Wednesday’s broadcast. This week, we gave him a bright green ball with a small handle. Since it is made from a softer material than the adults’ toys, it’s perfect for him to chew on and sink his claws into. It is also scented like green apple, providing some olfactory enrichment, too!

During the livestream, this ball was at the center of a friendly game of tug-of-war between Xiao Qi Ji and keeper Marty Dearie. Don’t let Xiao Qi Ji’s small size fool you—he is remarkably strong! Just before Xiao Qi Ji stole everyone’s hearts — and wrestled his new green ball away from Marty — we placed him on a scale for his weekly weigh-in. Since his last measurement seven days prior, our 5-month-old cub gained another two pounds. This week, he weighed 22 pounds (10 kilograms).

5. A Bear’s First Taste of Bamboo (Jan. 29, 2021)

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This week, bamboo was on the menu. We saw Xiao Qi Ji munching on some of his mother Mei Xiang’s leftover leaves. As Xiao Qi Ji’s walking and climbing skills improve, we are starting to see him explore more and more of his habitat. Yesterday, he walked out of the den, through both indoor enclosures, and over to the opposite den. He sat up and pressed his face against the “take out window” where we routinely feed Mei Xiang. It was hilarious to see our curious cub waiting at the same window for us!

6. First Encounter With Snow (Jan. 31, 2021)

(Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute)

As snow blanketed the Washington, D.C. region, the Smithsonian’s National Zoo’s animals woke up to a winter wonderland. With this weather event came another significant milestone—giant panda cub Xiao Qi Ji’s first encounter with snow! Keepers say although he seemed nervous at first, eventually he worked up the courage to take a little nip at the fresh powder.

7. Mei Xiang and Tian Tian Enjoy the Snow (Jan. 31, 2021)

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Slides, somersaults and pure panda joy. Happy snow day from giant pandas Mei Xiang and Tian Tian!

8. Tian Tian Has a Ball (Feb. 2, 2021)

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Giant panda Tian Tian had a ball in the snow. Literally.

This story was featured in the February 2021 issue of National Zoo News. Behind these ‘aww’-inspiring moments, an expert team works tirelessly to provide our panda family with everything they need to thrive, ensuring a bright future for this species. If this cub sparks joy for you, please consider making a donation to the Zoo. On behalf of the animals we care for and protect: thank you! Please note that the Zoo is temporarily closed as a public health precaution to help prevent the spread of COVID-19.

#Nature

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mal-likes-biscuits · 5 years ago

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[This is a follow-up to this post on language in Sanctuary, because it is predominately canon-based and I wanted to be able to drop it in the series tags.]

Surprise: more thoughts on language in Sanctuary, specifically about the Angiris/High Heavens!

Below is an extended extrapolation on angelic language in the Diablo series.

Let’s talk about Angiris, the language that may or may not exist in the Diablo-universe, written other otherwise. First, let’s look at what we know canonically.

Canon Evidence for Angelic Language

There is some fairly hefty evidence that the High Heavens have their own written code, and additional evidence there is a spoken component to it.

Throughout the Diablo games, we see various weapons and armor inscribed with angelic runes. Malthael’s blades as depicted in the Book of Cain are some of these. Interestingly, you can see the same runes embedded in Malthael’s wings (also in the Book of Cain), which is fitting for an Archangel whose domain is knowledge (and consequently language in some form).

In terms of reading and writing, Selathiel is described as a scribe of the Angiris Council, and Talus’ar itself is described as an artefact that can be read.

In terms of spoken language, Tyrael’s ‘prayer’ in Diablo 2 before destroying the Worldstone could very well be angelic, though there is no obvious indication it is that and not another form of arcane incantation. This confusion is mostly due to there being no properly written guide describing the differences between Angelic and Demonic powers vs. the arcane powers the Nephalem wield. Otherwise, we hear the Archangels speak the player language in Diablo 2 and 3. Again, this could be due to player interpretation, because the Angiris communicate psychically with mortals (as occurs in the Sin War novels), or because it allows for ease of gameplay.

Angiris Language Headcanons

I assume the Angiris have both a written and ‘verbal’ language. Written, because they require a means to transcribe the records of Fate (outside of the crystals themselves) and other matters related to the High Heavens. That Itherael carries around a scroll as an artefact means the written word, even in variable form, is important (integral even) to Angelic existence. We learn in Act III (Diablo 3) that the Angiris literally believe anything that can be known can be written in Talus’ar. More on this later.

I also believe they have ‘verbal’ language, because the angels are shown to communicate through ‘spoken’ word to mortals, meaning they understand at least the fundamental concept of verbal communication. Additionally, we see them communicating with each other in some form both within the gameplay and during cutscenes -- and even when they are speaking to each other in the presence of mortals, mortals seemingly understand them, meaning the language is conveyed in an accessible way.

I believe the mortal ability to understand the Angiris when they are speaking is wholly due to their “speaking” being psychic in nature (again, depicted in Sin War). They do not convey words: they convey concepts. This also explains Tyrael’s lingering ability to share memories (aka: mental communication), and within the canon of my own series, explains Malthael’s ability to speak/read any language while mortal. The Angiris access language at a meta-level.

By extension, the Angiris can communicate with each other across distances. Possibly, this occurs via resonance or some other use of their wings. You could easily make a fantasy-genre argument for their resonance being the source of their psychic-communication powers, and that as beings of light (and the electromagnetic spectrum), they have some funky radio waves going on. This is delving further into the realm of pseudo-science than I like, but I think you can see my point.

Angelic Language and the Power of Creation

One could argue then that Angelic runes have power because something about them conveys concept regardless of language, and consequently, imbues an object or a location with a power that is pure. Not in the sense of Light versus Dark or angelic versus demonic, but in that their language taps into some key fabric of the universe, much in the same way the Arch or the Worldstone have the power of creation. As the Children of Anu, the Angiris carry some of Anu’s power in their form and in their language, which is in turn reflected in their beliefs about the written word (mentioned above).

The few angelic words we see are names for beings or objects. In Sin War, the gates of paradise are called “get-terac” by Inarius, suggesting it is a named manifestation of a concept (gate, protection, holy, etc.). @fishyfiash has pointed out that Talus’ar and Chalad’ar have the ‘ar’ suffix, and both artefacts have to do with scrying. Angels don’t seem to have verbs and adjectives and related elements of language, but they do have words for things that exist and serve.

In Diablo 2, Tyrael also claims that “[Izual] was called Izual by mortal men” (thanks @fishyfiash again for that find), which implies the names we know the angels and Archangels by are mortal approximations of their base concepts. This makes a lot of sense when you consider the potential meaning behind the names. If the names seem particularly on-point and mortal-y for the High Heavens, it’s because the angels were given those names by the Nephalem.

The Language of Fate

Languages do have their limits, when you consider the concepts they are seeking to convey. Angelic runes and language as we see them in the game are used for the purpose of communication--

--Except for the runes that are implied to be contained in Talus’ar. The Scroll of Fate itself can only be read by Itherael, and the fragments taken from the Arch used it in its deciphering can still only be utilized by Angels of Fate. They read a specific and different language from the rest of the Angiris. What does this ‘language’ show? It shows casual relationships. Space and time: the very things Itherael is able to manipulate in their fighting style.

Another example we see of space-time manipulation in the Diablo games is the Horadric waypoints. They were created by the Horadrim based upon knowledge granted to them by the Angiris, which was subsequently lost. Knowledge of the language of space-time, perhaps? And those particularly different runes Itherael and their kin can read?

I think the Fate angels were hiding a profoundly powerful ability that we only saw glimpses of in animations like Wrath or in their ability to foretell the future of Heaven and Hell. The Horadrim were seemingly close to unlocking some of this understanding with the Waypoints before their research was lost.

(Still, some wizards have learned to inscribe their staffs with peculiar runes, or whisper words of power just so, so that reality bends before them, and they appear away from where they once were. Who were their ancestors, I wonder? Fate angels, likely, who rebelled the same as other Aspects.)

What about the Burning Hells?

I imagine the Hells have their own variant on Angelic runes, as we see witches and other Hell-practitioners utilize spell circles to craft spells. (See: Leah’s unfortunate transformation.) This and the Angiris language would have trickled down from those who rebelled to their Nephalem children, and eventually, to the mortals we see in Diablo 3′s Sanctuary.

Real World Meta and Angelic Language

In the real world, angel-myth about Enochian language suggests that it comes from God’s language, and that it inherently contains the power of creation. We certainly see reflections of this, intentional or otherwise, in how angelic language is portrayed in Diablo.

Amor Aeternus and Archfall Specific Tidbits

For myself, I headcanon that the Horadrim’s knowledge of Waypoint travel comes from the Angels of Fate, and that only those with that background can craft them. I also subscribe to a slightly more extended headcanon that the Waypoints must be traversed with the use of a catalyst scroll (known as a Traveller’s Scroll within my stories), because magic has to pull its power from somewhere, even if it’s a pre-created spell. This helps to “de-power” the Waypoints from their convenience as a video game trope into something more plausible within a fantasy setting.

Regarding angelic language itself, how does it carry on without the High Heavens? Any mortal angel could certainly write it in written form. I suspect that the presence of three mortal Archangels in Tristram will ensure the runes will survive into the future, including their full translation and understanding.

The ‘spoken’ form of Angiris however is lost with the Arch. Mortal angels retain the ability to share thoughts with others, but they require touch to do so. Perhaps in the future a Nephalem will re-discover how to tap into the language-of-all-languages.

The fate of Fate itself is also up for discussion, as it remains to be seen if any Nephalem with Fate Aspect blood in them can create/read/decipher anything from the Scroll of Fate or its base language. (Certainly, some of the historic Horadrim could understand the language of space-time, as they were able to use it to create the Waypoints and the Traveller’s Scrolls.) Malthael brings a set of scrolls “about scroll-crafting” to the Tristram library in “Arcane and Apples”, but they cannot be read because they are in an unknown and indecipherable language. Hmm.

#diablo series #diablo 3 #diablo 2 #angiris council #high heavens #hi i am a huge lore nerd and i spent time doing this instead of writing my fic #angiris language #angelic runes #the angelic language of creation #some mentions of enochian #thanks @fishyfiash for digging into Sin War for me #diablo: amor aeternus #diablo: archfall #my writing

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tybalt-tisk · 6 years ago

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.consider it handled

// Shallura {protect au} Summary: Allura just wanted to have a peaceful workout. Warnings: Flirting, Fake Dating. Also on Ao3 // Also, I did add a Read More option, but sometimes Tumblr hates ya girl.

.~.xXx.~.

Sometimes Allura was too nice. She knew that. It was one of the few things everyone knew about the princess. She always had the tendency to disguise how she truly felt behind a dazzling smile and uphold the regal composure that took years of etiquette classes to master. Sure, on more than one occasion, it had landed her in her fair share of easily avoidable situations when she gave people the benefit of the doubt when she knew she shouldn’t have, but it was never anything she couldn’t handle.

Until now.

Now, at this exact moment in time, while she was trying to complete her workout, she was doing everything in her power to remember her training by refraining herself from driving her fist directly into the mouth of the arrogant man who was desperately trying to get her number. He had been at it for far longer than she would have liked and even though she kindly rejected him, more than she could possibly remember, the man just couldn’t seem to take the hint. Her smile wavered with every obnoxious word that left the man’s lips and her fingers itched to find a new home in his mouth.

With perfect form, she did another forward lunge and masked her irritation with a deep breath that could be easily mistaken for exhaustion. Well, it wasn’t far off because she was exhausted. Just mentally. With him.

The only reason why she chose this gym was so she could have a peaceful workout. It was just far away from home so she could remain unrecognized most of the time, but just close enough so she could return within the hour in case something came up. For the past month, she enjoyed this gym; it was spacious, clean, and it had various activities, like yoga and spin classes she could attend if she ever felt the need to. All in all, it was a very nice gym...except for him.

The man laughed at his own joke and it almost made her sneer. “I was just thinking that. Ya know since we both like purple…” Allura feared that if she rolled her eyes one more time, they’d get stuck like that. This man was saying anything and everything to woo her even if it meant resorting to him assuming that her favorite color was purple simply because it was the color of her oversized tank top. “...that me and you could…”

“You and I,” she corrected under her breath with another lunge forward.

The man made a questioning sound. “You say something, darlin’?”

She shook her head innocently with a forced smile. “No, I didn’t say a thing.” She’d lost count of how many lunges she put her left leg through, but the burning sensation told her that it was time to switch to the right.

He leaned heavily on the machine next to him and folded his arms over his puffed out chest. “Anyway, yeah, what do you say to me picking you later tonight for a little...one-on-one time?” He finished the vain proposal with a wiggle of his eyebrows and Allura couldn’t help the subtle snort that left her lips at the ridiculous attempt to look...literally anything but sexy. This man was persistent, arrogant, and vain. What an unfortunate combination of shitty characteristics.

She quickly finished her set before she turned to him and wiped the sweat off her brow. “Look, I’m very flattered by your...persistence, Jerry.”

“The name’s Gavin.” She knew his name, but she was irritated.

She expertly hid a smirk under an artificial look of confusion. “Mason?” she responded absentmindedly with a fictitious frown as she picked up the various weights and placed them back in their appropriate locations.

“Gavin,” he said a bit louder, just in case she didn’t hear him over the sound of grunts and the machinery around them.

After she placed the weights back, she freed her hair from its loose ponytail so she could redo it tighter. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and raked her fingers through the strands to work out the newly formed tangles and knots. “Michael, please don’t make this hard for me…”

He suddenly clapped his hands together once as if he just witnessed an impressive trick. “How did you know my middle name?” he asked enthusiastically and Allura suppressed a groan at her accidental discovery. Out of all of the names she threw out, she just had to pick the one he identified with. “Wow, we have such a deep connection! Amazing!”

“Yeah...amazing,” she said sarcastically, fixing her hair. This was getting old and her patience was wearing dangerously thin. She decided then and there that she had finally had enough. “Gavin, listen to me and please listen to me carefully. I do not want to go out to dinner with you. I do not want to catch a movie with you. I do not want to take a long walk on the beach with you and talk about ‘our future together’,” she finished her sentence off with air quotes. She looked him square in the eye and spoke with the same authoritative voice that she used when she commanded the attention of the room. “I want nothing to do with you. Now, please leave me alone so I can continue my workout in peace. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

Gavin seemed taken aback at her tone as the words started to sink in and for a moment, for a sweet, blissful moment; one filled with silence and the peace she longed for, Allura thought she finally had reached through to him.

He nodded slowly. “I think I get it,” he said with a roguish grin. “You just want to skip all the formalities and go right to the bedroom, don’t ya?”

Something snapped within her, and all of the training her etiquette tutors spent years embedding into her flew directly out the window. Allura didn’t think twice as she brought her balled fist back so she could deck the arrogant man who dared considered he even had a sliver of a chance with her, but before she surged it forward, a firm but familiar grip caught her wrist and eased it down to her side smoothly in one fluid motion.

“Hey babe, we still on for dinner tonight at your Dad’s place?” Allura didn’t need to look back to know exactly who just saved this idiot’s two front teeth. The arrogant man’s vision was so clouded with his own self-inflated ego, that he didn’t even know his, so-called, good looks were in danger of the princess’ wrath.

It took a moment, but when she realized exactly what he had said, her eyes darted to meet his and she knew exactly what he was doing. Her bodyguard was only confrontational when he needed to be and right now, he was looking for a way to let the guy down easy, even if Allura wanted to do anything but that at this point. Shiro raised his brows as if he had asked her an unspoken question when she didn’t immediately respond. She narrowed her eyes but reluctantly followed his lead with a huff and relaxed her fist.

Within a fraction of a second, all of her training rushed back to her and she sent him the perfect smile. “Of course, but remember we need to stop by that cute little bakery I like so we can pick up dessert because I won’t have the time to make anything.”

Shiro released her wrist when he realized that she wasn’t going to follow through with her assault on the poor, unsuspecting man. “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll pick up a pie on the way home,” he lied smoothly. “Your dad’s allergic to apples, right? Or is it cherries?”

“Rhubarb,” she corrected him casually, even though the allergy was completely fabricated information about the reigning king.

Shiro made a sour face. “Great, rhubarb is trash anyway.”

“It’s absolutely delicious, you just have trash taste buds.” She turned her back to him then handed him her hair tie over her shoulder.

Shiro rolled his eyes. Of course, she would take this fake dinner date opportunity to make him fix her hair. But he’s not complaining. He’ll never complain. He absolutely loves the way her soft hair felt against his fingers. Although sometimes, the strand did tend to snag on his metal joints, thankfully he’s gotten better at keeping it to a minimum.

He rolled the elastic hair tie that’s seen better days onto his wrist before he gathered her thick curls in his hands. He finger-combed her scalp to wrangle in runaway strands before he secured her hair into a neat ponytail that left them both slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he mumbled to himself, praising his small victory.

She looked over herself in the mirror that covered the entire back wall of the gym and tightened her new ponytail from the base. “Not bad, Shirogane.” She turned back to face him and was surprised and equally annoyed to see that Gavin was still there, looking back and forth between the two. Even when she was clearly “taken”, the obnoxious man still couldn’t even grasp the mere concept that she wasn’t interested in him.

Her irritation must have shown because Shiro reached forward to grab her by the hips and gently, he pulled her closer to him. She came to him without the slightest ounce of hesitation and without being prompted to, she casually brought her arms up to rest atop his shoulders. With her in his arms and with him in hers, he almost forgot it was a charade they were acting out. He knew it was dangerous to be with her like this - for this to feel all too natural to him. It was such an intimate position but strangely enough, it felt like he’d done it a million times before.

Maybe because he did.

He’s held her like this plenty of times. Like when they were at formal events and she gave him a look that told him that she wanted to dance. He’s never told her no and using the simple steps she’d taught him, she allowed always him to lead her gracefully around the dance floor. Or when she brought out the teenage rebel in him when she wanted to sneak out of her luxurious home, “the old fashioned way” as she so elegantly put it, and he’d had to help her down from the second story when he knew damn well she was capable of doing it herself.

...Or when it just the two of them on those quiet nights when the manor was asleep and the only thing left for them to do was to explore the boundaries of the friendship they are both painfully aware that went well beyond what separate friendship from duty from something else he was always scared to admit out loud.

“What time do you want to leave?” he asked, breaking himself away from his runaway thoughts.

She made a thoughtful face. “I want to get there around 7:30,” she told him.

He looked at his watch to check the time, not that it even mattered. “Okay, I’ll do one more round, then I’ll head out and grab the pie on the way home. Don’t stay here too long because you know how long it takes you to get ready.” Unlike the rest of their ruse, that part was him speaking nothing but the truth. Sometimes, she could be a brat and she’d take forever to get dressed. Most of the time, it was because she was too busy pestering him, and other times, she simply didn’t want to go, so she waited until the very last possible moment before she started to even consider getting herself together.

She pouted and clicked her tongue. “I do not.”

“Oh, you might think that you don’t, but you do.” She playfully jabbed him on the shoulder in retaliation, knowing damn well that he was right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gavin watching them intensely as if he was waiting for Shiro to leave so he could make his move on her again. He felt Allura’s irritation rub off onto him. What was with this guy? What did it take to get him to beat it?

In front of him, Allura giggled and she gave him a look that he’s seen plenty of times - when they glided around the dancefloor, when he helped her sneak out, and when it was just the two of them late at night hidden away from the harsh reality of the world and their position in it. He knew this look all too well and it always signaled for the one thing he’s never given to her.

But he’d be damned if he gave in to her now because some jackass that couldn’t read a room.

Instead, he hooked a single finger under her tank and pulled her close until her lips almost met his. She watched his mouth move as he spoke just loud enough so Gavin could hear what he was going to say next. “Also, I want my tank back.” He almost laughed out loud when he heard Gavin release an annoyed gasp, followed by a few brash words.

She smirked at the man’s reaction and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, both out of spite for the arrogant man and also to tease Shiro with one of the many things she did that she knew drove him wild. If they were playing a game, then she might as well play to her advantage. She knew she hit her intended target when the hand that still rested on her hip tightened in warning.

She laughed to herself before she released her lip so she could speak. “I don’t think I can do that because it looks better on me.” Once again, the lines were blurred between the show they put on and the playful nature that was their undefined relationship.

He shrugged. “You look a’ight.”

She looked amazing.

Seeing her wear his clothes always stirred something within him. She had enough money in the world to wear the latest fashions, but instead, she chose to raid his closet for her casual attire. He still hasn’t seen his favorite hoodie. Well, no that was a lie because he’s seen it. On her.

When he was sure that Gavin had finally retreated somewhere deep into the gym, probably to cancel his membership, he stepped away from Allura. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Of course, and it's all thanks to my knight in sweaty joggers,” she laughed.

“I would have come sooner, but you keep insisting that you can handle these types of things.” His sentence was laced with sarcasm. Of course, if Gavin had displayed any type of aggressive behavior, he would have stepped in before the man even told her his name. But a subtle hand signal from Allura kept him at bay.

“And I was about to handle it until you showed up and pretended that you were my boyfriend,” she responded full of confidence with her head held high.

He raised a thick brow. “You call laying that guy out, ‘handling it’?”

She used him for balance while she stretched her legs for her upcoming jog on the treadmill. “As a matter of fact, I do. I can bet you my horse in The Netherlands that if I would have handled it the way I intended to, he wouldn't have ever bothered me again.”

Shiro snorted. She was completely right, she would have made her message clear as day if she had done it her way. She may be petite compared to his large frame, but the tiny princess had a mean left hook that was nothing to take lightly. He knew for a fact that he saved Gavin and not the fight club princess who was ready to throw hands. But also, “Who the hell bets a whole horse?”

She walked away with a flip of her new ponytail. “People who have horses to bet, of course.” She made it sound like he should already know this. “I guess it's time for cardio.” She looked almost defeated by admitting it.

Shiro laughed at her tone. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Because it is,” she whined. Allura only liked to work out to keep her body healthy. Sure, there were certain activities she liked to do, but there’s one thing she hated more than anything and that was running. She definitely had the stamina to jog five miles easily, but her laziness tended to peek through and stunted that trek down to only two or three. Shiro lost count of how many times she dragged him out of bed for a morning run, only for her to give up at their further point and call for a taxi.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that?” He leaned her over to the treadmill and leaned over the frame as she programmed it for a steady walk.

“I am not a drama queen.” She increased the speed to a light pace she could be comfortable with before she placed her headphones into her ears. “I’m a drama princess.” She gave him a purposely cheesy wink before she fully started her cardio session and Shiro shook his head before he ventured off to finish his own workout.

.~.xXx.~.

Allura wiped the sweat off her brow once she finished her run. It wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. She actually made herself proud at the fact that she ran for a lot longer than she usually did, but she felt like she needed to make up the extra cardio from all the time Gavin wasted trying to woo her.

Allura took a long drink of water before she came to the decision that she was done putting her body through hell for the day. She wrapped her headphones around her cell before she left to search for Shiro in the massive gym.

She immediately knew where he was. Unlike her, who just did what she pleased at the gym, Shiro had a strict schedule that he religiously stuck to. Today was arm day for him and along with a few reps using the equipment, he also liked to work on his agility in the boxing ring.

She heard him before she saw him. The hard jabs that met his opponents punch mitts echoed throughout the room and it gathered a crowd who looked on in awe. She found a gap in the crowd and approached the edge of the ring so she could watch him as he went through the speed drills. His feet were silent and his hands were quick and powerful as they met their target with deadly precision. He showed perfect form when he followed two quick jabs to the right with a hard left hook and a tuck to the right. The action happened so fast, she almost missed it.

His steel grey eyes were focused on their target and they held a different light than what she was used to seeing. It was like he wasn’t her Shiro. The Shiro she knew was always so kind and gentle with her that she always forgot that he could be extremely dangerous when he needed to be. He had been top of his class after all.

Beside her, a few women swooned at the sight and she rolled her eyes. Gavin and these ladies would get along just great, she thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw a flash of white. He knew he had gathered a crowd but none of them phased him like she did. Right now was the absolute worst time to be distracted, not during a speed drill. He twisted his body to evade an incoming punch before he gave a precise combination of jabs and hooks.

When the whistle blew, both praised the other for their participation. Shiro unfastened his gloves before he made his way to Allura who was stood at the side of the ring. His face heated at the realization of how many people had gathered around to watch him.

She handed him her water bottle so he could take a well-needed drink. “You’re so cute when you blush,” she teased loud enough so the gossiping ladies could hear her. They immediately went silent when they watched Shiro take her offered water.

“I thought I was cute all the time?” he caught her tease and threw it right back at her.

She folded her arms over her chest and raised a brow. “And what hussy told you that?”

He finished off the rest of the water before he handed it back to her. “You did, ya hussy.” He laughed at his own joke and she couldn’t help but join in. He squatted down to her level. It was rare that she watched him do his drills. She always tended to keep her space from him until it was time to leave or if something was bothering her. His face suddenly turned serious and she saw the same dark look flash in his eyes when he was focused in the ring. “Is that man bothering you again?”

She quickly shook her head. She was glad that Gavin gave up on her because there was no saving him if Shiro took him as a serious threat. “Nope,” she said lightly. “However, something is on my mind.”

“What is it?” he said quickly. When she disclosed something to him, he always took it seriously, regardless of the severity.

“What time should I be ready?”

Huh?

She didn’t have anything scheduled tonight. Along with being her bodyguard, he was also sometimes her personal assistant. He knew of every event, every public appearance, and every trip she had coming up within the next two months memorized down to the hotels they were staying into the roads they would be using. When he couldn’t think of what she was referring to, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

She rocked on the balls of her feet causally and her crystal blue eyes danced with mischief. “You promised me a date tonight, Shirogane,” she said playfully. “Or did you forget already?”

Shiro searched her eyes, looking for any sort of indication if she was joking or not. There were ladies around ogling his form, so maybe she was just returning to their little charade they played earlier.

But then…

She always told him that she’d get him to take her out one day, and he did. He did every single time she asked, but it was always in good fun...that always ended with a missed opportunity. But now, he could tell that she meant it.

He smiled at her warmly before he brought her knuckles to his lips. “How does 8:30 sound, Princess?”

“It’s perfect.”

.~.xXx.~.

Also, I’m really considering making this an actual story. One with a storyline and character development, but I’m unsure. Let me know!

#shallura #voltron #tybaltwrites #protect au

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konekoryuugamine · 5 years ago

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Chaos Critic’s Top 10 Disliked Anime

Oh man I am going to get SO much flack for this one . . . I know, I know" so many anime are out there, and so many are like this, and yadda yadda - Look, I wanna do this, I wanna help people steer clear of these shows, and if someone likes these shows, more power to ya, but I don't like them, this is only opinion, and I prefer that no one calls me a liar or a jerk for saying something about an anime that is all speculation and varied per person. Anyways, I don't own these animes, and please read and enjoy, no flames, thanks a bunch. Let me say this now: not all anime rock. I have been an avid anime watcher since I was in the 5th grade, and when I realized anime were released every year, in the hundreds, I was flipping over in cartwheels. Vampires, dragons, wizards, ninjas, rock and roll - all of those in my favorite animation style that is pretty much SO flipping awesome in so many ways - made me so happy. I ended up binging anime on Toonami, (still do), and joined several anime sites to get the latest anime dishes and series that I could muster up enough free time to watch. My parents grew concerned about me watching so much of it to the point where I would have been addicted, but then I ended up telling them it was where my heart laid, and they accepted, it with somewhat unwilling protectiveness. After all these years of watching anime and reading manga, I ended up developing tastes that ranged from very horroreqsue anime with suspense and mystery to ridiculous comedy with great puns on words. 'Bakemonogatari', everyone.

However, with these tastes and genres came some of the weird and strangest animes I have ever seen, and am currently watching. Does this mean I think all 'weird' anime are bad? Heck no - 'Bobobo-Bobobobo', "Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt" and "FLCL" are some of my favorites, although I consider Bobobo a guilty pleasure. I did run into some strange and bad anime, however, and it made me wonder whether or not getting into anime at all was a good or bad idea. It even made me think that these were the animes that gave other great ones bad wraps - hence the stereotype of Japanese anime always being about ten-year-old girls and tentacles. No idea why, honestly. The more I do think about it, however, I do feel there are some pretty bad anime out there on the internet, and if you ask any anime fan, they will list some anime that are bad, their favorites, and even one they watch when they choose to. Many a conversation I had often resulted in me talking about the ones I liked more than the ones I hated, to my relief. But otherwise, I feel these anime I'm about to list carry their ideas a bit too far, go too far with anime as a format, or are just overhyped and bad as heck . . . just because an anime is weird, strange, badly dubbed or whatever else does not mean I have to hate it. I have my reasons. So, without fault, here's my top ten anime I dislike more than others. Keep in mind that these are the anime I dislike for certain reasons, and if someone out there does like these, and calls me out for hating them, then I accept it. Just because I hate something doesn't mean you can make me like it.

And here they are. NUMBER 10: " Lil' Pri" I thought this series would be cute to watch for a while, and I decided to watch a few episodes. I ended up binging the whole series and started thinking too much about it. Then I realized it wasn't really that good. Ringo Yukimori, a young girl who enjoys Snow White's stories, literally bumps into two other girls at a concert for a super famous singer named Wish. The other girls, Leila Takashiro and Natsuki Sasahara, also enjoy the stories of Princess Kaguya and Cinderella. The suddenly then run into three adorable talking animals, Sei, Dai and Ryoku, (a bird, a squirrel and a dragon), who are looking for their princesses in the human world. The main idea behind this series is that the three girls turn into older versions of themselves with the embedded spirits of Snow White, Cinderella, and Princess Kaguya to help bring human happiness, "happiness tones", to Fairyland and save it. Humans' happiness and believe in the fairytales has dwindled, decreasing the happiness tones. So, the girls agree to help retrieve those, and along the way, they figure out Wish is the Queen's 'long-lost' son, who can turn into a rabbit . . . Yeah see where I'm going here? The anime is, for all intents and purposes, as straightforward as a magical girl series can get. There are no hidden meanings to Ringo, Leila or Natsuki, and their names pretty much are dead giveaways to what stories they enjoy most. Prince Chris, a.k.a. Wish, is immediately given focus at the beginning of the series, and there are no real surprises until the last few episodes of the series when the girls give up their magic, hint-hint, and leave Fairyland after retrieving all the happiness tones. Let me tell you, that can get kind of boring . . . The main problem I have with this series overall is how bland it is and how it seems to take ideas from several other little girls' magical shows, such as Ojamajo Do-re-mi or Pretty Cure. The concepts of having normal girls become heroes to save other lands, rescue royalty and adapt to their situation are something I've heard before and seen more excellently done, in other shows. The fact the girls also become idols onstage is an interesting quirk, but it reminds me too much of the Witchlings' maid outfit changes from the fourth season of Ojamajo.

It doesn’t help the CGI in the anime comes off as awkward, leaving the concert scenes clunky and hard to watch. Their movements are stiff, and their voices are not exactly the best. They do get better in vocals as the series progresses, but everything else stays the same. When I also state how bland the series is, I'm also referring to Ringo, Leila, and Natsuki, reluctantly. The audience is told and can understand the heroines well enough to the point where we wish they had more depth. They all love Wish, they love fairytales, Ringo loves apples and has seven brothers, Leila is half Italian, Natsuki loves sports - we get it. The problem is that they have no other depth than being cardboard cutouts of anime heroines. We are never given any character conflicts, they never have issues that expand over the series, they never really get the kind of development other series like Sailor Moon receive for magical girl heroines. I know I may get flack for mentioning that, but I have seen development of Usagi Tsukino in both the manga and the new anime adaption of the series. The girls don't really receive any development here, aside from the minor mentioning of growing up and accepting happiness as it comes rather than forcing it on others. The reason this one ranks so low on my list is because I do still enjoy the cuter designs of the characters, and give it points for trying to come up with a good driving plot that does bring to mind the idea of growing up and being happy. It’s a cookie cutter style idol show but it has heart to it. It tries to overstep its bounds, but never gets the chance to. At the same time, I also think Show By Rock!! and Zombieland Saga did the “idol concept with a twist” take much better, what with one being a Sanrio based product that combines an isekai with an idol show, and an idol show about zombie girls that satirizes the entire idol industry. NUMBER 9: " Full Metal Alchemist" I am going to get SO much flack for this one . . . Before someone eats my liver, let me say I love the series as a whole, but compared to Brotherhood, this series has become something that both baffles me and makes me confused. The series revolves around Edward and Alphonse Elric, who try to bring their mother back from the dead using the practice of alchemy. Strictly taboo, and stricken with grief, they decide to bring her back and return to their happiness. However, something goes horribly wrong and Alphonse's body is taken as compensation for their mother, who doesn't truly return. Ed sacrifices his arm and leg to save his brother and bring him back in a suit of armor. After the incident, in the anime, Ed decides to join the military of Risembool and hunt down the Philosopher's Stone, which is implied heavily to be something that can work real miracles. I enjoyed watching the series, and I empathized with both Edward and Alphonse. They lost everything, tried to get it back, and lost more in return. Their tackling of the philosophy of equivalent exchange and getting something for nothing is truly moving, and the deep symbolization of The Philosopher's Stone being hope and realization is something that I know I will never see duplication of. Then . . . I saw the ending episodes of the first series. And I got mad. I expected an epic climax, much like what happened in "Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood". I wanted Ed to get his limbs back, Al to get his body back, Ed to marry Winrey, Hoenheim to die and accept his flaws, for the Philosopher stone to dissolve, and for Scar to repent himself . . . Instead, we got something that felt rushed, confusing and strange to me. Something that throws the entire series out of whack because of it. The leader of the Homunculi, who had been chasing Ed and Al all over the place until they reached Liore again, were being led by Dante. The old lady who taught Izumi, their teacher. The old lady who was killed by Greed in episode 33. Who had an assistant who had that strange alchemic tablet. Dante, as it turns out, was a lover of Hoenheim, much to everyone's shock, and when Hoenheim and she gave up their souls for the stone, they created something that they could use to swap their bodies and minds, intelligence included, into other beings, sort of like the plot of "Quantum Leap" without the randomness and depth. She was jilted because Hoenheim left her, (reasonably succumbing to his guilt over killing so many people to make the stone), and she decided to make and use the Homunculi to chase down HIS sons and make a new stone. In other words, she ended up wanting to make another stone, and her real motives for why are never explained, although her anger over Hoenheim leaving her for another woman, then using HIS KIDS to make a new stone, is petty in terms of evil levels. She toyed with the Elrics, taunted them throughout the series, and ended up controlling things to make a new Philosopher's stone. That part, however, is hard for me to buy. Dante being the villain behind everything, including the making of the second Philosopher's stone, and bringing back Rose for no other reason than to use her as a 'figurehead' then possess her, is hard for me to take in. This would mean she'd have to have tabs on the Elrics at all times, be involved in the Risembool military, use more than one person at one point or another, display that she knew about the war and probably was the one who started it in the first place. There were no indications to me that Dante was the villain all along through the series, as the Homunculi were given more screen time than her, her assistant and later body double Lyra was shown twice and was bland as other minor characters, and things don't connect well for me to buy it logically. If she was the one behind everything, and she was supposed to have been fake-killed by Greed, then when did she successfully possess Lyra? How long has she kept tabs on the Elrics? Was she involved somehow in Trisha's illness, that kickstarted the entire flipping hunt for the Philosopher's Stone? If she was also involved, why drag Rose into the battle to just tick off Edward? And furthermore, if Hoenheim knew if she was behind everything, and knew he'd be killed otherwise, then why didn't he just come right out and explain everything to the brothers when they first got involved with the Homunculi? Was he just afraid of dying? Of killing others?

The more confusing thing is how this ending was created. Anime depends on the manga in most cases to flesh out the story. If the manga is over several volumes, like One Piece or Bleach, episodes will be released and designated in arcs and storylines. If the manga is ahead of the anime, then the writing process for the episodes can be ad-libbed thanks to the story that’s already present.

When the manga halts or goes on hiatus, the anime must do something to fill in the extra space while the mangaka continues their work. Hence “filler arcs”. Like the extra few filler arcs in Bleach that involve the new captain or the Bounts, or the filler arcs in Naruto that everyone wishes didn’t exist. They exist to not only extend the anime’s lifespan but to try and flesh out the worlds of these series to make them feel more alive.

In this case, this was a filler ending for the Full Metal Alchemist anime series. The manga had gone on hiatus and they had nothing to conclude the show with, so they had to deal with what they had. I wanted to like it, but after looking at everything, I just find that nothing fits. Either way, the ending of the original anime just befuddled me with an antagonist who was barely connected to the story to me, and the threads that bound her fingers to her puppets were about as thin as fishing line to me. . . . Not to mention I'm still wondering how the anime connected itself to the 'parallel-world' of 'Germany' and how Edward was stuck there through the movie "Conqueror of Shamballa", but that movie did try to tie up the original anime series with a bow.

Of course, this leads me to say why I dislike it so much: because Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood exists. It’s an amendment to the series that aims to follow every detail of the manga. We see more progressive action and character development from start to finish, and we see an expansive world that was never given to us in the original anime. Fans of the show were rewarded with Ed and Al getting what they wished for, intense and awesome animation, and a marriage proposal that is adorable no matter which way you put it.

However, I will say the first 10 to 13 episodes of the original anime are far better introductory episodes than the first few episodes of Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood. We see the Elrics grow and reach their respective early goals quick, and we actually get to know Alexander and Nina before Shou Tucker fucks things up. We also get deeper motivation for Ed’s reasons to become a State Alchemist.

If I did have to recommend this series to people who’d never seen it, I’d say go watch the first 10 episodes of the first FMA series, then watch Brotherhood in its entirety. Get the context and emotional development first, then come back in for what else is in store. And now I'm gonna put on this football helmet while I wait for the hate mail. NUMBER 8: " Ghost Hound" This one is a special case of bad to me. There was a point where I got hooked on the anime "Serial Experiments Lain" and I got into the idea that many anime were deeper than they seemed. Lain was a dimensional protagonist who I felt much in common with, and developed a sense of what I wanted to know about ESP. I decided to get into shows involving the subject, and later developed a taste in supernatural shows and law dramas. Or anything that often touted lighter themes of horror. I found this anime on accident one day when I was looking up scary anime. And after finding out it was done by Production I.G. and Shirow Masamune, I was ecstatic. I was disappointed when I watched it. The entire story revolves around a boy named Taro, who was kidnapped with his younger sister Mizuka on September 22nd, 1996. His sister died, but he survived the horrific situation. Since then, he's been seeing a therapist and has horrible PTSD-induced nightmares involving the situation. He also develops the ability to astral project himself into The Unseen World, which is the space between the living and the dead, and he uses his ability to better himself and his friends Makoto and Masayuki, who have also suffered similar traumatic childhood situations. They are led on this journey by their psychologist, who has his own agenda on the matter, but wants to help solve the supernatural insanity in the boys’ lives due to his own interactions with The Unseen World. On its own, this idea is rather interesting, and you feel it can be done well over the course of 13 episodes, with an added OVA of how the entire conflict is resolved with death being a part of life, how having a power means it comes with greater responsibility and how everyone has issues they must come to terms with. And in the case of Masamune’s anime, delve deeper into the human understanding and structure of the conscious and unconscious mind. However, the anime takes a rather . . . interesting, turn in its story. And when I say interesting, I mean something that may or may not work, depending on who you ask. When the boys get together and go after the one who kidnapped Taro and his sister, they come across Miyako Komagusu, who has spiritual powers thanks to her miko line. She chooses to help them and Taro soon becomes fixated on Miyako due to her appearance, which is eerily similar to his sister.

Soon, the whole kidnapping element is thrown out the window, same with the title of the anime being only Makoto's astral-projection form, and comes in with a religious sect underneath Makoto's family and the fact his grandmother tries to make Miyako the new head after her father is hospitalized. And it's later revealed that the Ogami Religious Cult has ties to an underground group of illegal drugs, medical enhancements, MUTANTS, and child kidnappings . . . At this point, I was saying "why?" On the one hand, it's a dark turn for an anime that started out with ESP, traumatic incidents, and they do save Miyako from the group of psychos. Whether or not the group remained standing was unclear to me, and the more I thought about how deep this went, the further I ended up in mental spirals of how logic had to be invoked. On the other hand, it's a mish-mash of every cliche involving some evil mastermind group I can think of: the bad guy actually did this to such and such, who became the main guy's best friend, and now they want the girl who the main character has a connection with, and they all have supernatural powers, and they get others who betrayed the bad guys to help them. This overlay of genres, and the fact the ESP is forgotten at about halfway through the anime for my liking, (along with there not even being MUCH of the supposed 'ghost hound'), there is also a stunning issue I had with the design of the characters not fitting the backgrounds. Whereas the designs were simple, the backgrounds were overly lush, too detailed, too mesmerizing. Not like in "Over the Garden Wall", but still. All in all, 'Ghost Hound' is a mixed bag to me. It does provide some good food for thought and an interesting storyline, but the second half ruins the story and eliminates the ESP the story was embedded into. NUMBER 7: " School Days" I am aware this will be on others' hate lists, but hear me out . . . yeah, it's that bad in the anime form. "School Days" is based on a visual novel game of the same name by Overflow, and has quickly garnered a reputation. The series involves this character, Makoto, as he makes his way into high school and develops a crush on adorable and shy Kotonoha. At the same time, depending on which way the player goes, he'll also fall for his best friend, his best friend's cousin, the other girls IN his class - well, you get where I'm going with this. But before I get to the anime, let me explain a bit more about the game itself. It incorporated motion and sound into the visual touch, making it look like you were playing an interactive anime, which wasn't that bad of an idea. There were also numerous cut scenes, (including graphic content might I add), that depicted the characters, and something that made the series very popular online: the death scenes. What made this game unique from others is that it included graphic and detailed executions of main characters in several gorey fashions, along with some of the worst bad ends that can ever be imagined when it comes to one main character screwing over someone else. One death scene in particular involved Kotonoha committing suicide from a tall building in front of Makoto and Sekai, and you can HEAR THE CRUNK AND BUBBLE OF HER BODY AS SHE HITS THE PAVEMENT. THAT ALONE TELLS YOU WHAT IS AT STAKE IN THIS GAME IF YOU SCREW UP. But, because of how varied the main character's answers can get, and how many cut scenes are available at the time of the first go-around, someone will have to play the game multiple times before a Good ending is unlocked, like the super-rare harem-esque relationship between Makoto, Satonaka and Kotonoha. (Apparently, it's impossible to get because of how many things you can say, but I digress). Now, to explain how the game became an anime . . . and I really don't want to . . . The anime adapts the storyline of the game, following Makoto in high school, and he tries to get Kotonoha to fall for him, and Sekai tries to help him, then she falls for him. In short, it's a typical anime that depicts a three-way love triangle. Until about the fourth or fifth episode. After he gets Kotonoha as a girlfriend, he dates Sekai, with the knowledge of everyone, and LIES about breaking up with Kotonoha, AND HAS SEX WITH SEKAI, for the purpose of making things better with Kotonoha. He then goes around and sleeps with OTHER GIRLS IN HIS CLASS and AVOIDS KOTONOHA to keep up this whole thing. That is called "sleeping around" and "being a jerk". The reasons why people list this anime on their worst list is mostly because of the annoying voices, or because of the stilted and bland colors in the background, but to me and numerous others, it's because of Makoto Ito being a two-timing jerk who also has sex with numerous girls while still having one intimate girlfriend. No, what also cements it for me, are the last three episodes: Sekai announces she's pregnant to the class, Makoto is reasonably cut off from his friends, Kotonoha, who had been RAPED, is devastated, and Makoto blames Sekai for ruining his life when he was JUST as much at fault in the first place. He goes out with Kotonoha, and right as he gets home, Sekai, reasonably ticked off, stabs him brutally with a butcher knife, and Kotonoha kills her and affirms she was lying about her pregnancy, then takes Makoto's head and sails off. This was about the only way I could have expected this entire mess to conclude. Someone had to die, Makoto had to be given his karmic payback for sleeping with so many women, and for cheating and leaving Kotonoha to be raped and blaming Sekai for everything when he had his own faults, and Kotonoha had to take revenge or grow a backbone because of how everything bad happened to her for some reason. In other words, the conclusion is more satisfying to me than the show itself, and that actually saved it a few places on my list. Watching it from start to finish is terrible, and the way you know about Makoto's sleeping around makes you want to slap some sense into him. Or stab him with a knife, but I digress. NUMBER 6: " Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-Chan" AND now we get to something that's both bad and comedic. And for once I'm not talking about Spongebob. "Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-Chan" is an anime that combines hentai and comedy, and as for the brand of humor, it relies on what is known as the continuous running gag. To understand what I mean, let me give you a few examples of continuous anime running gags: Team Rocket blasting off in every episode of "Pokemon" and doing some kind of farfetched scheme to capture Pikachu, how Joey Wheeler is also denoted as being immature or a punk, and as of more recent anime I've seen, how Tsukune is subjected to being fought over by Moka and the other girls. The reason I'm bringing this up is that these are the gags I've seen being used in shows that quickly got stale . . . and were still being used as the show went along. 'Pokemon' is still the biggest offender of this since Pokemon Co. got a hold of the dubbing and anime creations in both Japan and America. The gag of Team Rocket blasting off is okay for a season or so, but seeing them just get pounded again and again makes me feel sorry for them, and makes me want to slap them and say "Stop blowing yourselves up all the time!", thinking they'd learn. But hey, I can dream can't I? The issue with that is the issue with this anime completely. "Bokotatsu-Tenshi Dokuro-Chan", or "Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-Chan" is an anime that focuses on a boy named Sakura Kusanabe, who is a normal boy going to school and having a crush on his classmate. Apparently, 20 years into the future, he invents a machine that prevents the aging process on women after the age of 13, making them . . . physically younger. They literally call this in the anime a "pedophile's dream world". So, God, in the future, sends an angel, Dokuro, to go and assassinate him so he can't make this crazy machine . . . if you are laughing right now, I was too. The plot is ridiculous, as par for how it's supposed to be a comedy, but the manner of ridiculous ends there and it becomes more mindbogglingly annoying with each passing episode. Dokuro, when she gets to Sakura, decides to live with him and convince him to not build the machine, and in the process, does so with her rambunctious energy, super-human strength, her annoying voice, and often times, KILLS HIM WITH HER KANABO CLUB CALLED EXCALIBOLT. That is the gist of the entire show. He tries to impress a girl, he 'insults' the over-sensitive Dokuro, she kills him, she brings him back to life. He tries to make some friends, she gets offended, she kills him, she brings him back to life. And so on and so forth. For about thirteen episodes. I ended up watching the series with my younger sister when I was about 15, and I couldn't help but laugh ad how dumb it was. And because I knew I couldn't change the videos because of my younger sister saying "Show me more, show me more! I wanna see him die again!" . . . I felt a part of my soul die. (I also learned never to show my sister that kind of anime again . . . until she watched "Attack on Titan"). so, Anyways! The entire anime, dub or sub, is annoying, high pitched, and the characters are all flat as boards. Dokuro's entire character is her crush on Sakura and the fact she wants to help him while never learning she accidentally causes his deaths. Sakura is a perverted young boy who is trying to get by, and ends up falling for Dokuro in a stereotypical fashion. There's also other angel characters, such as one who uses a . . . cattle prod, and she has ram horns . . . and one who is a . . . transvestite punk goblin? To be honest, I never bothered to remember their names because I forgot about them after another two episodes. Same with Dokuro's sister. The only reason I remember her was because the show made her look hot for a 7-year-old, and she used a wet towel as a weapon. And everyone in the school thought she was hot. . . . I'm gonna stop on this one now before I get angry again and say that this anime isn't very good, but it does do a good job in setting up something that is both hilarious in context and causing some of the better memes in AMV Hell 3. NUMBER 5: " Sonic X" From contrived and humorous to awkward and strange. I first watched this show, much like others, on the Fox Box, (among other anime that were terribly dubbed by 4Kids). It was . . . strange, to see a talking hedgehog with blue quills run about with a two-tailed yellow kitsune, and on Earth no less. I had to change the channel every few seconds or so because I felt so strange watching them. I ended up feeling the same thing when I was watching 'Sonic Underground'. I know now that the feeling was 'awkwardness'. The story follows Sonic and his friends from the planet Mobius as they get transported to Earth because of some unintended calculations from Sonic screwing with Dr. Eggman's machine. Because they don't how it happened, and they don't know how to go back, they have to adjust on Earth, and they do just that. In the process, Sonic befriends a human, Chris, whose father is a scientist. And the wacky adventures are supposed to continue from there . . . I'll go ahead and say this now: combining humans in a world of anthropomorphic animals has to either be done well or not at all. I'm cool with anthropomorphism being talking animals, like Bubbie from 'Flapjack', or like Fred the horse or Beatrice from 'Over the Garden Wall'. I also don't mind if they have only the humanistic approach, and cannot talk, like the animals from 'Wicked'. But if it's full anthropomorphism, like Looney Tunes or Tom and Jerry, then it has to make sense as to why they are there and how they can fit in with the environment. It comes down to three basic things: environment, history and art style. If the environment is okay, and the history of there being anthropomorphism is established, and the art style is in turn okay, then it is okay in the long run. This is why I enjoy "The Looney Tunes Show". The environment is more modern and bent to match reality, the history of the characters is established early on and build on episode by episode, (and there's the references that add to it with Looney Tunes jokes from previous shorts from the 60's), and there are confirmed humans in the show who don't notice the anthropomorphism, and the art style blends it all together in a clean swipe of hilarity and animation brilliance. This is also why I enjoy the movie "Cats Don't Dance": it takes anthropomorphism of animals and turns it into a metaphor for racism in 1940's Hollywood. It combined a relative environment of a historical timepiece, added the necessary elements of anthropomorphism with its own rich metamorphic history and the art style made all of it look like it was a classic cartoon. If the environment works, and the history is laid down, and the art style manages to work it together, then anthropomorphism in shows is alright and well done in my book. But, (and I do have to be honest when I say this), if even one of these is never touched on, or brought too much into focus, then questions will be raised and things can be turned awkward. This is what I feel happened when I watched 'Sonic X'. The environment was Earth and all humans, with no mentions of Sonic being real before, and then out of the blue Sonic and his friends fall to Earth, "like Magic". The art style made it harder for me to watch because of how cartoonish Sonic and his friends looked compared to the humans and Eggman. It also could have been because every line looked SO SMOOTH, and there were no detailed areas or specifics, but I could have been wrong. To me, this series started off awkward, and continued to get more awkward with the introduction of Shadow, Eggman's schemes and the later part of season one. The conclusion of season one was, and I'll say it lightly, okay. Chris saying goodbye to Sonic and his friends at the expense of never seeing them again was heartfelt, and he did act reasonably when it came to seeing them leave. (Although the CGI could have been better for their transition back). THEN . . . season two happened . . . then season two happened . . . Just like how I feel with "Sword Art Online", I feel season two of 'Sonic X' is weaker than the first. Chris coming back because he longed for Sonic all these years and building a machine to send him to Mobius, and he happens to turn into a kid again because of the time differences on planets? Sure, I'll buy that, albeit it sounds like Sonic 06 to me. And Cosmo being the key of life for an evil overlord, and later performs a sacrifice of herself to save everyone and Tails is left in the Friend Zone? Cliche, painful to watch, predictable and overall weaker than the previous season. I don't want to spend too much on this season either because the plot and Chris made it weaker than when we witnessed Sonic and his friends adapting to Earth and humanity. Introducing an annoying character again and adding a character who becomes the key for hope is something I feel has been done better before. I hate feeling this way because I watch "Sonic Boom" now, but I feel that one is better than this . . . I hate to feel that way, but I do. NUMBER 4: " Eiken" Stop me if you've heard this before: a new male student to a school, desperate to make friends, ends up tripping and falling, literally, for a busty babe who is perfect. Then he has to do something insane, meet her friends, and tries to hook up with her only to be shut down as lucky, a pervert or a complete loser. If you answered me with "That's the opening plotline for Rosario+Vampire", then you're close. I also would have accepted "Stop talking, that sounds like every hentai anime out there", but fair enough. This is also, word for word, the opening scenes of the OVA series "Eiken". THIS one is BAD. Originally an 18 volume manga series, "Eiken" involves a boy named Densuke Mifune, who transfers to Zashono Academy at the start of a new year. He accidentally gropes one of the school's most attractive girls, Chiharu Shinonome, and gets drafted into the Eiken Club, which is run by her friend, the lively and flirtatious Kirika Misono. He is then subjugated to being tortured by the club members while he tries to get Chiharu to like him. . . . there is a catch to this one aside from being stereotypically harem/hentai anime. "Eiken" has become infamous in the anime community for having female characters possess pronounced, er . . . "tracts of land". Yeah, I said it. The entire manga and two-episode OVA series follow hentai taken to ridiculous extremes, involving large boobs. I don't know how the joke came about, or how people come to know about this, (probably in the same manner that people know about Boku no Pico), but dang it, I hate that I know about this one. The only reason this isn't my number one pick is that I found other clips on AMV Hell about it, and decided to check it out. Now, I bet you're wondering: why would a straight-laced, highly intelligent young woman like myself watch a two-episode OVA involving girls with 'humorously' large breasts and a perverted boy who day-dreams of bondaging his crush in measuring tape? I'll let Alucard get channeled here for that reason. Ally? (Alucard: Fuck you, that's how.) Thanks, ya fuck-mothering vampire. Aside from hitting all the earmarks of cliche and hentai moments in the book, the OVA adds to it by adding as much fanservice as physically and mentally possible, such as the bananas, the table dresses, the bondage day-dreams, etc. If someone wanted to make a hentai porn, those already exist. This is trying too hard to be something like porn without being it. And kind of doing it poorly. The games of the academy also are involved in some kind of rigging, which is contrived and makes no sense whatsoever, and Chiharu is involved with the bad guy, who is also cliche and makes no sense, and the entire resolution is easily predictable. It's dull, and only served to make me angry when I watched the OVA to see what the frick it was about. I really do regret it. I cannot stress how much hatred and pity I have for those who read this and actually enjoy it. If you do, more power to you; but just remember something. THEY GAVE A 10-YEAR OLD BOOBS THE SIZE OF BASKETBALLS. NUMBER 3: " Black Butler II" Before ANYONE says anything, YES I consider the second season of "Black Butler" to be another anime entirely. Makes separating the two much easier. For the record, nothing is wrong with "Black Butler". The series is wonderful, the pacing is perfect, the storylines between the manga and the show differ greatly, but either way the conclusions are perfect, the artstyle and metaphoric coloring is syched, the voicing acting is awesome - shall I go on? So, when I finish the first season and see the second one, I decide to watch it. I really, really, REALLY wish I hadn't. The first season was, in all definitions of the words, "a work of art". The second season too it, and decimated every last loose end that was tied up in the first season finale. Why am I being so hard on this series? For a couple of reasons. First of all, the plot. The second series picks up with a new young blond gentleman, Alois Trancy, who has recently been found by his family after a kidnapping incident. Because of his trauma, he's become a bit of a jerk and often harms others. At his side is a handsome and elegant butler, Claude, who looks eerily closer to Sebastian than I can stand. They take the mansion over, and Alois goes about his merry way to be happy, albeit in the worst of ways, by torturing his female maid Hannah and the triplet servants. If this is starting to sound like a warped Ciel Phantomhive to you, then you are feeling the exact same thing I felt when I first watched it. Of course, the first episode delves right into these two firsthand, how Alois is a bit of a prick, (the fact he wears booty shorts), and how he is not above hurting others to get what he wants.

Something I don't remember Ciel ever wanting to do or exhibit. So, in episode one, a strange man with a large suitcase comes to the door and Alois lets him in. The man is later revealed to be Sebastian Michaelis, who was searching for something. In the suitcase is Ciel Phantomhive's soulless body, and Sebastian leaves the mansion with a tea box, holding a familiar blue ring. Alois is ticked, Claude is pissed and Ciel comes back from the dead. The reason for this is pretty much left obvious for the viewers through flashbacks: in the first series finale, Sebastian was about to take Ciel's soul, when a contrived demon spider, Claude, swiped his delectable soul away from the raven demon. Sebastian, reasonably ticked off, went after him and gave him his soul back, but now Ciel's memories of the previous season are gone, he has lost his revenge sought, and doesn't remember how he helped to save London. There's a reason I hate this anime. Claude stealing Ciel's soul and him having amnesia are just more contrivances that serve nothing more than to force the plot of there being another demon-master team for Sebastian and Ciel to go up against. Rather than build up to something in the previous season, everything in this one is left readily explained, and it just hurts to see how everything goes swiftly to dog poop. The second reason, the behavior of Claude and Alois Trancy. I've seen several worst anime character lists over the web, and Alois Trancy often dominates because of his smarmy attitude, his devastating contrasts to Ciel and how he harms others and begs to be saved by Claude at every instant notion of danger.

And, I can see why. Alois was, without a doubt, raised in a hellish environment, and all he had to look forward to was his 'brother', who is actually a saving grace for the anime and the blond. However, the severe deaths and mass village murders that took place because of his brother's pact with Hannah the Demon just wrecked everything for him. If the writers wanted to make Alois more relatable, like Ciel, then more emotional touching could have been done. Instead, Alois is often shown not regretting his actions, causing trouble and damage at every beck and call, and like in one episode, begs for help from Claude. I can tell he's supposed to be a contrast to Ciel, but it's too far. Especially when you count in how he also has three servants and Claude. As for Claude, he's not off the hook either. His mannerisms are more unique than Sebastian, but aside from that, he's the same dandy as Sebastian. All he does differently is be more cold-hearted and go back on his bargain made with Sebastian in the second episode. And to explain that in further detail, he and Sebastian ended up making a blood pact using roses and their own blood to see who would get Ciel Phantomhive's soul: a who would win kind of scenario with a yaoi prize going to the winner. Claude was the one who suggested it, and he was the jerk who broke it. Sebastian even pointed this OUT, and still, Claude wanted Ciel's soul. Not . . . to mention when Ciel and Alois' souls combined, he acted a bit . . . creepy around Ciel. (Dude kisses his leg . . . pedophilia there.) Three, the introduction of Hannah and her role in the story. Hannah is literally the Deus-ex-machina in this story, and I will not lie when I say I genuinely believe it. The maid, Hannah, later in the episodes, is revealed to be a demoness, (whom Sebastian never noticed before, even when Clyde used her as a sword sheath), and was never brought into full use as a demoness and user of magic until the final three episodes. She is given a very cliche and bland personality at first, which gives way to how she was putting on a facade to get close to Alois, because she felt what his brother felt when he made the pact with her. As much as I feel Hannah is a saving grace of the anime, I have to ding some points off because of how she exposites her role in Alois' past to him, in Ciel's body no less, and ends up performing a final act, that should not be possible, until she dies with Clyde and Alois. She could have been a better part of the story if she was given more of a stronger personality when Alois was being cruel, without going too sappy. Not much else about her makes me want to hate her as much as hug her. She does has a reason to be near Alois, she does care about him unlike Clyde, and does win him over in the end. But in all cases, she was a little bit of a good thing in a large bad thing. And as for the fourth reason, the flipping ending of the second series. Oh . . . MY GOD . . . Here's what happens as a recap, and stay with me here.

Ciel and Alois' souls are combined so he can be used by Claude as a last-ditch effort to win over Sebastian, and Sebastian gets reasonably ticked. Claude acts creepy, Ciel and Alois fight over Ciel's body and a maze is conjured that is fixed by Alois to let Claude win and take Ciel's soul away. Sebastian and Claude fight in the maze, Grell is there for no reason, Hannah is trying to talk to Alois who is in control, and Ciel's will takes over and changes the maze again. Alois finds out Claude lied and did want Ciel's soul, and Alois is ticked. The butlers complete the maze, and see Hannah over a passed out Ciel/Alois, and now with a new mark on him. The butlers are then escorted by Hannah to a demonic isle where they fight, and Alois' final contract with Hannah is revealed: he decided if Ciel's soul was so valuable, then he didn't want anyone to have or love it. So he wished that Ciel was a demon. Ciel Phantomhive becomes a demon, and his last command to Sebastian before this happened was to follow his order and help him. . . . The slap mark on my forehead is red. Alois, being jealous of Ciel, wished him into a demonic being, and now Sebastian, who ended up with a happy ending in the first series, is now stuck with Ciel for all eternity. And as a bonus punishment, Ciel is immortal and has to retreat with Sebastian to the demon world and never return. I was so angry when I watched this episode that I threw my phone across the room in a rage. Thank god for the Otterbox, or else it surely would have broken. There are several problems I have here with this ending, one of the most obvious being how Hannah could get Alois to get another contract in when he was already in one with Clyde, and how Ciel's body could handle THREE contract pressures at once and not feel any kind of soul degeneration, or something by then. But no, the largest problem is how and why the writers turned Ciel into a demon. The point of 'Black Butler" was to become associated with the concept of revenge and learn that it is not often what others are searching for. It's to be accepted that people will do bad things, and often get away with it. It doesn't mean taking revenge is the best option. While it is fulfilling, oftentimes it's not. Here, the concept of revenge is taken to the extreme with Alois turning Ciel into a demon because he was jealous. There's nothing in the lines of retribution here, aside from the fact he sacrificed his life to save Ciel's and Sebastian's. All that he did he did for petty jealousy. Ciel never did anything wrong in this series, so it was as if Alois was the torturer and Ciel was the poor dude strung along on the wall. The revenge within this series was also manipulated and forced between Ciel and Alois, compared to how Ciel had to sleuth out who to kill in the first series. Forced elements are never good. They always end badly. And this series is just proof of it. Having Hannah use her power to turn Ciel into a demon is also a stretch, as it is never implied she could do something like that before. I blame it more on the writers going "This is a good idea' and inserting it into the anime for kicks. . . . or to create a 'hint-hint-yaoi-hint-hint' product to establish a new fanbase. BUT, that just about sums up this one: contrived, bad characters, and ruining the first season of what made it good. And now I will put on a helmet . . . because the second one is going to make SO many people angry at me . . . NUMBER 2: " Sword Art Online" I can feel the fury from much hate-mail coming my direction, but let me explain my piece before someone goes all out and eats my liver. I like sci-fi tech stories in anime. .Hack//Sign is one of my favorite anime, and it still stays as one of the better examples of video games in anime, next to "No Game No Life" and "Log Horizon". It takes gaming into another level and gives you a video game world you want to participate in, and characters you want to root for. Yet this anime is where I draw the line when it comes to intense immersion. Aside from the stunning artwork and the stellar designs of the characters and worlds, I don't know much else I can commend about this anime, aside from the fact that it was also a fanfiction that became a thing. (Remind you of anything?) Now, back to what I was saying. SAO follows a boy, Kazuto Kirigata, or as he goes in the game(s) "Kirito". In the first arc of the anime and stories, he gets stuck in a game called "Sword Art Online", along with about a thousand other players. The mastermind behind it, one of the creators of the game, got them stuck there, and to leave, the players have to reach level 100 of the entire game and defeat him. And they can’t be forcefully removed from the game system due to it being hooked to their nervous system. Sure, it's a good idea, and sure I thought it was okay, but a part of me instantly disliked this idea because the same instance occurred in '.Hack//Sign', except the main character was the only one stuck in the game, it was psychological aspects with less action and the main character was a male avatar with a female body in the real world. I just thought it was a rip-off of the series, and when I decided to watch the rest . . . I had to nope out. About two to three episodes into the series, the players of SAO start to think the beta-testers for the game are beating everyone else easily because they know the mechanics and grinding points. So they try to force beta-testers to help them get information about the game and everything that entails it. And of course, no good comes from it because someone has to be the sacrificial lamb. This also spawns the term “beaters”, beta-testers who are ��cheating’ in the game because of their foreknowledge.

Kirito then gets the idea that since he was a beta-tester for the game, and knows the details of the game and knows everyone hates his ass now, he can beat the game himself. So, he gives a shortwinded diatribe about being “The Guy” and goes it alone. This is given the fact he also seems to have no motivational aspects for this, nor does he TRY to reach out to other members of the SAO player communities that are stuck in the game, but the other players treat him and other beta-testers of the game as jackwagons. Beta-testers of games are beta-testers for a reason; they OK a game and game-play for little to no money, or much, and most of the time are good gamers. And the nicest people. I should know; I know a dude who beta-tested Destiny. Here, they're treated like jack-wagons, and Kirito just enforces the whole idea by acting like a jackwagon and walking away from other players to continue the game because why not. Aside from that, Kirito's personality is one of disinterest and expressionless pity. He wants to get out, but he continues alone until he meets Asuna, who for all intents and purposes, is the BEST character in Part I. Their relationship is easily one of the better things in this anime, albeit ham-fisted and later turned to sludge in the second and third parts, but still. Seeing them happy was a GOOD thing midway through this anime of darkness. It did give Kirito and Asuna something to fight for, but it never really fleshed either of them out for me. Skewer me later, I have a LOT more to point out. AS the show progresses, the plot becomes more and more linear, it never forks, Asuna is later RAPED IN THE SECOND PART, IN GRAPHIC DETAIL, and Kirito's flat sister comes into play as well. My disinterest in the characters and hatred of the second villain of the anime was enough to make me switch to something else. I'll be finishing this anime up for a full in-depth analysis later, but for now, I'll go ahead and say my piece here and leave it at that. I know people like this anime, and it makes me happy to see they like something collectively. I may not like it, like how I may not like One Piece as much as I used to, but for people to come together about an anime is okay. It's just I don't like this anime, and I don't mind others liking it. The pacing of the story measures out for almost an eternity, Kirito's ambitions and goals and behaviors are never really justified, the second part's villain made NO flipping sense, Asuna was degraded as a character and as an archetype, Kirito is in desperate need of development, reasons are needed for how they can be so OP in many parts, and I want some more answers on how his sister came into the picture. And . . . for the love of god . . . I want a redo on this anime's second half. . . . and I think most people do as well. . . . I don't think I can continue this part until I can get the FINAL and WORST anime I have ever seen out of my system. And believe me when I say . . . it's BAD. NUMBER 1: " Pupa" This anime. This . . . anime . . . I found this anime after scrolling around on Crunchyroll for something to watch in the Summer of 2014. I was interested in the genre and cover of the anime and decided to give it a try. . . . I want to erase it from my brain. Utsutsu Hasegawa and his little sister, Yume, are exposed to a rare and monstrous virus called 'Pupa'. Yume becomes a vicious man-eating monster, while Utsutsu gains regenerative powers. They are then approached, almost as if by magic, by a researcher who wants to contain Yume and Utsutsu and use them as guinea pigs for research. Utsutsu allows it, saying he'll do anything for his sister, and decides to become his sister's food source so she can assume a normal life. While the concept is golden and has the potential for deeper symbolic meaning, like how it used the teddy bears as the shattering of Yume's humanity and innocence, and how Utsutsu's relationship with his sister was put to the ultimate test, it becomes . . . hard to watch. In more ways than one.

The anime episodes are 4 minutes long each, leaving the entire series at a binge-able time of 1 hour. There’s not much to do with that much time, and it can’t be a fast-paced comedy like Hetalia. It’s a horror series. Horror series need to work quickly but have context and depth, or else the deeper meaning is lost. Since this is also animation, it means the drawings and backgrounds need to be visually appealing or eyecatching so the viewer can keep watching without problem.

Artistically speaking, the characters are well designed, but in animation terms, their movements are as bad as an early Studio Deen production.

And that’s where the praise ends.

There is an episode of the anime, each being five minutes long, of Yume just eating her brother, and saying "Utsutsu" over, and over, AND OVER again . . . If you get the idea of where I am going with this, then you know exactly WHY I do not like this anime. The concept itself is the driving force for the anime, and after that, NOTHING HAPPENS. Yume is kidnapped and experimented on, like Utsutsu, but he saves her and still decides to be her food source. She feeds on him, they love each other, they live normal lives, yadda yadda. Nothing. Conventional. Or concrete. Happens. Characters are introduced, but they come and go and are never touched on again unless the plot calls for them to make an appearance. Utsutsu and Yume's mother is cold and sees Yume as a monster, which may or may not be her delusions given how she was also abused by the kids' father, who is ALSO never developed outside of being a wife-beater, and both are who I consider to be the worst parents of all time. Yume and Utsutsu, for all purposes of the anime, are the most developed and touched on characters. But, they never do much outside of adapting to their own hellish nightmare. Never do they ask Maria the scientist for a cure, never do they try to escape or move along with their lives. They just get stuck in their nightmare, forever to be mad. I hate it when animes like this come around. It introduces an interesting scenario, only to forget plot and context in favor of showing more and more grotesque imagery and disturbing content. I know it's rated M, but in all honesty, the incest insinuations and the fact that no one helps these kids out of this problem is enough to make me mad. I will say it has beautiful designs.

I will say it had an interesting idea. I will not say it's a good anime. And, now you know why. Well, there you have it. Those are the top ten anime I personally dislike, and in a few cases, hate to the core. But, just because I hate these anime doesn't mean that others can't enjoy them. That's the power of the internet and personal opinion. Now . . . I'm gonna go back to writing MLP reviews . . . I've been getting rusty, and I feel like I'm gonna get so much flack for these . . .

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monaedroid · 7 years ago

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She rose to fame as an endlessly inventive pop android. Now, she's finally revealing the real person waiting inside

Janelle Monáe is crying in her spacesuit. It's early April in Atlanta, and she's in one of the basement studios of her Wondaland Records headquarters, surrounded by computer monitors and TV screens, one of them running a screensaver that displays images of her heroes: Prince, Martin Luther King Jr., Pam Grier, Tina Turner, Lupita Nyong'o, David Bowie. She's about to reveal, for the first time, something the world has long guessed, something her closest friends and family already know, something she's long been loath to say in public. As she sings on a song from her new album, Dirty Computer,"Let the rumors be true." Janelle Monáe is not, she finally admits, the immaculate android, the "alien from outer space/The cybergirl without a face" she's claimed to be over a decade's worth of albums, videos, concerts and even interviews – she is, instead, a flawed, messy, flesh-and-blood 32-year-old human being.

And she has another rumor to confirm. "Being a queer black woman in America," she says, taking a breath as she comes out, "someone who has been in relationships with both men and women – I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker." She initially identified as bisexual, she clarifies, "but then later I read about pansexuality and was like, ‘Oh, these are things that I identify with too.' I'm open to learning more about who I am."

It's a lovely spacesuit she's wearing, a form-fitting white NASA artifact complete with a commander patch on one arm and an American flag on the other. She's put it on for no reason at all – there are no cameras in sight – as she lounges around Wondaland. The outfit is a remnant, perhaps, of the android persona, known as Cindi Mayweather, that she fed us all these years: a messianic, revolutionary robot who fell in love with a human and vowed to free the rest of the androids.

Early in her career, Monáe was insecure about living up to impossible showbiz ideals; the persona, the androgynous outfits, the inflexible commitment to the storyline both on- and offstage, served in part as protective armor. "It had to do with the fear of being judged," she says. "All I saw was that I was supposed to look a certain way coming into this industry, and I felt like I [didn't] look like a stereotypical black female artist."

She is also a perfectionist, a tendency that's helped her career and hindered her emotional life; portraying a flawless automaton was also a bit of wish fulfillment. It's one of the many reasons she thought she had a "computer virus" that needed cleaning, which led her to years of therapy, starting before the 2010 release of her debut, The ArchAndroid. "I felt misunderstood," she says. "I was like, ‘Before I self-destruct, before I become a confused person in front of the world, let me seek some help.' I was afraid for anybody to see me not at the top of my game. That obsession was too much for me."

So she overcompensated, as she puts it, leaving fans to puzzle over the sight and sound of a dark-skinned, androgynously dressed black woman creating Afro-futuristic fantasias as trippy as the Parliament-Funkadelic soundscapes she grew up hearing. She became a pop anomaly, a sometimes incongruous interloper in the universes of her earliest supporters, Big Boi and Puff Daddy, the latter having signed her to a partnership with Bad Boy Records in 2008. The ArchAndroidwas a buzzy introduction, and 2013's Electric Lady – certainly the first progged-out concept album in the history of Bad Boy – established her as one of the 21st century's most inventive voices. Years before Frank Ocean, Solange, Beyoncé and SZA pushed arty, alternative R&B to the mainstream, Monáe was already there, bridging the gap between neo-soul and all that was to come, unafraid to fuse rock, funk, hip-hop (when she feels like it, as on her recent single "Django Jane," she's a top-flight rapper), R&B, electronica and campy, drama-kid theatricality.

She always ducked questions about her sexuality ("I only date androids" was a stock response) but embedded the real answers in her music. "If you listen to my albums, it's there," she says. She cites "Mushrooms & Roses" and "Q.U.E.E.N.," two songs that reference a character named Mary as an object of affection. In the 45-minute film accompanying Dirty Computer, "Mary Apple" is the name given to female "dirty computers" taken captive and stripped of their real names, one of whom is played by Tessa Thompson. (The actress has been rumored to be Monáe's girlfriend, though Monáe won't discuss her dating life.) The original title of "Q.U.E.E.N.," she notes, was "Q.U.E.E.R.," and you can still hear the word on the track's background harmonies.

Monáe is the CEO of her own label, a CoverGirl model and a movie star, appearing in the Oscar-winning Moonlight and the Oscar-nominated Hidden Figures, two hits led by black casts. In both films, she tackles black American stories that don't typically get the big-screen treatment. "Our stories are being erased, basically," she says of her attachment to those scripts, which made her "want to tell my story." Monáe does worry that the human behind her masks may not be enough. She has asked aloud, including in therapy, "What if people don't think I'm as interesting as Cindi Mayweather?" She'll miss the freedom of being the android. "I created her, so I got to make her be whatever I wanted her to be. I didn't have to talk about the Janelle Monáe who was in therapy. It's Cindi Mayweather. She is who I aspire to be." On Dirty Computer, the only hints of sci-fi are in the title and the storyline of the accompanying film. The lyrics are flesh-and-blood confessions of both physical and emotional insecurity, punctuated with sexual liberation. They're the unfiltered desires of an overthinker letting herself speak without pause, for once. And she wants to help listeners gain the courage to be dirty computers too. "I want young girls, young boys, nonbinary, gay, straight, queer people who are having a hard time dealing with their sexuality, dealing with feeling ostracized or bullied for just being their unique selves, to know that I see you," she says in a tone befitting the commander patch on her arm. "This album is for you. Be proud."

Monáe grew up in a massive, devoutly Baptist family in Kansas City, Kansas, or as she likes to put it, "I got 50 first cousins!" Not all of them know details of her romantic life, but they have almost certainly seen her wear sheer pants and share a lollipop with Thompson in the "Make Me Feel" video. "I literally do not have time," she says, laughing, "to hold a town-hall meeting with my big-ass family and be like, ‘Hey, news flash!' " She worries that when we visit Kansas City tomorrow, they'll bring it up: "There are people in my life that love me and they have questions, and I guess when I get there, I'll have to answer those questions."

Over the years, she's heard some members of her family, mostly distant ones, say certain upsetting things. "A lot of this album," she says, "is a reaction to the sting of what it means to hear people in my family say, ‘All gay people are going to hell.' "

She began questioning the Bible and her family's Baptist faith early on. Now, she says, "I serve the God of love" – love, she's determined, is the common factor among all religions, an idea Stevie Wonder expanded on in a Dirty Computer interlude.

When we arrive in the flat, industrial Kansas side of Kansas City, her family doesn't actually have any questions – or anything unkind to say, for that matter. There's just a whole lot of love for their homegrown superstar.

Janelle Monáe Robinson was born here on December 1st, 1985, to a mom who worked as a janitor and a dad who was in the middle of a 21-year battle with crack addiction. Her parents separated when Monáe was less than a year old, and her mother later married the father of Janelle's younger sister, Kimmy.

Monáe's loving warnings about the sheer size of her family ring true as soon as we step into her old neighborhood. On one street, her maternal grandmother owned several homes in a row that housed cousins, aunts, uncles and Monáe herself. A few minutes away is her paternal great-grandmother's pastel-coated house. Monáe spent a significant portion of her time there – it was her main connection to her dad and his family as he went in and out of prison; their relationship was rocky until he got sober 13 years ago. Another short car ride away is her maternal Aunt Glo's home, where we meet her mom. "She's my favorite slice of pie," her Auntie Fats says, referring to Monáe's familial nickname of "pun'kin."

Monáe was raised in a working-class community called Quindaro. It started as a settlement established by Native Americans and abolitionists just prior to the Civil War, and became a refuge for black Americans escaping slavery via the Underground Railroad. A few weeks before our visit, vandals painted swastikas and "Hail Satan" on a statue of abolitionist John Brown in the neighborhood. It's since been repainted. "I know nobody in this neighborhood did that," her great-grandmother says, shaking her head. "Outsiders."

On the Missouri side of the bridge, Kansas City is predominately white, but Monáe's community is overwhelmingly black. "I would read about where I was from," she says, "and understand who's really disadvantaged coming from these environments. It sucks. It's like that for brown folks." It's hard to miss her family's religiosity – they hardly get a sentence out without a mention of God's blessings. At 91, Monáe's great-grandma still monitors the halls at the local vacation Bible school with a switch in hand. During our visit, she sits behind a piano to lead a gospel singalong. Monáe, beside an aunt and a cousin, joins in, belting "Call Him Up and Tell Him What You Want" and "Savior, Do Not Pass Me By."

Monáe is never more relaxed during our time together than when she's in Kansas City. Her Midwestern drawl comes back as she screams and sings while running into the arms of her cousins, aunts and uncles, many of whom she gets to see only during the holidays or tour stops nearby. At one point, she curls up into her mom's lap while they look at a homemade poster full of sepia-toned childhood pics. "She was a delightful baby," Auntie Fats recalls.

Monáe's family members all share different versions of the same story: She was born to be a star, and she made that clear as soon as she gained motor skills. There was that time she got escorted out of church for insisting on singing Michael Jackson's "Beat It" in the middle of the service. There were the talent shows for Juneteenth where she covered "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" three years in a row and won each time. She was the star of the school musicals, except for The Wiz her senior year, when she lost the role of Dorothy because she had to leave the audition early to pick up her mom at work. She's still a bit miffed about not getting that part.

Monáe soon passed a bigger audition, for the American Musical and Dramatic Academy, and headed to New York. She studied musical theater and shared a small apartment with a cousin where she didn't even have a bed to herself. When she wasn't in class, she was working.

Meanwhile, an old friend was having the college experience Monáe desired, in Atlanta, so she relocated. The rest is well-trod history in the myth-building of Monáe: She was an Afro'd neo-soul singer strumming her guitar on college quads and working at Office Depot. She was fired from that job for using one of the company's computers to respond to a fan's e-mail, an incident that inspired the song "Lettin' Go."

That song caught the attention of Big Boi, who put her on Outkast's Idlewild and helped connect her with Sean Combs. "I'm-a be honest with you," her dad says, recalling an invite to one of Monáe's shows in Atlanta, where Combs was supposed to be in the house. "I was like, ‘Yeah, right.' I didn't think Puff Daddy was coming."

Skepticism aside, Michael Robinson was proud of the invite. He'd recently gotten sober, and the two were repairing their relationship. He spent much of Janelle's childhood hearing about her immense talents from the more-present members of their family. He was honored that they had come far enough for Monáe to want him to be there for such an important concert. But he still didn't believe Puffy would be there.

"I go down there with my two cousins, and she says, ‘Dad, everyone's gonna know you're not from here. Your jeans are creased.' " Fashion faux pas aside – he insists he hasn't creased his jeans since – Robinson was in for a pleasant surprise when one of his cousins spotted Combs and Big Boi in the back. It was the beginning of his daughter's new life, and he was just in time to be along for the journey. "I remember thinking, ‘This is what the big time is like,' " he muses. "They had all the cameras, all the lights. It was all about Janelle."

Wondaland Arts Society's headquarters feels like a utopian synthesis of Monáe's past lives in Kansas City and Manhattan. It sits inconspicuously in the midst of suburban Atlanta and looks like every other neighborhood home, with its two floors and brick exterior. Inside is much more ostentatious, with vintage clocks wallpapering the foyer, pristine white couches in the communal living spaces, and books and records everywhere.

It mimics the close-knit, constant accessibility of her childhood in Kansas City, with all its artists popping in and out of the space throughout each day to record new music, rehearse for shows and present the final product to the rest of the collective. At one point, the singer-rapper Jidenna shows up, having recently returned from a trip to Africa – everyone immediately starts teasing him about his newly buff physique.

Simultaneously, Chuck Lightning, seemingly the more extroverted half of two-man funk act Deep Cotton, who make their own music as well as work with Monáe, grabs a bowl of quinoa from the kitchen as Monáe doles out decisions on which version of the "Pynk" video will be released (they settle on the one without the spoken-word love poem that appears within the song in the film).

Monáe recorded most of Dirty Computer here, in a small studio with Havana-inspired decor. Guests and collaborators ranged from Grimes to Brian Wilson, who added harmonies to the title track. The album's liner notes cite Bible verses and a recent Quincy Jones interview alongside Monica Sjöö's The Great Cosmic Mother and Ryan Coogler's Black Panther.

But she was particularly close to one inspiration. Monáe was good friends with Prince, who personally blessed the album's glossy camp tone and synthed-out hooks. "When Prince heard this particular direction, he was like, ‘That's what y'all need to be doing,' " Lightning says. "He picked out that sound as what was resonating with him." Prince gave highly specific music and equipment recommendations from the era they were drawing on, including Gary Numan, whom he loved. "The most powerful thing he could do was give us the brushes to paint with," Lightning says.

Rumors spread that Prince co-wrote the single "Make Me Feel," which features a "Kiss"-like guitar riff. "Prince did not write that song," says Monáe, who sorely missed his advice during the production process. "It was very difficult writing this album without him." Prince was the first person to get a physical copy of The ArchAndroid – she presented the CD to him with a flower and the titles written out by hand. "As we were writing songs, I was like, ‘What would Prince think?' And I could not call him. It's a difficult thing to lose your mentor in the middle of a journey they had been a part of."

Stevie Wonder was another early fan of Monáe, and a conversation between them – Wonder insisted she record it – appears as an interlude on Dirty Computer. At one point, years ago, her budding friendships with both legends collided: She had to choose between playing with Prince at Madison Square Garden or with Wonder in Los Angeles. Prince encouraged her to pick Stevie.

On election night in 2016, Monáe found herself experiencing an unfamiliar emotion. "For the first time," she says, "I felt scared." Overnight, she went from living in a country whose president loved her music and had her perform on the White House lawn to one where it felt like her right to exist was threatened. "I felt like if I wake up tomorrow," she says, "are people going to feel they have the right to just, like, kill me now?"

Monáe had already been a committed activist. In 2015, with members of Wondaland, she created "Hell You Talmbout," which demands we say the names of black Americans who have been victims of racial violence and police brutality. Before #MeToo and Time's Up, Monáe created an organization, Fem the Future, which stemmed from her frustrations about opportunities for women in the music industry. She was called on to perform at the 2017 Women's March and to speak about Time's Up while introducing Kesha at the Grammys. "We come in peace, but we mean business," she told the cheering crowd.

That sums up Monáe's mindset in the Trump era. She hopes not to destroy the oppressors but to change their minds. "The conversations might not happen with people in the position of power," she says, "but they can happen through a movie, they can happen through a song, they can happen through an album, they can happen through a speech on TV. Most of them will probably turn off their TVs, but . . ."

She's in a New York hotel now, two weeks before the album's release. "There's some anxiety there, but I feel brave," she says, teetering between her typical sternness and a bit of vulnerable shakiness. No tears will be shed today. "My musical heroes did not make the sacrifices they did for me to live in fear." Her activism isn't the focus of Dirty Computer, but it's there, hovering above every note. She ended band rehearsal in Atlanta by asking the musicians to reflect on how American this album is. Monáe's America is the one on the fringes; it accepts the outsiders and the computers with viruses, like the ones she thought she had.

She understands the significance of now making her personal life a bigger, louder part of her art. She cites the conversation around one of her films as an example of how she might use her own story to engage with more-conservative listeners. "When I did Hidden Figures, there were some Republican white men tweeting about it and how they just felt bad. You could feel through their tweets that they were just like, ‘These black women did help us get to space. How could we treat them like that?' "

Meanwhile, she's again anticipating questions from her family back in Kansas. She seems more worried about them than what anyone else has to say. Still, Dirty Computer is meant to be a celebration, and if she loses a few people along the way, Monáe seems OK with that risk.

"Through my experiences, I hope people are seen and heard," she says, sitting at a hotel-room desk, dressed up from a day of promo in a puffy black-and-red jacket, matching red pants and terry-cloth hotel slippers. "I may make some mistakes. I may have to learn on the go, but I'm open to this journey." She sighs, voice confident and stare unfaltering. "I need to go through this. We need to go through this. Together. I'm going to make you empathize with dirty computers all around the world."

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/cover-story-janelle-monae-prince-new-lp-her-sexuality-w519523

#long reads #janelle monae #janellemonae #wondaland #wondaland records #rolling stones #rolling stone magazine #cover #coverstory

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