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samwisethewitch · 4 years

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Cults? In my life? It’s more likely than you think.

In my last post, I talked about how the Law of Attraction and Christian prosperity gospel both use the same thought control techniques as cults. I’ve received several public and private replies to that post: some expressing contempt for “sheeple” who can be lead astray by cults, and others who say my post made them scared that they might be part of a cult without knowing it.

I want to address both of those types of replies in this post. I want to talk about what a cult really looks like, and how you can know if you’re dealing with one.

If you type the word “cult” into Google Images, it will bring up lots of photos of people with long hair, wearing all white, with their hands raised in an expression of ecstasy.

Most modern cults do not look anything like this.

Modern cultists look a lot like everyone else. One of the primary goals of most cults is recruitment, and it’s hard to get people to join your cause if they think you and your group are all Kool-Aid-drinking weirdos. The cults that last are the ones that manage to convince people that they’re just like everyone else — a little weird maybe, but certainly not dangerous.

In the book The Road to Jonestown: Jim Jones and Peoples Temple, author Jeff Guinn says, “In years to come, Jim Jones would frequently be compared to murderous demagogues such as Adolf Hitler and Charles Manson. These comparisons completely misinterpret, and historically misrepresent, the initial appeal of Jim Jones to members of Peoples Temple. Jones attracted followers by appealing to their better instincts.”

You might not know Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple by name, but you’ve probably heard their story. They’re the Kool-Aid drinkers I mentioned earlier. Jones and over 900 of his followers, including children, committed mass suicide by drinking Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide.

In a way, the cartoonish image of cults in popular media has helped real-life cults to stay under the radar and slip through people’s defenses.

In her book Recovering Agency: Lifting the Veil of Mormon Mind Control, Luna Lindsey says: “These groups use a legion of persuasive techniques in unison, techniques that strip away the personality to build up a new group pseudopersonality. New members know very little about the group’s purpose, and most expectations remain unrevealed. People become deeply involved, sacrificing vast amounts of time and money, and investing emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, and socially.”

Let’s address some more common myths about cults:

Myth #1: All cults are Satanic or occult in nature. This mostly comes from conservative Christians, who may believe that all non-Christian religions are inherently cultish in nature and are in league with the Devil. This is not the case — most non-Christians don’t even believe in the Devil, much less want to sign away their souls to him. Many cults use Christian theology to recruit members, and some of these groups (Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.) have become popular enough to be recognized as legitimate religions. Most cults have nothing to do with magic or the occult.

Myth #2: All cults are religious. This is also false. While some cults do use religion to recruit members or push an agenda, many cults have no religious or spiritual element. Political cults are those founded around a specific political ideology. Author and cult researcher Janja Lalich is a former member of an American political cult founded on the principles of Marxism. There are also “cults of personality” built around political figures and celebrities, such as Adolf Hitler, Chairman Mao, and Donald Trump. In these cases, the cult is built around hero worship of the leader — it doesn’t really matter what the leader believes or does.

Myth #3: All cults are small fringe groups. Cults can be any size. Some cults have only a handful of members — it’s even possible for parents to use thought control techniques on their children, essentially creating a cult that consists of a single family. There are some cults that have millions of members (see previous note about Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Myth #4: All cults live on isolated compounds away from mainstream society. While it is true that all cults isolate their members from the outside world, very few modern cults use physical isolation. Many cults employ social isolation, which makes members feel separate from mainstream society. Some cults do this by encouraging their followers to be “In the world but not of the world,” or encouraging them to keep themselves “pure.”

Myth #5: Only stupid, gullible, and/or mentally ill people join cults. Actually, according to Luna Lindsey, the average cult member is of above-average intelligence. As cult expert Steven Hassan points out, “Cults intentionally recruit ‘valuable’ people—they go after those who are intelligent, caring, and motivated. Most cults do not want to be burdened by unintelligent people with serious emotional or physical problems.” The idea that only stupid or gullible people fall for thought control is very dangerous, because it reinforces the idea that “it could never happen to me.” This actually prevents intelligent people from thinking critically about the information they’re consuming and the groups they’re associating with, which makes them easier targets for cult recruitment.

So, now that we have a better idea of what a cult actually looks like, how do you know if you or someone you know is in one?

A good rule of thumb is to compare the group’s actions and teachings to Steven Hassan’s BITE Model. Steven Hassan is an expert on cult psychology, and most cult researchers stand by this model. From Hassan’s website, freedomofmind.com: “Based on research and theory by Robert Jay Lifton, Margaret Singer, Edgar Schein, Louis Jolyon West, and others who studied brainwashing in Maoist China as well as cognitive dissonance theory by Leon Festinger, Steven Hassan developed the BITE Model to describe the specific methods that cults use to recruit and maintain control over people. ‘BITE’ stands for Behavior, Information, Thought, and Emotional control.”

Behavior Control may include…

Telling you how to behave, and enforcing behavior with rewards and punishments. (Rewards may be nonphysical concepts like “salvation” or “enlightenment,” or social rewards like group acceptance or an elevated status within the group. Punishments may also be nonphysical, like “damnation,” or may be social punishments like judgement from peers or removal from the group.)

Dictating where and with whom you live. (This includes pressure to move closer to other group members, even if you will be living separately.)

Controlling or restricting your sexuality. (Includes enforcing chastity or abstinence and/or coercion into non-consensual sex acts.)

Controlling your clothing or hairstyle. (Even if no one explicitly tells you, you may feel subtle pressure to look like the rest of the group.)

Restricting leisure time and activities. (This includes both demanding participation in frequent group activities and telling you how you should spend your free time.)

Requiring you to seek permission for major decisions. (Again, even if you don’t “need” permission, you may feel pressure to make decisions that will be accepted by the group.)

And more.

Information Control may include…

Withholding or distorting information. (This may manifest as levels of initiation, with only the “inner circle” or upper initiates being taught certain information.)

Forbidding members from speaking with ex-members or other critics.

Discouraging members from trusting any source of information that isn’t approved by the group’s leadership.

Forbidding members from sharing certain details of the group’s beliefs or practice with outsiders.

Using propaganda. (This includes “feel good” media that exists only to enforce the group’s message.)

Using information gained in confession or private conversation against you.

Gaslighting to make members doubt their own memory. (“I never said that,” “You’re remembering that wrong,” “You’re confused,” etc.)

Requiring you to report your thoughts, feelings, and activities to group leaders or superiors.

Encouraging you to spy on other group members and report their “misconduct.”

And more.

Thought Control may include…

Black and White, Us vs. Them, or Good vs. Evil thinking.

Requiring you to change part of your identity or take on a new name. (This includes only using last names, as well as titles like “Brother,” “Sister,” and “Elder.”)

Using loaded languages and cliches to stop complex thought. (This is the difference between calling someone a “former member” and calling the same person an “apostate” or “covenant breaker.”)

Inducing hypnotic or trance states including prayer, meditation, singing hymns, etc.

Using thought-stopping techniques to prevent critical thinking. (“If you ever find yourself doubting, say a prayer to distract yourself!”)

Allowing only positive thoughts or speech.

Rejecting rational analysis and criticism both from members and from those outside the group.

And more.

Emotional Control may include…

Inducing irrational fears and phobias, especially in connection with leaving the group. (This includes fear of damnation, fear of losing personal value, fear of persecution, etc.)

Labeling some emotions as evil, worldly, sinful, low-vibrational, or wrong.

Teaching techniques to keep yourself from feeling certain emotions like anger or sadness.

Promoting feelings of guilt, shame, and unworthiness. (This is often done by holding group members to impossible standards, such as being spiritually “pure” or being 100% happy all the time.)

Showering members and new recruits with positive attention — this is called “love bombing.” (This can be anything from expensive gifts to sexual favors to simply being really nice to newcomers.)

Shunning members who disobey orders or disbelieve the group’s teachings.

Teaching members that there is no happiness, peace, comfort, etc. outside of the group.

And more.

If a group ticks most or all of the boxes in any one of these categories, you need to do some serious thinking about whether or not that group is good for your mental health. If a group is doing all four of these, you’re definitely dealing with a cult and need to get out as soon as possible.

These techniques can also be used by individual people in one-on-one relationships. A relationship or friendship where someone tries to control your behavior, thoughts, or emotions is not healthy and, again, you need to get out as soon as possible.

Obviously, not all of these things are inherently bad. Meditation and prayer can be helpful on their own, and being nice to new people is common courtesy. The problem is when these acts become part of a bigger pattern, which enforces someone else’s control over your life.

A group that tries to tell you how to think or who to be is bad for your mental health, your personal relationships, and your sense of self. When in doubt, do what you think is best for you — and always be suspicious of people or groups who refuse to be criticized.

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 4 years

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Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not. For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect. Behold, I have told you before. Wherefore if they shall say unto you, Behold, he is in the desert; go not forth: behold, he is in the secret chambers; believe it not. For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.” – Matt. 24

“For if he that cometh preacheth another Jesus, whom we have not preached, or if ye receive another spirit, which ye have not received, or another gospel, which ye have not accepted, ye might well bear with him.” – 2 Cor. 11:4

Founded in 1991 in China by Zhao Weishan, who later moved to the U.S. from where he continues to lead the cult. They believe Jesus was God’s first incarnation, but that He did not complete His work; therefore, God needed to come again to finish the work, this time as a woman – that woman is a 40- something Chinese woman named Yang Xiangbin, also sometimes known as Lightning Feng.

On the surface it looks like normal Christianity, but when you get more involved they introduce the idea that Yang being ‘Almighty God.’ The Church of Almighty God, which is also known as Eastern Lightening, boasts a slick website in both Chinese and English, professionally produced videos. They encourage recruits to abandon their family to part of their cult.

The cult entices people with money or gifts, but will turn to violence or even murder if a person accepts their gifts but fails to join. Satan hates true Christians who have the everlasting Gospel as they are the ones who pose a threat to his kingdom. Interestingly, the cult prefers to target true Christians that are in house churches rather than fringe or heretical groups. Beware of false Christs. The Bible reads when the real Jesus Christ returns the whole world will know (Revelation 1:7)

STRUGGLE WITH THE GREAT RED DRAGON

Also known as Eastern Lightning (“Dongfang Shandian”), the group preaches that Christ has been reincarnated as a woman from central China, and that the righteous are engaged in an apocalyptic struggle against China’s Communist Party — which they refer to as the “great red dragon.”

Linked to kidnappings, violence and extortion, the group has been listed among 14 banned religious groups by China’s Ministry of Public Security since 1995. -[This is available online, You can go some deep research] Emily Dunn, an Asian studies academic at the University of Melbourne who wrote her doctoral thesis on the group, said its illegal status had made it paranoid and secretive, with members often only knowing each other by aliases, so they could not incriminate each other if detained by authorities.

“It’s about as illegal and politically sensitive as religion gets in China,” she said. “As the government has cracked down more, Eastern Lightning’s rhetoric has escalated against the government.”

China’s Academy of Social Sciences says there are now 23 million Christians in the country. But with many belonging to non-sanctioned, underground “house churches,” experts believe the true number of Chinese Christians could be much higher.

Eastern Lightning, part of a tradition of heterodox, quasi-Christian religious movements in China, was estimated as having between several hundred thousand and one million members, said Dunn. It was viewed by Beijing as the most serious threat to public stability of any of the Christian-affiliated movements that have been growing rapidly as China undergoes a religious revival, she said.

“There have been reports of murders and beatings at the hands of the group, but also at a more general level, very aggressive proselytizing, harassment, brainwashing,” said Dunn. “Those accusations are very routine.”

The group believes that the Bible is out-of-date and that those who limit God’s revelation to just the Bible are like the Pharisees who held on to the Old Testament and rejected Christ.

Followers are told to give up the truth of the past and build their foundation on the Holy Spirit’s word for today: the writings of the “female Christ,” which are “God’s new word.”

The cult has published numerous books, including The Word Becomes Flesh and The Lightning Comes from the East, and distributed hundreds of thousands of copies in China. Two of the books that are distributed among Chinese churches in America are titled The Holy Spirit Speaks to All the Churches and God’s Work through His Secret Appearing. The content in these books is nearly identical. Much of it is written in first person, as if by their “female Christ,” and is terse and threatening. [This topic is available online, You can go some deep research] The “female Christ” states that Jesus was God’s first incarnation, but that He did not complete His work; therefore, God needed to come again to finish the work, this time as a woman. This “appearing” ends the previous age and begins a new age in God’s six-thousand-year plan to save all humanity. God’s plan, she says, has three ages (creation, salvation, and destruction) and three dispensations (law, redemption, and kingdom). She claims that she comes for the kingdom dispensation and therefore her work is judgment.

Her books are filled with explicit and horrific pronouncements of damnation and judgment on unbelievers. The only sin is not to accept her as the Christ, she says, and salvation is possible only by following her. She states that “God is inhumanly cruel” and she admits that she hates humankind.

She teaches that Christ died for our sins, but denies that He rose again physically. She ardently opposes the concept of the second coming of Jesus and tells followers not to wait for a “white cloud descension.”

The “female Christ” doesn’t prove her divinity to potential believers by healing the sick, casting out demons, or performing miracles; instead, she uses threats and intimidation to persuade converts. She says that she will punish or slay those who repudiate her, and even their family members will meet with misfortune. Another of the cult’s Web sites (www.godword.org) lists 887 cases in which people allegedly died of sickness, accident, or unknown causes after rejecting the cult’s evangelistic efforts.

The cult demands complete obedience and sacrifice. Adherents must turn their material possessions over to the organization and follow orders, otherwise they will be punished. They are urged to leave their families, to live in a commune, and to spread the message of the “female Christ.” The cult is known for its deceptive evangelization practices. An article in Tianfeng, the magazine of the Chinese government–controlled Three Self Patriotic Church, says the cult entices people with money or gifts, but will turn to violence or even murder if a person accepts their gifts but fails to join.

A report from China for Jesus describes four stages of strategy that the cult has used. The first stage was simply to send books and money to Christian preachers. In the second stage they adopted aggressive tactics, including violence and coercion. In the third stage they used sexual temptation and entrapment as a means of blackmailing prospects.

The fourth stage is called “spying and paving the way,” the name the cult gives to their process of infiltrating a house church. Followers are instructed to mingle with church members in order to identify those who are strong Christians and core members of the church. Likely targets are those who arrive before a church meeting and stay after, and who can look up Bible passages efficiently.

Cult members will try to befriend such people and to act like sincere truth seekers in order to gain their trust. Once the infiltrators have successfully “spied” these people, they begin to “pave the way” by asking questions to shake the Christian believer’s faith. They may invite the believer to a “Bible study,” for example, where instead of studying the Bible they badger the believer with questions such as, “Where is heaven? Is it on earth?” Or they will question the concept of the rapture of the church, a doctrine the cult ardently denies. Ultimately, they turn to preaching their message, which is the second incarnation of God. The author of the China for Jesus report predicted that they will begin to use an unknown fifth strategy now that this latest one has been exposed in recent years.

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pollylynn · 4 years

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Title: Eurydice WC: 1500

“Did you not understand the conditions of the agreement?” — Hal Lockwood, Knockout (3 x 24)

He thinks cinematically—or maybe theatrically is closer to the truth, given his pedigree. This was true before her. It seems true in the distant memories he has of Before Her. She crowds all else to the margins—to the wings, to follow his metaphor—but he dimly recalls thinking this way from early on, in stage directions and lighting cues, in bit players and main cast.

This peculiarity of mind is a mercy when the doorbell buzzes. It renders the moment legible to him—his daughter, exits downstage, a new character appears, and we see the man, older and careworn, will play a small but vital role. Kate’s father.

There’s the necessary comedic beat on two sides of a threshold. There is the long moment in which our hero stands there gawping, reviewing in his mind all possible exits, staring. There is the same long moment in which the dry-witted supporting player waits him out. This lasts for a count of twelve—not eleven, not thirteen—and the tension breaks. Sir. Yes. Jim, right? Sir. Come in. Please. If you would like. Twelve monosyllables, one for each comedic pulse.

There is the stage business of coffee. It follows hard on the silent agony the audience sees on our hero’s face as he comes within one breath—one sharply bitten tongue—of offering wine, beer, hard alcohol by names general and specific. But in the end, there is the salvation of stage business coffee.

The hero crosses upstage to join the supporting player—the father—near what seems to be the the sole point of light in this universe, a table top lamp, softly shaded and touching each man’s face with incongruous autumn gold. The dialogue that follows is banal on the surface—it is the small talk of strangers jostled unexpectedly together, party goers stranded without benefit of finger sandwiches. But the audience sees easily beneath the surface: In the caged bird flutter of the hero’s hands, they see he is eager to know more of her. He is eager to be known by this man—her father. He is eager for countless things, every one of which orbits around her.

The father, in turn, is dryly amused, He sips his coffee and doles out his answers in tantalizing increments. He understands this planetary arrangement, these gravitational forces, inevitable and eternal. He understands them far better than the hero does, not as well as the hero will.

The dialogue proceeds, a spiral-armed galaxy that speaks of her. It reminds the audience that everything here speaks of her, players and pauses, lights and curtain drops, the faces of two men, touched with incongruous autumn gold.

The scene is the hero’s call to action. It is the divine charge laid on him by the benevolent and broken. It is a solemn, unexpected, and daunting task. The hero’s head bends under the weight of it.

The sole point of light in this universe extinguishes. The scene ends. Fade to black.

***********************

He thinks cinematically—or maybe theatrically. Maybe epically. This is irrelevant, in context. It’s no blessing or anything else. Any fool with any kind of mind can see the cycle inscribed and where he falls: He is a hero, refusing he call.

His task is impossible. The audience knows this, though there is no antic soliloquy. His duty is clear, his flaws are countless and fatal, his failure is inevitable. But failure is still far off as of yet.

He refuses the call. He thumbs his nose at the prophecy. He draws a blanket around his shoulders and mingles with the men by their several campfires, hoping for deliverance—for someone to clap him on the shoulder and say he has done enough, that they will take up the burden from here, and they will succeed where he surely—surely—would have failed.

But there is silence, only. There is stage business and fists raised in the general direction of the gods. There is, eventually, and a tip of lamp light shining through paper, a false sun with its circumference described by condensation, sublimation, desperation.

There is a scene change, a chase from wing to wing with the blackness of the background all the same. The temporary light of a conjured sun that dims almost as soon as it appears. It is a call to stage business, nothing more. The men, all but he, exit, stage left. The hero lingers. He stands at right angles to the tableau already fixed in the mind of the audience with its upstage light, well shaded, seemingly the sole light in this universe.

This scene, in contrast, is all stochastic illumination. The overhead buzz of stark white pours in from nowhere, rendering his face gaunt with shadows, yet his hands, his body swim in and out of overlapping ovals of something kinder and not quite autumn gold from the several desk lamps.

The scene, well lit, nonetheless suggests a skeleton with its slatted ribs of vinyl blinds. It suggests a hero swallowed whole, and a long-term stay in the belly of the beast is tempting. Stark white slashes across the hero’s face and the audience understands that it is tempting. He is, after all, the hero, refusing the call.

He is the hero, trying and failing to jerry-rig his own god in the machine. He lingers, one-hundred and twenty degrees away from another character, well-known, a small, but vital role—her mentor. The dialogue here proceeds in shorthand born of long acquaintance, deep respect. The dialogue here is terse, intense, efficient. The mentor offers up ancient history, a blessing because he yearns to know her. A curse because it ushers in the second inevitable dictum.

The mentor, benevolent and broken, lays the charge again, like a ghost pointing soundlessly from the ramparts, a ghost taking his closing bows on the last of a three-night engagement.

The hero is the hero. The call has been refused—pointlessly refused. And scene.

*********************

He thinks cinematically—maybe theatrically. Operatically in this case. The scale of this, in every sense, demands nothing less.

There is a second call to action, literal this time. A one-sided phone call. Sir. Yes. Yes. There are monosyllables without benefit of the comedic beat. There are monosyllables, resigned and barely audible, though the audience surely knows their tenor. There is a journey accomplished off stage—a journey deep into this cavernous underworld, with its hulking metal beasts, blue–black lit and hair raising.

The hero arrives, unbeknownst to anyone, in medias res. The hero, having refused the first call, the hero having failed, arrives, unbeknownst to anyone, to fail again.

She is an upright column of black picked out of the blue. She is a sharp-featured face, an elegant pair of hands drawing the blue into her, gathering what light there is to wield as her weapon. She is, for a single instant, a head bowed, a spine bending under the weight of history revealed, disordered allusions to a terrible past by the man, the mentor, the villain, it seems, clothed entirely in shadow.

These sins weave through the heavy black air to wind around her, to transform her. She shakes the weight of devastating realization from her shoulders. She is an upright column of black, demanding and implacable, terrifying and beautiful in the hair-raising, blue–black light.

There should be chords striking for this, low brass, heavy and dissonant. There should be thundering, unrelenting percussion that slams into the metal bones of this place, that slams into every useless cell of his body. There should be urgent strings rising to a fevered pitch and melancholy winds crying out in between.

But there is no such thing. The dialogue here is pointed, traditional. It is a confession in recitative where there should be a villain’s aria, fiery and defiant. Instead, there is only this—a confession in recitative, painfully extracted, painfully made, painfully witnessed.

He thinks cinematically, theatrically, epically, operatically, but the five-act structure fails him here. This is neither complication nor climax, neither reversal or falling action. This is the hero, watching helplessly from the wings. This is the nightmare of lines unlearned, a role that is nothing but a blank, page after page.

This Is the fourth wall tumbling as the man, the mentor, the villain invokes him—the hero, now a miserable, ill-equipped god in the machine, stumbling from from the wings. He pleads with her. His vocal line is all but lost in the rising chaos, beneath the hiss of gravel under tires. His vocal line is all but drowned out by her absolution ringing out above all.

There is an urgent sweep of jaundiced light. There are his arms, banding around her, nothing like a spiral galaxy. There is a flight from the underworld. There is an arrival at the very threshold of life once again. An arrival, but no hero’s victory.

She looks back. She looks ever back.

A/N; This is late and hot garbage and certainly not a thing. I am so behind on everything and I will die behind on everything.

image via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 3 #Castle: Knockout #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Roy Montgomery #Jim Beckett #Javier Esposito #Kevin Ryan #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #interrogatives?

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korkrunchcereal · 4 years

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Lohn’goron

Death has been broken

In the struggles of the self

To fight is to live

Once more Gargaron Khral found himself upon his familiar rise over the Barrens. So often he had sat upon its crest that the dry grass and crumbling dirt had become indented, his meditation imprinted upon the land he called home. A welcome breeze helped to cool his skin from the unrelenting warmth of the sun, and the soft cry of a bird sounded in the distance.

Beyond the hills of the Barrens, the peaks of Stonetalon Mountain were visible, jutting forth from the earth like gnarled and mangled fangs. From up high Gargaron watched the land, curiosity glimmering from his eyes. A pack of zhevra that so far below were but splotches of black and white grazed with little fear, for instinct and familiarity had made the grasslands comfortable. They thought themselves safe. From above, Gargaron knew otherwise.

He saw metal catching the sun’s rays, the reflection gleaming across sharpened steel and into his eyes. Gargaron blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Another orc stalked the zhevra, a spear in hand. The wind blew against the hunter, masking their scent from the herd. Each step closer seemed like hours upon the sun’s fall, Gargaron’s muscles strangely tense with the anticipation of the hunt; of the kill to come.

“He will not kill them, you know.” A woman’s voice called behind Gargaron, familiar enough to draw his attention away. He craned his neck, looking upon an orc woman. He had seen her before, and his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“You.” It was neither name or title for Gargaron did not know them, and so it would serve as both greeting and warning.

“Khral.” She answered, giving a short nod of her head.

“Why are you here? Come to trick me again?” He turned to look back down upon the hunt, puzzled that he could not find either hunter or zhevra that had been there moments before.

“Trick? You are mistaken, warlord.”

“I told you, I am no longer warlord!” He snapped his teeth in irritation, waving his hand dismissively. Some time ago the woman had sought Gargaron’s help to investigate the ruins of a Kor’kron barracks. Instead he had found the one-time Warlord Skullcrusha, rotting away in his shell of hatred. The two had argued, leaving Gargaron brewing with resentment of both Skullcrusha and himself. When he had left the barracks the woman was nowhere to be found.

“So you have proclaimed. Thrice now.” The woman moved to sit beside Gargaron, seemingly oblivious to his simmering rage…or simply ignoring it. The grass did not stir at her approach nor as she sat. “As I was saying, I did not trick you.”

“You led me to him.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was there, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She repeated, her eyes watching something in the grass below that Gargaron could not find.

“Why?”

“To begin your journey.”

“Journey?” Gargaron turned to look at her in confusion, blinking in shock when he saw she was gone. He shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing as he looked around. Already the sun had dropped low, being caught upon the teeth of Stonetalon. His nose twitched, the scent of something sweet filling his senses.

“Yes, journey. You have languished too long in this place; your spirit atrophies from your doubts. Your fears. Your nightmares.”

“Bah!” Gargaron whirled around, trying to find the woman. The cliff he had been standing on shrunk, as did the northern mountains. His toes curled in grass wet with dew, and he looked to find he no longer stood in the Barrens. Confusion and doubt filled his senses, and he reached instinctively for a weapon that had long been buried.

“hmm.” The short sound was laced in amusement. “This is where your doubts began…do you remember this place?”

“I…” Gargaron’s hands clenched, the orc eyeing the surrounding landscape. He had been here before, though not as it became. “Nagrand. This is Draenor.”

“Yes. The false world made reality. The wrongness here…it weeps like an open wound. But what did you find here, Gargaron Khral?”

“Disappointment.” Was his answer. “Disappointment…and failure.” The orc collapsed into the grass, feeling a great weight pull him down. A part of him was distrustful at what he said, for he spoke freely of his burdens to an unfamiliar entity. Yet it felt right, a feeling he barely remembered.

“Yes. The chains of your doubt hold you here, in this memory.” Thick fingers pressed against his back, kneading into the taunt muscles and causing him to tense. “It’s alright. Relax…”. He groaned, instinctively leaning back into the touch. He felt her face and two small tusks press against the back of his neck, their tips piercing skin and drawing blood. his eyes glancing out of the corner to see curls of red hair fall across his shoulder.

“I-“

“Shhh…” the voice interrupted, a soft whisper against his ear. “Her hair is like a bellowing fire, and her skin like the deepest ocean. She is wild, her passion dancing like a roaring flame. A promise, made under foreign moons. A regret, carried until the end of the world.”

“The weight of it all; leadership, the Horde…it was too much. I let her go so that I could focus on survival, on the Kor’kron and…” he sighed, disappointment lacing his words. “And I still believe I made the wrong choice.”

“She is not your only failure on this world though, is she? Look, Gargaron.”

Gargaron looked and felt a surge of panic fill his being, nearly causing him to flee. Two orcs charged at one another, weapons drawn and war cries loosened. One wore plates of blackened steel forged with the crude blows of a tyrant’s will. The other wore plates of crimson to match the figure’s hair, with a face so much like Gargaron’s own. Younger, but the weight of sin had begun to etch itself into his features. Gargaron watched his doppelganger strike down the black plated warrior, before falling to its knees.

“How many orcs did you kill?”

“I don’t know. A hundred? A thousand? More than I ever wished.”

“Yes…the sins of your people are marked upon every inch of your body. You had heard of the orcs; how their proud legacy had been twisted by ambition and cruelty. The great lie of nobility. Then you learned the truth, didn’t you?”

“The orcs,” Gargaron began, trying to find the words. “They…we are a violent race of monsters. I had been naïve enough to believe the stories. To believe our history was one of survival, and strength born of noble purpose. I believed…” he paused, letting his head fall into one of his hands with eyes closed. “I believed we were better than what we became…could be better.”

“But you feel that is mistaken?”

“I know it is!” He barked, raising his head once more to look upon his reflection. He had known then the great lie or had at least begun to suspect it. “All it took was a tyrant’s words to sway my people! An orc, who had no gift for speechcraft convinced an entire race to commit wanton violence and horrendous atrocities and for what purpose? What grand and ‘noble purpose’ was there?! We are a race drowning in the sea of our own bloodlust! In a thousand years…no a hundred years what will remain of the orcs? There will be no great ruins of our civilization or recording of our culture. All we will leave is the scars we have placed upon the universe.”

He received no response, feeling the soothing touch upon his back fade. Something harsh drags across his muscles now, and he winces in pain. He stands, finding himself upon the shores of a shattered island. There are bodies everywhere, both Horde and Alliance and the acrid stench of sulphur and blood overwhelms him. He turns, vomiting into the sand. His eyes water, breaths laborious as he recovers.

“This is where the Horde died…and in many ways you did as well, Gargaron.” Gargaron wearily glanced around to find the voice, before looking down. The woman lay in the sand before him, several purple fletched arrows buried in her chest and neck. They were not of Alliance make, for their barbed tips betrayed their owner.

“The dead; they’re up to my knees here.” Gargaron stated, spitting out the after taste of his vomit in disgust. “Look at them left to die! Sylvanas did not care! The horde did not care!”

“But you did. The chains of Draenor bound you, slowed you but did not keep you. You fought still.”

“Of course I fought!” he took a step forward, the bodies of man, orc and elf replaced with that of demons. There is no island here. There is but a dead world, twisted by foul purpose. Something charges at Gargaron, and he instinctively swings up. His sword makes contact and-

-his sword. The weight is almost unfamiliar in his hands. The Sword of Khral, both Gargaron’s namesake and the lineage he aspired to. The blade, so sharp as to sever muscle, sinew, and bone as if hot butter sliced through his attacker with ease.

“Yes. You fought…and fought. And fought. And fought for that was the law of Argus.” Argus. A name Gargaron had learned to hate and fear in equal measure. “And how long did you fight?”

“I do not know.” He answered. He spoke the truth; the Twisting Nether was a strange realm of chaos and entropy, and Argus sat within its churning madness. For all Gargaron knew he had fought for countless millennia, in a never-ending tide of slaughter and carnage. The demon’s had given him a name, spoken in hushed whispers among their misbegotten kind. He was ruin, an omen of catastrophe given rage at the end of a blood slick sword.

Even now, Gargaron felt sick from it all.

“It fills you with disgust. I can feel it. Why?”

“It reminds me that despite all my best efforts…despite everything I have done to be more than my bloody heritage, that I will always be slave to my base nature. How can I strive to show my people are more than our weapons and our hatred, when I succumb to the same mindless bloodlust. And..and it reminds me of him.” A nameless title for a beast given the mockery of orcish form.

““Skullcrusha.”

“Yes. Is that to be the eventual fate of our people? Monsters driven by bestial wrath, with reason replaced by animalistic fury?” Each word spoken gave form to the nightmare, the tyrant he had dreamed so often of now stood before Gargaron. He was goliath in size, looming over Gargaron and casting his dark shadow.

“You fear him because you fear this is what you may become. Take a look upon him Gargaron…you may find pity.”

“Pity!?” Gargaron guffawed, waving his hand in outrage. “Pity for this monster?! I-“ he paused, seeing the bands around Skullcrusha. He saw the chains, clasped around wrist, ankle and throat. He saw the strings, tugging at arms and legs like a puppeteer.

“Pity, because he has never known freedom. In all the long years he has existed, he has been slave to another. His purpose in life is only to serve…and I find that quite sad. But it is not the only legacy you loath, is it?” Her words faded in the wind as did Argus, bringing now the stench of burning meat and ash, and he finds his eyes begin to sting as smoke swirls around him. He coughs, his lungs filled with the acrid taste of a roaring fire. He flicks his hand, trying in vain to wave away the smoke.

The wasteland had disappeared, and in its stead was water. A vast ocean lay before him, yet that paled in comparison to the monolithic tree that was Darnassus…and Darnassus was burning. Gargaron had not watched its fall, though heard from his infrequent visits to civilization. There was only one word for the destruction of the Kal’dorei home. Genocide. By the ancestors, he could hear them scream. Gargaron fell to his knees, covering his ears in vain. He glanced up, seeing the orc woman staring at him with curiosity.

“Gah! Make it stop! Their screams are deafening!”

“This is where you died, Gargaron. Though you did not step foot upon the coast of Darkshore, nor witness Darnassus’ fall this is where Gargaron Khral was buried. Why?”

“Why!?” Gargaron roared in anger, waving his hands to the destruction. “Look at it! This is all the Horde has ever been! One bloody massacre after another.” As he raged, Darnassus began to fade, the titanic tree twisting and turning until wood became stone, and branches became walls. Yet still it burned, and upon banners blue and lions gold the fire still raged.

“Mmm…You were a child for this, weren’t you? Too young to remember…but you cannot forget the bright roar of the flames, so blinding for your small eyes or the screams of murder so loud that you cried.”

“The echoes of our history.” Gargaron muttered, finally pulling himself to his feet to watch the city’s destruction. “This is all the orcs are…all the Horde is.” His voice is soft, defeated and he feels tears welling up. “This is all I am.”

“No.” A single word, the conviction of it shaking Gargaron. He turns to look at her, confusion evident on his face.

“No? All I have seen is that I am doomed to failure; that my people are and will always be nothing more than monsters and the Horde little more than the prop of a mad warchief desperate for power. That I…” he paused for a moment, collecting himself. “That I am nothing more than a fool pretending to be a noble warrior.”

“No.” She repeated. “You shoulder the burden of a people, and expect not to collapse beneath its weight?” A barking laughter was given as answer to her own question. “No one is that strong Gargaron. Not even you.”

“Then what am I?”

“A warrior. A blademaster. A warlord…A Khral. You are all of these things and so much more, Gargaron. Come, look once more upon your nightmare.” She waved a hand to her left, Gargaron’s gaze following the motion to once more stare at Skullcrusha, still enchained and enthralled. “Did you know he was once a pale orc?” She smiled at the look of shock Gargaron gave her. “Yes, those wretched things you met on Draenor. His mind was already plaything to darker powers…It was only natural the leash was passed from one tyrant’s hands to another. But not you, Gargaron. Though you were raised in the Internment Camps, you have known real freedom. Love. Passion. Family. Yes, even disappointment, defeat, and sorrow. You have felt life in all its purest forms.”

“Defeat…is life?”

“Of course. How can we grow stronger if we are not challenged…if we are not defeated? How can we be more than what we are if we do not fail?” She paused for a moment, before sighing. “You will always carry the burden of your people. Of your legacy. That cannot be changed, and for that I hope you can forgive yourself…and me.”

Gargaron turned to face her, only to find himself once more upon his cliff overlooking the Barrens, the mountains of Stonetalon catching the sun’s light far to the north. He blinked, looking around in confusion before shaking his head. Idly he scratched his beard, looking down over the cliff side. He felt hands upon his shoulders once more, though did not tense up this time. His eyes closed, and he saw the ocean’s skin and hair of fire.

“You have fought to erase your failure’s for so long, Gargaron. You have fought for Warchiefs, Warlords and conquerors…it’s time to fight for something else.”

“What is there to fight for?” He asked aloud. Her image faded, replaced with that of Garrosh. A single word entered his mind. Power. Another image, that of Skullcrusha and another word. Servitude. Third came an image of Varok Saurfang, an orc Gargaron had not thought of for some time though learned had recently passed. To die.

“Indeed, what is there to fight for? Why do we fight?”

“You sound like one of the Pandaren…” Gargaron muttered.

“There is wisdom in the question. Why do we fight, Gargaron? Sometimes, the answer is simply because we must. Because to not fight is to allow darkness to take hold; to allow tyrants and monsters a foot in the door. Sometimes we must fight to live.” It was not images or words that filled him then, but passions. He felt the warmth of a campfire and of a woman’s touch. He felt the heartbeat of a wolf, pounding against his skin. He felt joy and wonder and…and…

And life.

He felt it all for but a moment, before it was carried away by a chill wind. Gargaron’s eyes opened as he realized he was now alone. He looked down upon dead grass and barren soil. It was dark now, and cold as if it was to rain but there was no cloud in sight. He felt uneasy, realizing then he could not hear a single sound. He was not deaf, but rather there simply was no life anywhere. Not the sound of animals, nor the howl of the wind.

“A darkness is coming, Gargaron.” Her voice echoed in his mind, booming like thunder in the silence. “To the far north upon frozen shores, the veil has been breached. Fight to stop it. Fight for the right to live. Fight, because if you do not then all of creation is at risk. Close your eyes Gargaron…and awaken.”

Gargaron shot up from his bed, sweat pouring off of his brow. He looked around, wide eyed. The fire in his home had long since turned to embers, and from what he could see beneath the flap of his hut it was nearing sunset. He groaned, pushing himself up to sit on the bed’s edge. How long had he been asleep, and had he been dreaming? He must have been, though it did little to ease his unrest. Absentmindedly he rubbed the back of his neck, pausing as he felt something wet. Slowly he brought his hand forward and even in the dim light he could see fresh blood.

“What the…” his eyes went wide, remembering his dream. Outside he heard his wolf howl, giving a long mournful wail. “Rosha!” he shouted for her, already pulling himself out of the bed. Her cry sent a chill running up his spine and as he pulled away the hut’s flap he gasped. Dark clouds were approaching from the Stonetalon mountains, so vast as to swallow both the sun and sky.

His wolf stepped beside him, whining as she nuzzled his leg. Gargaron glanced down and knelt, hands gently playing at her mane. “Something is wrong girl. I know you can feel it. I can too.” He looked back to the rapidly approaching clouds, feeling uneasy. A cold wind blew across his chest, causing him to shiver.

“The veil has been breached…” he muttered, repeating the words in his dream. “An ill omen from the same mysterious woman met with a sky that flees the northern winds...Perhaps...” He stood up, sighing. He had fled from this moment for too long now. He turned around, moving back into the hut to kneel in front of the fire. Rosha quietly approached beside him, sitting to watch. His hands dug through the embers, causing him to wince in pain. He continued to dig through the ashes and into the ground, pulling out handfuls of dirt. “Well?! Help me out!” Rosha yapped, before digging her paws beside him.

They dug for several minutes, the floor slowly crumbling away until he was near a foot below. The dirt gave way to a steel box, and Gargaron brushed at it. With a grunt he pulled, the length of it as tall as he was. It had been years since he first opened the box, and slowly almost in reverence he unlatched the clasps. The steel creaked with the motion and with a gentle touch he grasped the hilt of his weapon. Orcish runes glowed faintly as he pulled forth his blade, and for a moment the very air stilled as if in tense. The Sword of Khral felt as familiar to him as the last time he carried it, as if an extension of his own arm. It felt good. Right. He had run from his failures; of her, and of his people and the Horde. It was time to stop running.

“I have hidden from my regrets for too long, Rosha. I’ll never be rid of this malaise; of that I am sure of. But…I can fight it. To live. Now come! We leave for Ratchet. With luck we will find passage to Northrend, for that must be where I am called to fight. Ancestors know what evil that wretched place has spawned now.”

#Warcraft #world of warcraft #Skullcrusha writing #gargaron khral

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clansayeed · 4 years

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 22: The Soldier

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

He would do anything for Her. She is his Goddess, his Maker. And he is Her Soldier.

[READ IT ON AO3]

He has done everything She has ever asked of him — everything but this. No matter Her insistence, or the pain that came from the disapproval She never voiced but he no less felt. And he was right. All these years… he was right never to trust the former prince.

“What madness is this, Xenocrates?”

“This is not madness brother,” Xenocrates reaches out and clasps his hands over Gaius’ in an unfounded display; concern, imploring — a yearning to be heard and understood hidden for decades now finally free, “but the opposite. This is sanity; and I gift it to you with all of my being. For lifetimes we have stood by Her, duty-bound at Her side. But the rights and wrongs of the world are not made by duty.

“They are not made by Rheya.”

Gaius pulls away in haste; already several long paces back before he even realizes his body has carried him as far as his emotions would demand. When given measure — even he finds himself surprised at the enormity of them.

“Wherever you intend to go with this—this heresy of yours, Xenocrates, I would hear no more of it.”

They both hear it; the waver in his tone. They both see it; the hesitant flick of his eyes right to left to right again as though She will sense this new and vile emotion welling forth from him and swiftly descend to snuff it out.

For out of any in Her kingdom, none should be more loyal than they. The First and Second Sons — the chosen lucky enough to be fashioned for eternity by the Goddess Rheya Herself. Yet there he stands, the prince of nothing, as if to defy the laws of Her Gracious Benevolence by simply existing.

But it seems Xenocrates has taken it upon himself to take a page out of Gaius’ own petulant book this night. He won’t back down. “I fear the time for ignorance has passed, even for you. Can you truly look me in the eyes and tell me you have never once questioned Her; even in the smallest of ways?”

“I would never.” I understand the meaning of devotion.

Xenocrates shakes his head. “I do not believe you.”

“What you believe is not my concern,” Gaius snaps in reply, “since it is with growing clarity that I wonder what you believe in at all. If not our Goddess, then what?”

And why do I care? He doesn’t, Gaius reasons in his mind, and knows it to be true. But the very existence of this doubt unsettles him; not just as one devoted to Her, but as Her protector — Her soldier. If Xenocrates of all people could be swayed to false beliefs…

The First Son turns his head slightly, his features cast in profile against the exposed ceiling and the moonlight filtering down unto the pair of brothers. Half to Gaius, half to the Tree.

“I wish I could give you the answer you seek Gaius, truly I do. But just as the world is painted in shades, so are the lines between right and wrong blurred at the edges. I believe, now, in many things. And have an equal lack of faith in everything I once thought to be certain.

“Rheya has brought upon the world a new power; a new dynasty. One that I once thought was the answer for all the problems that my father and those like him had created. But I can no longer lie. Not to you, not to Her… and not to myself.” Their kind — the immortal children of the Goddess Rheya — are as still as they are immutable. So to see Xenocrates’ lower lip trembling with the weight of his words is more than a surprise for Gaius. It is a new experience.

One he would rather have spent eternity ignorant of. “Were I you, brother,” how he practically spits the word with the strangeness of this talk, “I would guard my tongue. Our Goddess has been nothing but generous from the moment She ascended. None else were blessed enough to share in Her gift as we were.”

A true politician; the true extent of his caution may as well be painted across Xenocrates’ face.

“Do you truly think this life to be a gift?”

Surprise; indignation; outrage flit across his face scarred long before he was destined to meet Her. “How can you ask such a thing?” Gaius’ voice cracks as he asks. “Of course it is a gift! True and untapped godhood flows through our veins!”

“At the cost of the veins of others.”

He scoffs. “A small price to never age; to never die. Incomparable to the promise She has given us to see Her kingdom through.”

“Her power is unquestionable, Gaius.”

“Finally, something out of your mouth that doesn’t border blasphemy.”

“But that only ensures the threat of it is unquestionable too.”

Mortals have lived and died in lifetimes since the last time Gaius felt the bitter nip of winter winds or the choking heat of summer twilights. Yet here he stands with a shiver down his spine; sweat plastering his linen tunic damp down his back.

No longer is this the time for careful warnings.

“The only ones threatened by Her are those who would defy Her. The ones resistant to the future She will bring. And make no mistake, Xenocrates,” words lisping around extending fangs, “Her future will be seen done. And at the hour of victory those loyal to Her will not go unrewarded.”

The brothers in blood lock eyes. Holding one another’s gaze; determination to read the intentions of the other quickly mutating into something sickening; desperate. Xenocrates finally crumples under the pressure of it and turns his head away as if in pain. Proof all the more that Gaius, Her loyal soldier, follows the right path.

“Loyalty cannot only be this,” the elder murmurs; but to their ears his voice rings crisp like theatre, “there must be ways to prove it other than mindless obedience and the willingness to slaughter Her enemies.”

“You would rather they live? Only to strike us down another day?!”

“I would rather live a life without a dagger in hand waiting for the next zealot to catch me unawares!”

“Snuff out the dissenters and you won’t have to!”

Fists come to clench at his sides; then Xenocrates speaks clear and strong — not that conviction makes his words any less treacherous.

“A kingdom forged of the blood and bones of all who would oppose you is the kingdom of a tyrant!”

All around them, the world itself protests. Gusts of wind rage like rapids against the tomb’s old chambers, the seasons cower below their feet for safer times. Even the Tree of Eternal Life, as unyielding as its title suggests, seems to let its topmost branches sway in a ritual dance. A herald of dark times.

After everything… this is where he stands. Spared by Her, respected by Her — all efforts made wasted.

“How easily you waste Her mercy,” spits Gaius finally; the bite of venom sharp on his fangs, “proof you were never worthy of it to begin with.”

Dark eyes widen, aghast. “You think what Rheya did to the world was merciful?”

“Compared to what was done unto Her… our Goddess was in every right to burn the world and raise Her kingdom from the ashes! But instead She offered the willing the chance to take part in a new age by Her side!”

“Surely you play at this naïvete! How many innocents have you alone slaughtered in Her name, Gaius?!”

“I regret not counting you among them! Traitor!”

Gaius lunges forward with a furious cry and an avenging fury. He swiftly pries his sword free from his hip and sends it down as merciless as their Goddess should have been to begin with; a fire in his eyes only made tame with the intent to kill. In Her name.

They have each served Her in their own way; Gaius with his strong and passionate hand and Xenocrates with his honeyed words — words Gaius now knows to be nothing but lies. But if it were as easy as the swing of a single sword they would be naught but a mockery to Her name; to Her blood.

Xenocrates’ hand is soft from his mortal life of luxury as it flies palm-up to stop the blade with brute strength. Something about the reminder of who they were, of how little they meant before She came into their lives and gave them Her gift, only hardens Gaius in his resolve. He presses all of his weight down his sword’s iron grip; tries to force the weaker metal through the bones of the traitor son’s hand through sheer force of will. But even as blood runs in thin rivers down the raised forearm only to fall in waste to the ground between them; the First Son proves himself deserving of the title.

Gaius gives a silent vow to strip him of it down to the bone.

“Gaius—brother—please stop—It should not be this way!”

No it should not. “You stand in blatant defiance to our Goddess—and seek to tell me how things should be?!” Every word louder than the last, every swing harder than the one before it. Blood red almost black under the moon seeping into the fabric of his himation to mark him for his sins; for the crime of even so much as thinking against Her.

Even before Gaius was made stronger than any blade forged by mortal man, he knew the pain of his own sword well. The former King had been a cruel and ambitious man — what he had done to Rheya was proof enough of that. But he had only demanded the best of his army; of those like Gaius who had nothing but the armor on their shoulders and the sword in their hands. How else was he to know the limits of the enemy when he did not know the limits of himself?

But no more; he had more than that now. He had his immortality, he had his Goddess; he had his faith in Her. Armor was no better than a costume compared to the strength of his natural hide. But there are worse things than death — his life as a soldier taught him that, too. So Gaius knows when to slice shallow into his skin and when to pierce deep in muscle. Xenocrates will heal; in time.

Time enough to be punished by the one he truly wronged. By Rheya Herself.

And until then Gaius continues, his false brother’s blood staining his bared teeth; in hot flecks on his cheeks and matting in his hair so affectionately touched by Her graceful hands. Because Xenocrates deserves it for everything he has said and for all the things left in the air between them. He is Her Soldier, and he will not let those words dare to be spoken.

“She gave you everything!” He thrusts the word deep in the other man’s abdomen; twisting both edges of his sword while blood flows faster than any mortal could survive. A thin red stream trickles from Xenocrates’ lips; teeth stained red and grinding together to keep his composure.

This close, though, Gaius leaves himself exposed. Worth it now and a hundred times over to feel the crunch and yield of lower ribs cracking and insides shifting as Xenocrates is forced to hold every steel inch of the soldier’s hatred inside.

“Enough… of this… Augustine!” Scarlet eyes with pupils narrowed into slits snap up and meet Gaius’ head on. The very sight swells a new anger inside — which is exactly what the former prince wants. Distracted by the intensity of his own everything, he unwittingly gives the First Son the sliver of a chance he needs to reach down and separate soldier from sword with a snap.

He abandons the blade inside his enemy with a howl of pain. Staggering back, snarling through eyes blurry with tears while his free hand slowly begins to push the white shock of broken bone protruding from his forearm back where it belongs.

Xenocrates the wise; Xenocrates the advisor. Xenocrates with the pale hands that shake too violent for his bloody palms to pry the sword from his belly. The very sight is enough for Gaius to sneer in satisfaction; the only thing that gets him through the agony of his bones forcing themselves back together under muscle tissue. Like this they are on equal footing — until one takes in hand all those times that pompous human life kept him from enjoying the rich rewards of the hunt and kill.

The only thing their Goddess could not snuff out of him; his aversion to the hunger.

With one last pained noise the sword falls heavy to the ground at Xenocrates’ feet. Slick blood coaxing the dirt to cling to the blade from hilt to point as if he couldn’t sully the things Gaius holds sacred enough.

He staggers; finds purchase against the closest stone column with such force it groans in protest and makes grit fall down from the ceiling mooring. But the sand is just another thing to cling to Xenocrates’ forehead, with his dark curls unkempt and temples shining with exertion. He is the enemy, and even the lowest rank of soldiers would see him and know he is defeated.

So why does he not yield?!

“Enoug—’gustine…” his words repeated choked and bloody, “just… enough.”

“Indeed, my Prince. I believe I have seen… more than enough.”

Silent tears stream down Gaius cheeks. In Her presence his pain is given purpose. At Her touch he feels more than the strength to continue on — he feels the will to do so at Her guiding hand. And when Her Soldier cranes his neck far enough to snap, the sight of Her speaks volumes to him that he already knew.

She is his Goddess, and She is worth it. All of it. Everything. Over and over again from now until the end of time.

The humble nature of his Goddess always leaves Gaius in awe. She emerged from the depths of the tombs reborn and renewed, and with Her bare feet leaving dusty prints on the former King’s polished floors in Her wake. Dust soon turned to blood; long sweeping trails of crimson that followed Her like a holy procession. Rheya took the sacrifices She was owed in abundance. As was Her right.

And even now; gliding forward with silent steps, the familiar bright white hem of Her gown coming into view. Before he can cast aside his doubts and pains for Her, She offers him an extended hand instead. Long fingers curled just so; coaxing him forward for Her — to Her.

Gaius takes Her hand in his and finds the will to stand. “My brave Soldier…” She croons, fingertips like silk tracing along patches of braised skin. In Her touch he feels it; the lifeblood thrumming in his veins, called to the surface of his flesh and compelled by Her to do the bidding of the Goddess. To heal him; to bring him back to Her side as swift as Zephyr himself.

She is all he sees. And he holds Her gaze for his own, selfishly taking everything She has to offer. He grasps Rheya’s upper arms as tight as he can and knows with some measure of claiming that She will never bruise. She’s too perfect.

The back of Rheya’s hand slides soft along the curves of Gaius’ jaw. Wordless, nameless nothings sweetly lilted on Her lips. “You fight with passion, Gaius. Strong, unyielding; unwavering. I could not ask for anything more.

“Ask it,” he rasps, “and I will give you everything and more.” His words bring a glint of satisfaction to Her eyes. He needs nothing more.

“I know you will.”

If only this moment could last forever. If only. But distant shuffling catches their ears and Gaius is forced to watch, forlorn, as his Goddess steels Herself to deal with the matter at hand. He turns his face towards Her touch in the breath before Her fingertips leave him; a tasteless kiss with pale lips before She is in a place he will never be able to reach — let alone understand.

Rheya crosses the central chamber of the tomb cool and calculating; watching Her First Son as though through the sheer curtain of a waterfall — distant; removed.

“Always a creature of dignity… my little Prince,” mockery blunt on Her tongue like a bludgeon, “but how far has it gotten you?” Her eyes trail up to the base of the Eternal Tree; how he falls just short of it. “Never far enough.”

Xenocrates looks between Rheya and Gaius. “You… followed me here?” And the thought amuses Her enough to let him live beyond that moment.

“From the moment you accepted my gift, Xenocrates, your blood became my blood. You are nothing more than a part of me that reaches beyond the limits of the flesh…” Even still, Her serenity is marred with even the slightest furrow of Her brow.

“Yet here you are; a part of me… and not. How did you mask your will from my sight?”

For the first and only time that night, the man’s diplomatic persona slips. Baring a grimace of bloody teeth up at Her.

“No god is infallible. Not even you.”

“… We shall see.”

Rheya takes one step forward and, to his credit, Xenocrates manages to keep himself from recoiling violently. Eyes squeezed shut; awaiting Her retribution and wrath. But it doesn’t come.

Like a shadow over the moon Rheya passes him with little concern; Her focus drawn to the Eternal Tree towering over them all. Even from a distance Gaius can feel the power radiating from its petrified limbs — power that grows stronger the closer his Goddess gets. It calls out to Her — it yearns for Her. Power recognizing power.

She hovers a touch just shy of the tree trunk as if under a spell of Her own. “I knew from the moment I entrusted the knowledge of the Tree to you that eventually the temptation would be too much to resist. You are men, after all. And what are men if not weak in the presence of true and unbridled power?

“It was only a matter of understanding you enough to know who would succumb first.”

Rheya presses Her palm against the Tree. Bark biting into Her palm like the teasing nip of a lover. All the power coalescing around them comes together in that moment, in that touch; energy so thick they can taste it on their tongues sweet like rich blood and wine.

“‘Who would it be,’ I asked myself,” she continues, “my Soldier… or my Prince? The compassionate soul so desperate for my approval that he would seek to walk at my side rather than kneel before my throne? Or the young man once promised the world I had taken for mine own; no longer content with my benevolence when tempted with forbidden fruit?”

But even the sweet honey of Her voice is not enough to hide the bitter poison of Her words. Gaius staggers slightly, unseen at Her back. Pain crumpling his pride under Her heel.

“My Goddess —” choking on his own voice, “— I would never —”

Rheya silences him with a simple twitch of Her free hand. “I know, Gaius. You have proven yourself beyond mere fealty. As your faith carries you to my side, my faith carried me here — to the Tree. Everything had been ripped from me in one swift moment; my dignity, my identity, my personhood. But no matter how hard he tried, Kaelsius could never take away my belief in my gods.

“And for my suffering I was rewarded beyond all others.” In a flash Her touch hardens; the open-palm caress digging nails against the skin of the Tree as a claim. “Me, and me alone.”

Echoing silence follows. Rheya’s back turned away from them; almost hunched over the Tree as though to let Her body shield it from the corruption of their eyes.

Then, Xenocrates laughs.

A wheezing thing; lungs not used in decades forced to awaken and work like nothing had changed since he was last mortal. He laughs through the struggle to remember how, through the pain of his open wounds and the ones healing too slowly. He laughs until blood and spittle gurgle on his tongue and he only pauses to swallow it back down before it returns renewed.

The very sound reignites Gaius’ anger in a new wave of revulsion.

“You dare mock Her?!” He snarls. “Blasphemer! Traitor. Coward!” And a whole litany of other foul names — every one he can think of — but one look from Rheya and he forces them all down. For now.

She waits until Xenocrates has had his moment; unwavering in Her patience and stoicism. When the First Son finally deigns to waste his unworthy eyes upon Her, though, the toll of his amusement could not be more clear. His skin dulled with an ashen taint, the circles under his bloodshot eyes darker and more prominent. His words croaked through cracked and peeling lips.

“You think…” —wheeze— “that I came here to curse myself twofold? That I want to rival your wicked desires?”

The only outward sign she gives is the tightening of Her grip and the flecks of bark that pry free from the Tree’s surface. “To imbibe from the Tree of Eternal Life is to become my equal. A secret I have only shared between my blood; between the two of you. Why would you come here against my wishes — against the will of Your Goddess — if not to use it against me?”

Even in his sickly state the look that brightens Xenocrates’ eyes is unmistakable.

Pity.

“I did not come here to take part in your power,” Slowly and with visible effort he reaches around to pry something from the folds of his himation. Rheya’s foot shifts in an unconscious step back, but she remains otherwise unfazed.

“I came here to purge the world of its tyranny. Your tyranny, Rheya.”

Dread holds Gaius’ voice hostage in his throat — leaving him frozen with unfamiliar fear. Xenocrates pries the dagger free from his hip to hold it up and outward. The blade kisses the moonlight with a shine; dangerous to anyone else. But not the three immortals gathered here.

The sight makes amusement twitch at the corners of the First Vampire’s lips. “Even if such a pitiful needle could fell me… did you not consider that together the Eternal Tree and I, united, are made invulnerable?”

“I may be a fool,” scoffs Xenocrates, “but perhaps you have forgotten, my Goddess, that I share your blood. Your powers are my powers, you hunger is my hunger. Suffice to believe our bond of blood goes both ways.

“And that my weaknesses are yours.”

A fool, indeed, with foolish notions. Gaius watches, a victorious smirk alight on his face, and waits for Her to prove Xenocrates to be nothing more than the jealous, corrupted failure of a usurper that he is.

He waits.

And waits.

And is kept waiting.

Rheya does not answer.

Xenocrates finally rights himself on his own two feet. Stronger; empowered by his vindication — by the first and only victory he claims tonight. But one is all it takes.

Finally, she commands him; “Explain yourself,” she says, but there’s nothing obedient about his answer.

“During the Siege of Solinthia, I was ambushed. The last of Aenos’ refugees — farmhands, laborers, children.” Dried blood flakes down his chin as Xenocrates’ upper lip curls in disgust; only at himself. “I was struck with the splintered end of a hoe, right here.” He touches the tip of his dagger to the flesh of his shoulder.

“The pain was unlike anything I could remember. But I did, eventually. It mirrored the day you returned from the depths of your banishment, oh Goddess, and chose to enslave Gaius and myself for your amusement.”

Enslave?! “You speak only for your own heresy! I would never waste my Goddess’ gift!” But there is no use reasoning with heretics; infections that need to be burned out to be cleansed.

“It was the feeling of dying, Rheya,” Xenocrates continues unhindered, “and in my state of weakness I did the only thing necessary to survive. But as I stood among their drained corpses I realized their deaths were not in vain. They were but sacrifices to the greater cause — to your end.”

Rheya’s expressionless guard slowly melts; sympathy heavy with burden radiating from Her with an unfelt strength. She wordlessly crosses the divide between them and cups Xenocrates’ stubbled chin with slender hands.

“I could have lost you, my little Prince…” and Gaius has never seen Her like this; never heard a tremble in Her strong voice or seen the cracks in Her armor such as these — never for him, but for that traitorous, ungrateful… “How could you keep this from me?”

The two of them, that close to one another; there’s only one word to describe them and Gaius hates it. They look tender together. At one another; sharp and clear edges of them bleeding together at the seams. He’s witnessed this sight and its close relations too many times to count — too many times for him to have any hope of carving it from his memories no matter how strong his convictions.

He’s seen it when his beautiful Goddess knows he’s there. And as many times in secret, dark places where he should not be… but where he cannot find it in himself not to go. And is he not justified, now? Has Xenocrates’ heinous betrayal not meant he, Her endlessly devoted Soldier, was the only one to truly care about Her?

How dare she look at him that way after everything he’s done against Her!

Only the truly villainous could be gifted those eyes… that smile… the intimacy of that reverent touch and just as easily cast it all aside for selfish gains!

Don’t give it to the unworthy. Find one who will never see anything but beauty, power; all that you are. Who will return it tenfold.

Give it to me.

Gaius would beg, would weep on his knees in confession to Her if he could. Maybe not this night, but the next, or the one following. When Xenocrates has been denounced and suffered Her wrath and served as example for any who might seek to betray the boundless heart his Goddess carries in Her breast. When she can then realize… see with wide, open eyes…

He is Her Soldier. And he can never be anything else.

Slowly, agonizingly, Gaius watches the tension drain from the former prince’s form. How his shoulders ease and the dagger hangs limp in three fingers instead of a tightly closed fist. That is the power She wields; and it is a glorious sight.

On anyone else.

“I blame myself,” whispers Rheya; dragging one hand up along the curves of Xenocrates’ face up to wind Her fingers in dark damp curls, “you were suffering, my Prince, and I was blind to it. To be gifted this new life — to be freed from the chains of mortality — only to find them lurking just out of sight… and all on your own…”

Xenocrates allows Her to tilt his head closer. She kisses his forehead with a whisper of Her lips; all the affection of the night sky and its thousands of stars in that single act. His eyelids flutter shut, dark lashes dusting his cheeks.

“No world changes willingly, Xenocrates. Our every act has a higher calling. But in my ambition I failed to remind you of our grander purpose; our immortal future… it is no surprise you lost your way.

“I forgive you, my love. And grant you pardon to find your way back to me.”

The first sign of trembling shoulders nearly sends Gaius launching forward, ready to take the dagger into his own body as many times as needed to spare Rheya any more of the pain of betrayal. But trembles become shakes, become the heaving ragged sounds of weeping. Somber, deep; befitting of the tomb around them.

The dagger falls lamely to the ground. His hands freed, Xenocrates grasps Her upper arms, clings so tight with his preternatural strength that he threatens to deform the ornate golden cuff around Her skin. She is a benevolent Goddess — she coaxes him closer with soft whispers of “sssh, my darling, all will be well…” through his pain to rest his head against Her collarbone.

Gaius barely realizes he has taken several steps closer to them when Rheya meets his eyes across the chamber. She gives him the slightest, barely perceptible shake of Her head; too slight for the First Son to notice. But even at a distance he recognizes the darkness bubbling beneath Her eternal beauty and youth. The same kind of ruthlessness here and now; Gaius has been witness to it while dutifully at Her side — watching in reverence as she strikes down Her enemies where they stand.

He has never seen Her look more beautiful than in this moment. So exquisite, so ethereal that he wants to make for the dagger and carve out his heart in offering to Her. She is a divinity that deserves an offering of blood — not tears.

“So much death and suffering…” Xenocrates reminds them both of his presence; the deep baritone of his voice warbling with grief, “and violence, and pain, and tragedy. My father’s crown was forged in unjust violence and—and I swore, Rheya, I vowed on my life I would right his wrongs no matter the cost.”

Her long fingers comb through the matted knots in his curls. “We will, we have.”

“I am stained with innocent blood. I cannot wash it from my soul.”

“Necessary sacrifices,” another kiss to his forehead, “all of them for a future without death, without suffering and tragedy and evil.”

“A world without evil…”

“One we will build — all of us — together.”

With the heaviest parts of his anguish passed, Xenocrates steadily pulls back from Rheya’s embrace to take in Her face unhindered. Dirt-smudged fingers brush aside a strand of dark, silken hair to tuck it behind Her ear.

“I see that now.” He agrees with a newfound surety. A sound that brings a rare but very real smile to Rheya’s face.

“I see a world of peace, of atonement. One without the evils that we have known… and without those we have created.”

“Necessary sacrifices,” she repeats; and flickers Gaius a confident look over Xenocrates’ shoulder.

He nods once. Agreement, complacency, apology — all the things Rheya demands of them and more given freely. Sealed as a promise with a chaste kiss to Her lips.

“In one way or another you have always shown me the right path, Rheya. From the moment we met… I knew you would help me understand. I was so lost, but I’ve finally found myself — with you.”

A strange look passes over Her. Curiosity and bemusement; things full of poetry and philosophy and other things she seeks Xenocrates’ learned company for. Things Gaius will one day force himself to understand. But only when he has seen Her world come to life; the trusted blade in Her hand no matter the enemy.

“I’m so glad you understand.”

Rheya’s head tilts to the side. She shifts with a discomfort Gaius can’t quite source from far away. “And what is it I understand?”

He’s too far away.

By the time he sees the white knuckled grip he has on Her for what it truly is, that is the only thing left in the world that he knows with every fiber of his being.

He’s too far away.

“Necessary sacrifices.”

Wisps of Her hair brush against his fingertips lighter than air. His hand outstretched, straining with every muscle; the last wounds from their earlier fight tearing open fresh and red and new from the effort. None of that matters. Tear off his limbs if they slow him down. Rip him in two if it means he moves twice as fast. Either way — Gaius gives everything to reach Her in time.

His everything just isn’t enough.

The branch blooms from the center of Her chest in crimson and ivory. He doesn’t realize his mouth is open in a silent scream until he tastes Her on his tongue — flecks of blood warm tasting rich on the tip of his tongue. Fate mocks him cruelly by stabbing the center of his palm with the tip that impales Her — mocking him. So close, little Soldier. But not close enough.

The wave of power that surges out from the Eternal Tree is a deafening roar. It sweeps Xenocrates off his feet and sends him flying through the tomb. He collides with the farthest wall with a crunch, his body falling to the ground limp and unconscious. It tries to take Gaius, too. But he uses his wound; clings to the pain like an anchor in a maelstrom and refuses to let it take Her from him.

Then as suddenly as it started, the energy stops. Gone, no trace; as though it never happened at all.

But it did. Her glassy eyes, blood dripping from Her soft lips, the strength of the gods worth nothing where Her arms hang limp at Her sides is all proof enough of that.

Even with the pain ringing in his ears, Gaius can hear the word as it tears itself from his throat.

“RHEYA!”

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction #kamilah x mc #gaius augustine #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #xenocrates #rheya apostolous #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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moro-nokimi · 4 years

Text

chapter 5: December 31, 2010

Summary: Shit gets real. Near continues to have refuge in his audacity and Naomi continues to be snarky.

NOTES: Two more chapters! Whew boy. We've got a live one up in here. Oh Near, we're really in it now. This bitch is almost 10k, so I BETTER get a review, ask, or reply talking ab how good this is. (This is a joke; no pressure.) TW: Death of a loved one, suicide mention, allusion to gun violence and sex.

ffn.online

“Light Yagami is a registered grad student at To-Oh University, but nobody has seen him on campus since he graduated. And the Japanese police have given all the employees false job titles to hide the fact they are members of the police force. He received letters of appreciation from the police in 2000 and 2002 for advice that led to resolved cases. I think it’s safe to say that these facts and the influence of his father point to him currently being with the police.

“When I asked former students what they remembered about him, several of them had interesting comments. He had the highest score in the entrance exam, but someone going by Hideki Ryuuga--the same name as the top idol back then---tied scores with Yagami. They gave the freshman address together, and were often seen with each other. But no photograph of this Hideki Ryuuga can be found.”

So was this L? Feels like suicide to me… then again, they don’t seem to instill Wammy’s alumni with a particular sense of self preservation, Naomi thought.

“I also received information that around June of 2004, Hideki Ryuuga, Light Yagami, and Misa Amane were seen together on university campus. After that, everyone seems to have lost track of this Ryuuga. Light Yagami and Misa Amane also went missing for several months at that time,” Rester finished.

“He used the name of a popular idol to get close to Light Yagami, whom he suspected of being Kira. It was a dangerous plan that assumed he wouldn’t be killed so long as Kira didn’t find out his real name. But then the Second Kira appeared, with the ability to learn people’s names just by looking at their faces. Then, they joined hands. Everything fits. Light Yagami is Kira, and Misa Amane being the Second Kira, and Hideki Ryuuga being L,” Near said.

“It corroborates the report we received that Mogi and Aizawa went straight to Amane’s place after leaving here,” Gevanni said.

“So the fact that Amane is Light’s fiancee is…,” Lidner added, avoiding Naomi’s eyes.

“No coincidence,” Naomi finished. “She was a loose cannon, just going back to when she first appeared. No doubt, he wants to keep her close to avoid any mishaps.”

Late at night and when everyone was distracted or asleep, Naomi finally had her chance.

“You’re still holding a grudge over what Mello did?” Lidner asked.

“I think it was a damn stupid thing to do, yes. No matter if Near said for you to go along with his wishes, he still walked in and you held me back from tackling him and ending the standoff,” Naomi seethed. She rarely found herself angry, but when she did, it was enough to make others recoil.

“He never would’ve forgiven you for the blow to his pride, and it would’ve just escalated things.”

“His pride is the least of my concerns, Lidner. He pointed a goddamn gun at Near and you wanted me to be worried about his pride? He. Almost. Killed. Near.”

“I never told you to be worried about anything.”

“Don't you fucking twist my words like that. You putting his pride over Near’s life says a lot.”

Lidner's brows had knit and her eyes had narrowed. “You’re complaining to me about double allegiances? At least they’re working together now, right?”

“The last thing I want is to be working with a criminal again.”

Lidner had chewed the inside of her mouth for a second before lowering her voice and adding, “Think of it like this. Your fiance is like Near: he asks too many questions before pulling the trigger. But in this case, Mello shoots first and asks questions later. Near needs that push to act.”

Naomi’s vocal volume spiked for a second, and this drew Rester and Gevanni’s attention:

“Raye exhausted all options to make sure his gun was the last resort!”

“That doesn’t sound like very good methodology to me," Lidner said sharply.

That was the last button Lidner pushed before Naomi snapped back, volume rising, “Don’t you fucking compare them! Raye was a good man, Mello is--”

“Is there a problem?” Rester asked. Gevanni was placid, eyes sliding between them, gears turning in his head.

“No,” said Lidner coolly, eyes boring into Naomi. Naomi was red with anger.

“I’m going out. If I’m not back for a couple hours, don’t worry.” She knew her hands were shaking.

She bunched her turtleneck to her mouth and screamed as soon as she was out of earshot. She cried later on her bike and almost ran a red light.

Naomi had the urge to scream now, just thinking back on it. She stepped outside and dug the photograph out of them on the beach. That had been a fun day. Suruga had taken the picture. He was also understandably irritated when Naomi told him about the incident.

“So she just uses something she told you in confidence like that? Sheesh,” Suruga said. “That’s just shitty.”

“I screamed. Not in the room, just as I was leaving.” Naomi shuddered. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You have every right to be irritated, Naomi. Again, talking about something she told you in confidence for the sake of a comparison was just low. Especially in earshot of your other coworkers and your boss.”

“I almost woke up my boss. I don’t think he would’ve been too happy, ha… Do you think about what would’ve happened if he lived, Suruga?”

He hadn’t responded. There was an implicit yes, but she supposed he feared crying more than being transparent with his friend.

“Men don’t like crying,” Audrey had explained. “Toxic masculinity says that men have to be these pinnacles of strength. The only emotion they show is anger, and so on. Hell, Raye was expressive, but he never liked crying, especially in front of me or you.”

Naomi figured there was some truth to that. But she also figured avoiding crying was unhealthy period. No way around it.

Though, she was one to talk.

She resisted the urge to cry and stepped back inside.

“Near, this NHN announcer Kiyomi Takada was a classmate of Light Yagami’s in college. She was an excellent student, and was on close terms with him, it seems,” Rester added.

“How do mean ‘close’?” Near asked.

“I can’t assume anything, but they looked to be more than friends. I don’t believe this is a coincidence.”

“But Light’s relationship with Amane started when he was in college, too,” Gevanni pointed out.

“I don’t believe anyone’s introduced you to the concept of male infidelity,” Naomi said dryly. "Clearly there's no accounting for taste."

“Commander Rester, can you get close to Takada?”

“I’ll give it a try, but… She’s more heavily protected by Kira worshippers than Demegawa ever was. I’d attribute it to her being a woman. To the worshippers, if Kira is their God, Takada is their goddess.”

Prophet, Naomi corrected.

“You said she was an excellent student, but that was only her grades. She’s downright stupid outside of class.”

This woman hosts debates and is knowledgeable about our political landscape, and she’s stupid because she worships Kira? Naomi thought. Audrey would’ve called this misogyny. I call it underestimation.

“It may be possible for me to get close to her among all the worshippers. But Mr Aizawa and Mogi have seen my face before. They may tell L about our movements.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. There’s no reason for them to get in the way of our investigation. I’m sure they won’t tell L you are a member of the SPK. And if that information is passed to L and you die, it means L is Kira. I find it hard to believe Kira would do such a thing before finding out about Mello and I, unless Kira is in a very tight situation.

“Gevanni, Lidner, Maki, would you like to go to Japan as well? It’s almost certain the one writing the names is in Japan. I think it’s a safe call based on the people killed, and from the fact an announcer from NHN was chosen as the spokesperson.”

Naomi wasn’t too impressed with Kiyomi Takada. It’s definitely not easy to keep up with Kira and what’s going on, but it was her blind loyalty and outright reverence to a murderer that chafed. She tried time and time again to put her personal ties to the Kira case aside, but it just wasn’t possible.

“Depending upon what their sin was, Kira will not tolerate people with a criminal record…,” Kiyomi Takada said. “Starting today, I will be introducing you to messages and requests from viewers as well as expressing my own opinion on some matters. Many of the countries and companies claim to support Kira now…”

Naomi shook her head and tuned the rest of it out.

“... But that is a mere empty promise, and we do not know how they are supporting Kira or should be supporting Kira. I feel that in order to create a peaceful world as fast as we can, Kira should give orders to the army and police of each country on how they should act. I would like Kira to give a reply to this and…”

Near turned on his PA. “Rester, find out who Takada saw last night. Whatever it takes.”

Rester nodded. “Well, Kiyomi Takada is being protected unbelievably well, and even getting near her is tough. I never expected it to be this difficult. A reporter who tried to investigate the meeting last night was caught by the guards and accused of breaking and entering, then got killed by Kira on the 9 o’clock news. Her phone is completely untraceable and bug proof. She’s better guarded than the president.”

“Speaking from experience?” Naomi asked. The thought of things becoming that authoritarian worried her, despite her wisecrack.

“Very funny, Maki. All her guards are people who’ve participated in TV programs pertaining to Kira many times, and whose backgrounds can be easily traced. It’s incredibly hard to get in.”

“Gevanni and Lidner should be getting back to Japan shortly. Please get near her any way you can,” Near said.

“Near, Takada went into the Perin Hotel. Until she comes out, no one is allowed to enter or leave unless requested by Takada,” Rester said.

“Then you’re going to have to try to become one of Takada’s trusted bodyguards at the very least,” Near said.

“I’ll do my best.”

December 12 “We’re trying to get on Takada’s personal bodyguard team, but the hurdles are getting higher. We need more time,” Rester said.

“Very well. I had a feeling it would be like that,” Near replied. “Maki, would you mind making flight arrangements?”

“Yeah, just a second.”

While she cleared her cookies and went searching for airplane tickets, Near called the Japanese task force.

“This is Near. I’d like to talk to L.”

“This is L speaking.”

“It’s been a while. Thank you for keeping the connection open.”

“What do you want?”

That’s no way to greet someone, Naomi thought.

“I am in Japan to capture Kira. Right now, actually,” Near said. He snipped away at paper. “Seeing as how the best way to investigate Kira is to start with Kiyomi Takada and all.”

L paused. “I’m in Japan already, doing just that. If you’d like to cooperate, I’m willing to do so as well. But since you’re suspicious of me, I guess that’s not possible.”

Near’s brow furrowed. It quickly turned into a scowl. “Did you just say ‘I’?”

“Yes. I’ve personally gotten into contact with Takada and am making headway in the investigation.”

In more ways than one, I think, Naomi thought.

“We’ve gotten as far as having our investigator, Mogi, be able to enter NHN.”

So he knows we’re trying to get into NHN ourselves. Or is hypothesizing as so. With these geniuses, any hypothesis automatically means they know something.

“We’ll find a way to get into NHN as well, but there’s one more thing. You said you’ve personally contacted Takada and are investigating her, right? Then please tell Takada however you can that members of the SPK have escaped from the Kira worshippers in New York have entered Japan to capture Kira. Judging from the current world situation and her position, that’s the type of news she’ll have to report.

“You can even say that there are five members of the group including Near, the leader. There are four other members that Mr Mogi and Mr Aizawa met. This isn’t a lie, so it’ll be a true report. If either of the aforementioned men see them near NHN, please feel free to tell L. We don’t want to get in the way of your investigation. But please don’t show their faces as members of the SPK on TV or via other media outlets. This report is to lure out Kira.

“Including me, there’s only five of us. There’s no way Kira is going to find out, and I’m sure that Kira will make a move to try and kill us. That is where I intend to counterstrike and defeat Kira.”

Oh, great, so we’re being used as bait. I’d rather I was the killing shot, Naomi thought, and slammed her laptop lid closed.

“There are five members altogether in Japan. Is that it for the message, Near?”

“Yes. I’d gathered people who could work under me, but now that the situation has changed, numbers aren’t important. I’m in Japan. Since you are as well, we may come face to face.”

“True.”

“And that will be something worth looking forward to.”

“Indeed.”

“We’ll bring Kira to an end once and for all.”

“Of course.”

Well, he’s taciturn all of a sudden. And here I thought he’d never shut up, seeing as how all the other meetings have been.

“The only way to restore the world now is to get rid of Kira and the existing notebooks. If we succeed in both of those objectives, we win. If we die, Kira wins. This battle was not about an arrest or something measured by the laws of this world. It’s always been a one-one battle to prove who’s on top.”

Near turned the PA off.

“You’re playing a zero-sum game, Near,” Naomi said.

“You don’t have to tell me that. The original L was doing the same thing. Commander Rester, where are Gevanni and Lidner now?”

“Right now, they’re in a booked room near NHN.”

“Please connect me to them.”

“Pay close attention to what I’m about to say. I have decided to meet L---rather, Kira---in person in the near future and settle this case once and for all.”

“In person?” Gevanni repeated, the poor guy surprised into echolalia.

“Do you mean you’re going to see him face to face and capture him?” Lidner asked.

“Yes. The world is practically in Kira’s hands now. But, in Kira’s nearly completed world, only the SPK members, Mello, the Japanese task force, and I remain in Kira’s way. I remain the biggest problem as well, since he can’t easily get my name or face.

“It seems Mello’s name has already been discovered, and he’s also wanted for the murder of the Japanese police director and deputy director.

“As we all know, he lets his emotions control him. Kira may think it will be easy to kill him using his followers. If Kira succeeds in killing me, he will very likely kill the rest of you, and the Japanese task force.

“Since I, his biggest headache, who hasn’t made a move until now am now making said move, Kira will not miss this opportunity to kill me. And the fact that he’s said he’s willing to meet me means he’s accepted my challenge. The die is cast. Whether we like it or not, we must make our move.

“Let’s examine this situation. L is Light Yagami and Light Yagami is Kira. We know for sure that L would answer yes if we asked if he was Light Yagami, seeing as how he told us he’d personally gotten into contact with Takada, as well as Maki’s account of meeting him five years ago. But he will obviously deny the fact that he’s Kira. There’ve been many incidents to make us suspect he’s Kira, but no solid proof.”

Naomi was rather bitter that things could’ve gone very differently if she’d not regarded Light’s “selling” of the Japanese task force as a bit too maudlin to be genuine. Mostly at herself. She’d learned her lesson then: hard evidence only, no circumstantial evidence will be taken as fact whatsoever.

“There’s almost no doubt that he’s Kira. I’m 99.9999 percent sure. The lack of proof is the only reason it’s not a hundred percent.

“Kira… let’s call him L-Kira. Around him are several people who know of the existence of the notebook, such as Aizawa, Mogi, and the others. However, L-KIra is not using the notebook himself. That’s because there are others around him keeping an eye on him and the notebook. Obviously, there’s another who has the notebook and is using it. That’s X-Kira. Based on the fact that L-KIra has used Misa Amane in the past, as well as with relation to the attack on Mello’s hideout, I think that L-Kira does not have the Shinigami eyes. But judging from the killings of recent criminals, X-Kira definitely has the eyes. Of course, both Kiras are connected in some way. But since L-Kira is being watched, it would be almost impossible for him to get in direct contact with X-Kira.

“So, they use Takada. Note how Kira’s messages are spread through NHN, and L-Kira and Takada can meet in person without arousing suspicion. At the moment, both Kiras are able to send messages to and through Takada. Though she may be only Kira’s puppet, we can’t deny she’s highly important to us in discovering X-Kira.

“I likely don’t have to explain this, but this is a recap of the situation. I see two ways to defeat Kira. The first is…” Naomi cringed as Near pulled the trigger on the toy gun and knocked over the legos. “We kill L- and X-Kira and confiscate the notebooks. If the killings stop, it means we are correct.”

“Right. That would prove L---Light Yagami---was Kira,” Rester said.

Near returned the cork to the barrel of the revolver. “We are almost positive that L is Kira, so I’m confident we can solve this case. But we won’t be using this method, no matter what.”

“Why not?”

“Even if the killings stop, it doesn’t really prove that Light Yagami is Kira. Since no one is using the notebook at the task force headquarters, there’s always a chance that the killings stopped because of X-Kira’s death. And the killings may continue if there are Y- and Z-Kiras.

“Most important of all, we kill those two and the killings stop, then to say see, we were right… such an ex post facto justification will not be tolerated. That’s not the way we do things.”

“We?”

“Of course, we being me and L. He wouldn’t be happy if we did that.”

Naomi was still ruminating on the possibility of X-Kira’s identity. She figured it would have to be an acquaintance of Takada’s but not Yagami’s, so it would leave a pool of up to a hundred people who were regulars on her debate show.

In another life, while her and Rester were discussing this during the C-Kira case and Rester would say this and shrug and say “like it would offend L’s spirit or something”, Naomi would shrug, too, and say, “Well, that means he centers his identity on being L’s true successor.” And Lidner would take a seat on the counter and say, “That could be used as an advantage some day, by someone unsavory.”

“It would be an insult to L, who entrusted those who came after him with this case.”

And then Rester would mention that line. Naomi had sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “You’d better hope someone wouldn’t decide to create another impossible to solve case,” Naomi would say. If she closed her eyes, she could see B’s burning silhouette.

“Hence, even if we are going to kill L- and X-Kira, first we must rub their faces in the evidence and make them taste the misery of their defeat. It’s out of the question to kill them before that. So we get solid proof.”

“And how will we do that?”

“Have him use the notebook and arrest him on the spot.”

Naomi’s throat went dry.

“Then the person whose name was written will die. Do you have any plans for that?’

“Not at the moment, no. But we no longer have other ways to get proof. But I’ll think of something. When we first meet Kira, the first person he’ll write down is me, so.” Lowering his voice, Near held the miniature notebook replica. “Now what will I do…”

Holding the L-Kira labelled lego, he added, “But just as I said now, killing Kira and confiscating the notebook with hopes that the killings will stop is a plan Kira will assume we have. We may be able to use that to our advantage. But for the time being, our job is to find out who is executing the criminals as Kira. And in order to do that, we must investigate NHN and Kiyomi Takada, even though Kira knows we will be doing it.”

December 14 “The Japanese police announced at three PM today that five members of the SPK who escaped from New York have entered Japan. The police are initiating a full search for these people and are calling out for public support,” Kiyomi Takada said.

To say Naomi was unsurprised was an understatement. Takada had expressed such authoritarian views before, so this was no surprise. But the police being willing to hunt them down and be the footsoldiers for a regime like this was the cherry on top of a shit sundae.

The latest ass-kissing program (Today’s Lady Takada) began.

“Today, Lady Takada chose four female bodyguards from 20 finalists who went through rigorous testing. These four glorious women are Tatsumi Ooyama, champion of the women’s 60KG weight class in the 22nd world karate championship. Former CIA agent, Hal Lidner…

“These four all passed the tests and…”

“It’s just as you said, Near,” Rester said. “Sooner or later, Takada needed female bodyguards, which she didn’t have until now. Being with the CIA formerly made it easier for Halle to be chosen, but it’ll make it easier for Kira to notice her as well.”

“Yes… I am grateful to Lidner for putting the investigation before her safety. By the way, Commander Rester, have you been able to come up with an answer for this?”

“If I was Kira, who would I have chosen for the spokesperson after Demegawa?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t watch and listen to several screens at the same time. I can’t do it in only five days. I need more time.”

“Gevanni said the same. I was merely going to use your opinions as a reference. Don’t think too hard about it. An answer off the top of your head will suffice. Maki?”

“An easier solution would be to look at each segment of each news channel separately. You’ll lose out on sleep, but maybe you’ll have more input that way,” Naomi said.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know. If I were Kira, I’d go for someone I know and has a platform. As for X-Kira…”

“So long as it’s not someone extreme like Demegawa, they all look the same as a possibility for Kira’s spokesperson,” Rester said.

“I can’t decide either, but I wouldn’t have chosen Takada. No matter of her and Yagami’s acquaintance, she’s still a rookie announcer,” Gevanni said.

“Agreed. It seems she’s popular, having gotten second place in a magazine poll. There are, of course, more male announcers with more experience and dignified demeanors. So why was Takada chosen? It could just be that Takada is the type of woman Kira fancies, but I think it was because…”

Naomi couldn't hold back a snort.

“Takada was a Kira worshipper and Kira knew about it. The reason Demegawa was chosen is because he zealously used Sakura TV to support Kira even before the world began leaning towards him. It would’ve been easy for Kira to threaten someone into being the spokesperson, but it would be to his advantage if the spokesperson supported Kira.

“Well, in Takada’s case, I’m sure she was chosen because she’s a Kira worshipper. Here’s a comment by Takada from last night’s news.”

He turned on a clip of Takada.

“I feel that it is necessary for schools to educate children about Kira, and that Kira’s teachings are the proper way to live.”

“Ever since she started making comments to Kira, Takada’s been nothing but a stupid Kira worshipper.”

“That’s not stupidity, that’s authoritarianism and incredibly worrying,” Naomi said. "She very much has her own agenda." … So could we be looking at her becoming Kira point blank, or does she want to be his follower and nothing more?

“True. But it’s also true that Takada’s words are affecting the public, which is filled with stupid people. To Kira, this is great.”

"It's quite easy to assume that because someone supports something authoritarian that they lack the ability to rub two brain cells together. It's much scarier to think about Kira supporters being our lawyers, our realtors, etcetera," Naomi said. Near shrugged.

“Then if we believe Light Yagami is Kira, does that mean he chose Takada because he was on intimate terms with her in college and knew her feelings towards Kira?” Rester asked. That’s generous, Naomi thought.

“No, Takada only started making pro-Kira remarks after the meeting at the hotel. L/Light Yagami claims that he’s in contact with Kira for the investigation. And I’m sure that we’ll be able to confirm that with Mr Aizawa and the others.

“Therefore, if L-Kira/Light Yagami chose Takada, he would’ve been able to get Takada to make pro-Kira remarks from the moment she became the spokesperson. But in reality, Takada only started making pro-Kira comments the day after the meeting. She also spoke directly to Kira in the comment, so I can only assume that L-Kira made her say this comment, since he hasn’t gotten into contact with X-Kira at that point. Same with Takada before the meeting. That’s likely because Mr Aizawa and the others had their eyes on him and had doubts. That means Takada was chosen as the spokesperson through X-Kira’s personal judgement.”

“But isn’t it possible L-Kira ordered X-Kira to kill Demegawa and choose Takada as the next spokesperson before Aizawa and the others began to watch over him?” Rester asked.

“I won’t say that it’s impossible, but after Demegawa died, it was a week before Takada was chosen as the next spokesperson. Even if L-Kira had ordered X-Kira to use Takada after Demegawa died, it would be meaningless and odd to order X-Kira to wait a week.” He leaned down to inspect a black lego. “So it fits better to assume that X-Kira, unable to get in contact with L-Kira, killed Demegawa and then took a week to decide who to choose as the next spokesperson.”

“Then that proves Maki right, that X-Kira has some kind of connection with Takada,” Rester said.

“Yes. I understand that it’s dangerous to investigate Takada right now, but could you please look into it with Gevanni again?”

Both agreed.

“I’m going to start off by tracing all of the programs that Takada has appeared on, Starting with the most recent ones and looking at the regulars. Maki, would you mind taking record of these people?”

“Of course.”

On a hunch, she dug up a previous survey of one Teru Mikami. Near practically swam through all the DVDs to find Kira’s Kingdom, coming to a stop in front of all the monitors in front of Mikami speaking about Kira’s ideals.

“The reason I became a prosecutor is because of the frustration and helplessness I felt over all the physical and emotional abuse I witnessed as a child. All the young people going into the world should have their own goals and use their abilities to contribute to society.”

The click of a remote, and next she heard:

“I would very much like to hear Kira’s voice again, and I intend to follow your ideals. I believe that following your orders and teachings is the quickest way to achieve world peace. Kira, please let me hear your voice. If there are no orders or words from Kira, I believe that I am going to have to judge by myself what Kira’s thoughts may be, and put them into action.”

Naomi looked up from the survey.

“Near, I think you want to take a look at this.”

Right on his survey on the question of his opinion on Kira, the answer was listed as “God.”

Near peered over her shoulder, and turned on his PA to Rester.

“You no longer need to look into Takada’s friends and associates. Please come back to HQ, as Maki and I have just found a suspect. I’ll ask you to start investigating again if my assumption is wrong.”

“You’ve already found a suspect?”

“We’re good at looking," Naomi said.

December 21 “According to Lidner, Mogi is acting as Amane’s manager, which means he will often be away from L’s headquarters,” Rester said.

“That’s right,” Near replied.

“We can get Lidner to ask Mogi if they have their eyes on L when he is meeting Takada. That way, L won’t find out what we’re investigating.”

“But Mogi probably won’t tell us. And it’s highly likely that both Kiras are contacting each other through Takada. They know that we know it, so there’s no reason for us to go sneaking.”

Obviously, being clandestine isn’t our strong suit, Naomi thought, and passed Near the PA to L.

“L, if Mr Aizawa is there with you right now, is it okay for me to talk to him in person through this?”

“It’s Aizawa. What’s the problem?”

“When L meets with Takada, are you recording their conversations through wires and cameras?”

“No, we’re only using wires.”

“I see… Thank you.”

She set the PA aside and rolled her neck.

“If it’s only a wire, we can assume that L- and X-Kira are getting into contact with another through Takada. This only makes things more dangerous for Lidner. All of Takada’s bodyguards have their cell phone records checked. We can’t directly contact Lidner, so is that all right?” Rester asked.

“Lidner is well aware of the danger, but the important thing is that she is still trying to find out who X-Kira is through Takada and we have no clue as to the identity of X-Kira, so L’s attention will lie with them," Near said.

“Gevanni?” Rester asked.

“It’s about Mikami. Tailing him is strangely easy. It’s not like he’s making a move to go into hiding or anything. He’s been living at the same place for the past four years and leads an ordinary life. He’s very active with his job as well. I understand he’s a Kira worshipper from the fact he was on Kira’s Kingdom, but I find it hard to believe he could be X-Kira.”

“It’s not like Kira’s going to be waving his arms around saying ‘I kill people for justice’,” Naomi said.

“Thanks, Maki. I appreciate your input.”

“No problem.”

“The chances of Mikami being X-Kira are high, even ignoring his personal endeavors. Please be careful. Don’t try to enter his house or anything else yet. Just keep your eye on him.”

“Of course. You should try this, Maki, it’s very fun.”

Too familiar. “Stalking isn’t my idea of fun. I’d be worried if I didn’t know you were joking.”

“Please,” Rester said.

“Mikami just pulled the notebook out. There’s something---ugh, weird about it. He took a picture of the guy who was harassing a girl before writing in the notebook. He’s getting off the train, I’ll follow---” Gevanni said.

A high pitched scream followed.

“The guy who was doing the harassing just collapsed, about a half minute after his name was written… but that leaves me curious as to what the purpose to taking the picture was. And he said delete while writing it.”

“O-kay. X-Kira is definitely Mikami,” Rester said.

“Yes, but that also makes the possibility known of there being a Y-Kira,” Near said.

“So what do we do? Aren’t we going to capture Mikami?”

“Commander Rester. Please don’t make me repeat myself. Even though we know for sure that Mikami is X-Kira, we’re not going to use that method. If we do that, we’re never going to be able to get to L. If we capture Mikami, we may even face the situation that the killings stop and Mikami will appear to everyone to be Kira.

“All will be meaningless unless we prove the Light Yagami is Kira, the root of all this, and stop him.”

“Right…”

“In any event, we must get near Mikami, but there is one thing we must be extra careful about. And that is the Shinigami.”

Naomi raised an eyebrow. She’d never particularly believed in them, even as her dad told her that they take children who don’t go to sleep by 10pm’s souls. (Because what is the point of parenting if you can’t scare them a little.)

“The Japanese task force once told us that in order to get the notebook back from Mello, Kira gave the Japanese HQ a different notebook from that of Mello’s via a Shinigami. That means a Shinigami followed Kira’s orders and brought the notebook to them. And that means the Shinigami possessing Mikami will follow Mikami’s orders. So if we are going to tail Mikami from now on, there’s a chance that Mikami’s Shinigami will alert him.”

Rester said, “But the Shinigami can only be seen by those who’ve touched the notebook. Being careful of something you can’t see isn’t easy.”

“Even so, I would like you to do it. But this time, you may keep some distance from him and film his movements. It would be best if you can get an image of him talking to the Shinigami.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

December 25 If they only have wires, they’d just have to not say something out loud if they wanted to avoid being caught by the task force, Naomi thought.

Her attention was drawn by a notification that Lidner was on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, I’ve hardly had time to be alone. It was four days ago. Takada, Amane, and me met up. The conversation was really only about which of them was ‘his’---really meaning Light Yagami’s girlfriend,” Lidner said.

Naomi rolled her eyes. “So it was a covert catfight?”

“What does it mean?” Rester asked. Lidner’s expression just about screamed Are you shitting me?

“That Light Yagami’s a two timer?” Naomi said, as Near replied, “This just proves that Light Yagami is a ladykiller. Takada and Amane are infatuated with him. Though I’d be inclined to agree with Maki’s summary.”

“Seriously, Near?” Rester asked. “You too, Maki.”

“And they went after each other instead of going after Light for being a two timer.” Naomi shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“But being seriously infatuated can be a problem. They won’t betray him, and he can control them as he wants. However, what I’m more worried about is that there’s been nothing new in Gevanni’s reports,” Near said.

“But he reported today that Mikami pulled out the notebook and killed someone. Or had him killed, if we’re going with the Y-Kira hypothesis.”

“Not the notebook, but the Shinigami. If a Shinigami is possessing him, it would be normal to say a word or two to each other in three days. If they’ve decided not to talk to each other in public, then it doesn’t make sense that he pulled the notebook twice this week in front of everyone to kill someone. And then it’s strange that…”

“What is?”

“The Shinigami at L’s headquarters can be seen by the other members. That means that apart from Light Yagami, they’re also keeping a close watch on the notebook and the Shinigami. Obviously, L-Kira is not able to give orders or talk to Shinigami that easily. But judging from the fact that Kira probably got his notebook from L-Kira, then only L-Kira and Mikami should be able to see the Shinigami on that notebook.

“And if that’s so, why didn’t they get into contact with each other by using that Shinigami? It’s a lot safer than making contact through Takada, and if only the two of them can see the Shinigami, there should have been a way for them to get into contact.”

Naomi stretched her legs, careful to avoid the legos, and swivelled until she was laying on her front. “That also means the task force has touched the notebook.”

Rester’s knees popped as he got onto Near’s level. “Now that you mention it… But the only thing I can think of is that there are Shinigami that will work for you and those that won’t.”

“Yes. Or the members of the task force can see Mikami’s Shinigami too. Mello said that he’d seen a Shinigami. While he had his own, L’s investigation team must have had their own Shinigami as well. Mr Aizawa and Mogi have claimed to have seen a Shinigami that was different from the one that their headquarters. That could be possible.”

The monitors beeped.

“Gevanni?” Rester asked.

“Mikami’s talking to himself!”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I’m wondering if he’s talking to the Shinigami. I’m too far away from him to hear what he’s saving, but I’ve been able to film his mouth as it moves. The footage is here.” Gevanni sent the footage to the monitor where everyone could see it. “It’s at the rooftop of the prosecutor’s office where Mikami works, during a break. Oh---he’s saying something right here.”

“Slow it down.” Rester leaned towards the monitors and read Mikami’s lips word-for-word perfect. “I guess he’s asking if it’s his Shinigami?”

“I see you aren’t a commander for nothing,” Near said.

“He seems to have reacted to the piece of paper to the bottom right of him.”

“He’s giving a small sigh.”

“He’s talking a little more from here. Give me a second, I’m going to zoom up to his mouth and slow down the footage.”

“That Shinigami… ever since he handed me the notebook, he hasn’t appeared…,” Rester said.

“Huh,” Naomi said. She pushed herself off the floor and into a squatting position.

“So there’s no Shinigami possessing Mikami at the moment.”

“But that makes me wonder if there’s a time limit as to when the Shinigami can appear to Mikami,” Naomi said.

“True…”

Near threw one of the Grim Reaper legos over his shoulder without comment.

“It makes things easier for our investigation if Mikami isn’t being possessed by a Shinigami. We may even be able to find proof from him that Light Yagami is Kira.”

“Yes…”

“Gevanni here. I’m at Mikami’s apartment. I’ve counted two surveillance cameras at the door to his room from my position. I’m assuming that the security inside is even tighter so even if I’m able to get inside, it’s going to be hard for me to remain unnoticed.”

“The tenants gotta be loaded if there’s security cameras everywhere,” Naomi said.

“Mikami makes 200 grand a year easily, not counting bonuses. Anyways, when he’s outside, Mikami just leaves the notebook inside his bag, so it’s not seriously guarded. But it would be undoubtedly strange if he did keep his guard up in public.”

“Commander Rester, I would like you and Gevanni to research Mikami’s behaviour patterns as much as possible, and look for any opportunity that might let us touch the notebook.”

“I thought you weren’t going to confiscate the notebook from him,” Rester said.

“Yes. I won’t use Mikami and the notebook as proof. The chances are that Mikami doesn’t have a Shinigami of his own, but we can’t be sure until we touch the notebook and monitor Mikami for several days. Of course, there’s a possibility that Mikami does have a Shinigami possessing him, and that the Shinigami will tell Mikami that we touched the notebook and have him kill us. But even so, from all the observation so far, it’s likely that Mikami’s Shinigami isn’t very cooperative with him.”

“So who’s going to touch the notebook? Me or Gevanni?”

“Well, since you’re his superior… Gevanni, I guess.”

Naomi cringed.

“I appreciate the support, Maki.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“If there is no Shinigami possessing Mikami, then there’s a plan I’d like to see put into action. But if there isn’t, I’m going to have to make some changes.”

“Very well. I’ll keep my eye on Mikami.”

“Mr Aizawa. It’s been a while,” Near said.

“I believe what you said earlier. L and Takada have been seeing each other almost every night,” Aizawa said.

“I know.”

“What about this? The two are talking to each other via notepads. I left a mark on the notepads at the hotel, and…”

“Of course. As I said before, I know what’s going on. Kira is using the notepad to give orders to X-Kira through Takada. X-Kira being the person who’s doing the killings. Anyways, it’s commendable that you found this out on your own. But it does little for us unless you’ve found any actual notes.”

“I haven’t found them yet…”

“Then it means nothing. Those notes can be ripped up and flushed down the toilet or merely handed over to Takada to dispose of, since no one can search her bodily. In other words, there are a million ways to dispose of them.”

“You said that if we could get one note, it’ll be proof! I can talk to other members of the task force and have one of them hide inside the room once it’s booked. The wire detectors don’t react to people and I can pretend to have checked the place where the investigator is hiding. That way it’ll be possible to get one of the notes before they’re thrown away.”

“Mr Aizawa…,” Near said, “please stay out of the way.”

“What do you mean?”

Near underlined just why Aizawa intervening was such a bad idea.

“Unless they were to institute cameras in certain spots,” Naomi pointed out.

“But they run the risk of detection either way,” Near pointed out. “Obviously, all of your identities have been revealed to whoever is doing Kira’s killings. They know who you are. Kira probably has it set up so he can kill you all with the snap of a finger. The only reason you’re all still alive is because of me. There’s no other reason now that everything has fallen into Kira’s hands.

“Though, if you are able to get that notepad and are killed, I could use that as proof that L is Kira. But I already know that, so it’s useless to me. It’s not the way to go. If you do this, it’ll only allow Kira to move about freely, and it’s nothing but a headache for me. Even if Kira’s identity is proven to the world, most people are still going to take Kira’s side. And even if that happens, even I will no longer be a threat to Kira. Do you follow?

“Mr Aizawa, it’s not longer a matter of merely finding evidence that L is Kira. The only way to stop Kira is for me to completely defeat him and rub it into his face.” He held up his own lego figure. “Mr Aizawa, I’m sorry to say, but Kira doesn’t even consider the task force a threat. You’re not worth dealing with to him. He sees you as a bunch of flies buzzing around him.” Near took his Kira figurine and knocked down the task force’s lego models. “However, he’ll never be able to ignore me. That’s because, to Kira, I’m his current opponent in the battle for pride between him and L. The only way to stop Kira is for me to defeat him.

“Mr Aizawa, you and the task force are no longer a part of this battle. Please stay out of our way. This is the reality of things. However, if you still wish to capture Kira and continue to cooperate with me. Just keep an eye on him like you’ve been doing. That’s the best thing you can do for me and this investigation.”

“Just keep an eye on him…”

“That’s right. Anything more will just be a nuisance to me. The plan is almost set, and I do not want you to do anything that may disrupt it. Kira is also in the midst of coming up with a plan to defeat me. As such, any moves on your part will be a waste of time.”

“Are you saying that we’re of no significance now?”

“No. There is a significance in keeping an eye on L, and that is a part of my plan. And that is how I want you to cooperate with me in order to bring down Kira.” He lined up the figurines made of the task force. “Kira kills people without a second thought as if they were bugs, but it’s very likely that he will keep you all alive until time comes to fight face to face with me. I want you to see this through to the end, to Kira’s defeat.”

Silence.

“Mr Aizawa…?”

“Okay.”

She did feel for the guy. If someone said that she couldn't do anything of use, she'd be unhappy too.

December 31 Happy birthday, Raye, Naomi thought. Kira will go down and I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.

She held her phone away from her ear as Misa Amane screamed in the backseat of Lidner’s car. “She’s temperamental isn’t she?”

“Yup,” Rester said.

“I guess Kiyomi’s angry at me again, but this’ll teach her a lesson. She’s lost face now as the host of the show!” Amane said.

“Is the lesson going to be not letting her perform on NHN again?” Naomi asked, rolling her eyes.

“What is it, L?” Near asked.

“Mogi and Misa Amane have gone missing.”

“Yes. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing them into my custody.”

The task force began cussing Near out.

“What for?” L asked.

Near smirked. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Silence. Naomi was beginning to wish they’d put away their dicks and rulers.

“Near, kidnapping and confining people is criminal! Please stop, this instant!”

You sound like you’re chastising a child instead of trying to order Near to let your employee and one of your girlfriends go, Naomi thought.

“Well, Mr Mogi and Amane have agreed to cooperate with me. They won’t be staying with me, but you can talk to them if you want to. Should I connect you to them?”

“I must find out if they are safe, and if what you’re saying is true, then connect me to them.”

“Sure.” He patched L through to the mic in Mogi and Misa’s room.

“Mogi, Misa, it’s L. I heard you’ve been imprisoned by Near, but is it true that you agreed to it?”

“Yes,” Mogi said.

“Mochi said that it would be better for us to stay put until the whole Kira ordeal is over. If not, we might all be killed, so I’m fine with that. I just want to live happily with my boyfriend once Kira’s caught.”

Naomi’s chest panged. I wanted that too, she thought.

“Very well. If you two are fine with that. There are no problems, but please remember you can leave any time you want to. I’ll be switching back to speak with Near now. Near, I’ve talked with them, and I’m okay with everything.”

She ducked her head as she wiped her eyes. I don’t think Near’s too inclined to be asking for permission or your forgiveness.

“L, if I pose as you and announce to the world about the existence of the notebook and of my speculations on who Kira really is, a lot of people will probably believe me. If I do that, there are definitely going to be people who’ll try to kill Kira, but Kira isn’t going to just stand there and be killed. He’ll make use of his worshippers to try and stop that. I don’t want such meaningless bloodshed to occur. So I’ll bring this to an end by defeating Kira myself.”

L’s tone rankled. The condescension and babying she’d put up with for a long time, whether it was at a boss or coworker’s hands, and L was just another shitheel boss who thought he knew better than someone else of arguably more expertise.

“Near, your speculations are wrong. You mustn’t announce to the world what is a mere assumption on your part.”

“You’re right. I’m going to end this by pinning solid proof right in front of Kira’s face. But if my assumptions are wrong, then… Well, even if my assumptions are correct, but if I lose to Kira, then the world will no doubt be his. When that happens, Kira will kill me and all of those who are aware of the notebook’s existence. Only then is it a complete victory for Kira.”

“Near, the world is close to being Kira’s perfect world already, so we must capture him as soon as possible. That is the only point on which I agree with you today.”

“ … Anyway, it’s incredibly likely that Misa Amane was the second Kira who had the Shinigami eyes. Therefore, I’ve decided to keep her contact in case Kira wants to use her again. I intend to keep her here until the Kira incident comes to an end. Rather, until I give her permission to leave. L, I’m sure you’re well aware of the present situation even if I don’t say any more.”

The task force debated this current situation.

“Apart from the fact that he leaves his office at slightly different times depending on his workload, Mikami’s habits are completely fixed. He’s also a bit of a neat freak,” Gevanni relayed.

“And every Thursday and Sunday, he attends the gym from nine to 10:30 pm?” Near asked.

“Yes. I’ve become a member myself to do research on that. Ever since he joined four years ago, he’s been going to the gym on those days at that time. Near Year’s day 2006 was a Sunday, and he went to the gym on that day as well. The only reason I can think of for him to have picked a hotel gym that’s open all year is because he wants to go on those specific days at that time.”

“Then I suppose it’s safe to say that he’ll be going there on the 31st.”

Naomi clenched her teeth. She’d almost forgotten in the midst of all this.

“Well. Yes. I don’t see a reason why he wouldn’t. I don’t believe he’s devout Shinto or goes to the temples.”

Near paused. “Gevanni, is it possible for you to touch the notebook at the gym on the 31st?”

“I’ll probably be able to. The lock on his bag won’t be an issue, but the location may be… No matter, either way.”

“Have you checked on the security system at the hotel?”

“Yes. There’s surveillance cameras inside the hotel, but none in the locker room for obvious reasons.”

“Right. If Mikami is at the gym on New Year’s, touch the notebook. Takada will be hosting the show, but I’ll distract L just in case.”

“What are the chances that a Shinigami is possessing him?”

“I don’t believe there’s one near him, but I’m asking you to touch the notebook to check that. If there is one, then that’s that. I’m going to have to think of another plan. Even if you want to touch the notebook and don’t see the Shinigami, I want you to keep your eye on him for a while to be sure that there is no Shinigami possessing him.”

“But if there is, I’ll probably die, right?”

“Yes. If you’re scared, I can have Rester do it.”

“It’s all right. I’ll do it.”

“Please be extra careful not to be noticed by Mikami either.”

“Of course.”

“Mikami and Gevanni would have left the hotel around eleven, and then he tails Mikami back to his house. It should be about time for Gevanni to call us,” Rester said. He took off his suit jacket and placed it over the back of a chair.

“Ooh, I can’t do anything until they catch Kira… Why am I here anyway?” Misa Amane whined.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say 2300 hours. You’re supposed to be a commander,” Naomi said.

“Very funny, Maki.”

“I try.”

Near’s thoughts were somewhere else: “Misa Amane, the person suspected of being the second Kira by the first L…”

Rester said, “But she didn’t say anything even when she was confined for more than 50 days. I don’t think you can get any information from her. Anyway, we’re talking about a notebook that can kill people. It probably has powers beyond comprehension. Of course, trying to find that out is our job, but…”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting to get any new information from Amane. This is only so Gevanni will feel a little easier about touching the notebook and in case Kira needs her eyes.”

A notification went up that Gevanni was onscreen. “It’s Gevanni. How’d it go?”

“I’ve successfully touched the notebook. But I haven’t confirmed the presence of the Shinigami yet.” He checked his watch. “I touched the notebook at 9:09. Mikami returned home at 12:07 and I tailed him back to his house.”

“And during those three hours, you didn’t see the Shinigami, is that right?’

“Yes.”

“Please continue to keep an eye on him.”

“Okay.”

“Commander Rester, please connect me to Mr Mogi. Mr Mogi, do you remember the rules of death when Higuchi was doing those death meetings at Yotsuba?’

“The rules of death? That sounds scary…,” Misa Amane said. Naomi rolled her eyes. Of course, she’d been in the job for roughly a decade, she’s desensitized. Though if Misa Amane is the second Kira, she ought to be too.

“I disagree with you when it comes to your assessment of Kiyomi Takada’s assessment, but if you called Amane stupid, I wouldn’t disagree.”

“Mm.”

Mogi looked up. “I do. It’s been quite a while now, but…”

“In return for information on Mello, I was told by the new L about the rules written inside the notebook and about the rules of death. If a person is to die of an illness, unless it takes longer for that illness to progress, the notebook is able to control people for up to 23 days before their deaths. Is that right?” Near poked at his Mogi figurine.

“Yes. It’s not that we tested it out ourselves, but the killings at Yotsuba proved that.”

“Thank you very much.” Near shut off the PA and added, “Then let us consider the possibility that there is a Shinigami possessing Mikami’s notebook, and it has already told Mikami that Gevanni has touched the notebook. Hence, Gevanni is actually being controlled by the notebook to say that Mikami doesn’t have a Shinigami with him. So we’re going to face L if Gevanni is still alive 24 days from now.”

Naomi’s eyebrows shot up. That was a gamble that she considered the former and current L to make, not…

“However, Maki, I’m going to move the plan ahead under the assumption that he will still be alive.”

#long post #my writing #tw death of a loved one #tw innuendo #tw suicide #tw gun violence #gotta love the snark to snark combat

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waritawrites · 4 years

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Elitism's destruction of Civilization

https://followerofthewayforever.wordpress.com/2021/01/07/elitisms-destruction-of-civilization/

Whether its called progressivism, liberalism, new order, new world order, racism, classism,etc., it's all ELITISM. Elitism is hypocritically, unjustiably advocating for the dominance of one individual or group over another. Often implemented in society by the use of Hegelian strategies, the goal is to divide and conquer.

The groups who have been most abused and neglected by the elitists are most frequently used to attack the group who is said to have benefitted the most from their suffering. At the same time, those behaviors of the oppressed are or have been presented in such a way to appear counterproductive to the survival of the dominant group. These are given as reasons to justify the terrorization of the oppressed group. This is done wide scale as well as person - to - person. Individually, people justify their mistreatment of others using elitist reasoning. Examples:

-Connor was more qualified for the job, but he didn't look as attractive as Victor that was hired

-Eric loved Marissa more, but Marissa married Victor because he was rich

- Marissa sees that her little cousin just started college. Marissa knows that her cousin does not know which teachers classes in which to enroll. Marissa looks at her cousins class schedule and sees that her cousin has chosen good teacher. Yet instead of recommending the best teachers, Marissa insists that she switch to teachers who happen to be her lazy, power drunk, manipulative, self-entitled sorrors that purposely setup as many of their students for failure to:

*Insure that they have a class the next semester

*Make certain that those who are viewed as lesser due to economic class won't successfully complete college

*Who aren't willing to bootlick to the elitists

As the overseers and taskmasters that they are, their job is to make sure that the disenfranchised remain disenfranchised

-Darryl cheats his way through school from 1st grade to grad school, yet he feels that he's entitled to have whatever he wants even if it means taking that which doesn't belong to him as well as damaging the lives of others

-Sonya dates several guys with potential, repeatedly gets pregnant in hopes of trapping one of them into marrying her, the guys reject her, she has several abortions

- Alysah is lazy and manipulative. She always pretends that she doesn't understand how to do something or can't until someone else does it for her.

People who value others based on that which others can do for them. I know that many of you know people who are supposedly your friends and even relatives who will let you know that the other person is much more important to them than you because that person does more for them. They don't care if you aren't in a position to help them in the same way. Some never ask for your help, they expect you to automatically know what is happening with them.

Individual elitism becomes collective elitism. Collective elitism spreads totalitarianism in any form - socialism, communism, liberalism, conservatism, progressivism, capitalism,fascism,etc.- to create a false illusion of freedom and self-sufficiency at someone else's expense. Thus, strife, competition, covetousness, strife, emulations, jealous, hatred - and many more socially counterproductive behaviors will be accepted as normal and encouraged which will lead to the destruction of behaviors that promote growth and survival of mankind such as unconditionally caring for one another, selflessness, charity, love, faith, good self-governance, and many more. We this occur in caste systems.

GOD teaches us not to have Respect of Persons. Biblically, the term Having Respect of Persons is what we know by the more commonly known term elitism:

James 2:1-10

1 My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.

2 For if there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment;

3 And ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto him, Sit thou here in a good place; and say to the poor, Stand thou there, or sit here under my footstool:

4 Are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges of evil thoughts?

5 Hearken, my beloved brethren, Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?

6 But ye have despised the poor. Do not rich men oppress you, and draw you before the judgment seats?

7 Do not they blaspheme that worthy name by the which ye are called?

8 If ye fulfil the royal law according to the scripture, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself, ye do well:

9 But if ye have respect to persons, ye commit sin, and are convinced of the law as transgressors.

10 For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.

Leviticus 19:15

Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment: thou shalt not respect the person of the poor, nor honour the person of the mighty: but in righteousness shalt thou judge thy neighbour.

2 Samuel 14:14

For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth God respect any person: yet doth he devise means, that his banished be not expelled from him.

Romans 2:11

For there is no respect of persons with God

Proverbs 28:21

To have respect of persons is not good: for for a piece of bread that man will transgress.

Proverbs 24:23

These things also belong to the wise. It is not good to have respect of persons in judgment.

Ephesians 6:9

And, ye masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your Master also is in heaven; neither is there respect of persons with him.

Job 32:21

Let me not, I pray you, accept any man's person, neither let me give flattering titles unto man

Galatians 2:6

But of these who seemed to be somewhat, (whatsoever they were, it maketh no matter to me: God accepteth no man's person:) for they who seemed to be somewhat in conference added nothing to me:

2 Chronicles 19:7

Wherefore now let the fear of the LORD be upon you; take heed and do it: for there is no iniquity with the LORD our God, nor respect of persons, nor taking of gifts

Colossians 3:25

But he that doeth wrong shall receive for the wrong which he hath done: and there is no respect of persons.

Deuteronomy 1:17

Ye shall not respect persons in judgment; but ye shall hear the small as well as the great; ye shall not be afraid of the face of man; for the judgment is God's: and the cause that is too hard for you, bring it unto me, and I will hear it.

Deuteronomy 16:19

Thou shalt not wrest judgment; thou shalt not respect persons, neither take a gift: for a gift doth blind the eyes of the wise, and pervert the words of the righteous.

#elitism #HegelianDialectic #progressivism #liberalism #NewOrder, #NewWorldOrder #racism #classism

#elitism #population control #classism #prolife #new age #new world order #progressivism #liberalism #joe biden

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dxxtruction · 4 years

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eps2.5h4ndshake.sme

Mr Robot: Season 2 episode 7

Episode and character analysis

This episode is about connecting but also about deceiving.

—

Joanna

—

The episode starts with a flashback, constructed to not look like one at first (I think this mirrors the bigger reveal at the end up the episode “things aren’t as they appear”).

Joanna looks to have brought in a Sephora bag with her (idk what other places use that stripe design on bags) and a gift has been left on the counter which contain earrings, she can be seen wearing once we jump to the present (She keeps part of Tyrell around, the things he was able to provide her with. The gift giving between them is they’re like way of showing affection. This can’t happen in the same way between her and her new lover, but she’s also willing to commit to him (for now). She even gives him a gift for his birthday to show that.) (Birthdays come up like twice in this episode and I’m not sure why but it means they’re cancers.)

This whole scene is very WHITE, even Tyrell is wearing a bright suit, and everyone at the work party is as well wears white/light gray. White is fairly symbolic of the upper class for several historical reasons, it could also represent a purer time within their relationship. Yet another thought I had goes to the rule about Labor Day, the history of which stems from creating inner class divisions between old and new money. The “rules” which determine being an insider or not. Contextually I think this makes some sense, it could even be a Labor Day event (Joanna getting back from Labor Day shopping at Sephora?). At the party The Wellick’s and the Knowles’ talk with Price who mentions Tyrell’s climbing of positions towards CTO. Him (and Joanna) becoming more a part of the “exclusivity” being introduced through Price to others within his circle like Knowles. (It’s their sort of “handshake” if you will.)

Outside the flashback, present. An old woman comes up to Joanna and spills blood (I imagine pigs blood) on her and runs away. (Definitely a Carrie reference)

“Capitalist pig!”

All the purity of the white she wears stained, her relationship with Tyrell stained, all the things she once had dreamed of having stained, because of blood (Sharon Knowles), and now there is literal blood on her as well. (Also the title card is so good)

—

Joanna is in her home, drinking wine, staring with a mixed emotion down at a photo of an ultrasound. She’s still getting these gifts from “Tyrell”, she has intentions on finding him despite finding herself tied to her new lover (She’ll later say out of all the gifts the ultrasound made her the wettest). (Through Joanna we’re led to believe Tyrell is alive (and he is but she’s not getting presents from him), but Robot says he died because they killed him so it’s a huge whats what. (Elliot doesn’t know about stage 2 or Tyrell being involved and Robot wants to keep it this way.) At the moment we ask if we believe Robot or the presents from Joanna? Turns out neither are entirely truthful. This all becomes answered in the 2 part finale. (This season deals a lot with deception, illusions, and lying.)

—

Joanna is in bed with her lover, she seems to be reenacting the Sharon Knowles choking fantasy (yikes). Derek (I keep not saying his name but it’s Derek.), wants to invite Joanna to his 30th birthday party and Joanna says she can’t come. If she doesn’t come, Derek says she’ll break up with her. Joanna seems taken about this. I think she does enjoy Derek, but I don’t think she enjoys the conditions of this relationship. She knows she’s a potential target so can’t risk going public with this relationship.

—

Joanna doesn’t show up to the party but is at his home waiting for him. It’s revealed here Joanna met Derek at the e-corp party (a nice parallel between Joanna and Tyrell during that party. One walked out with a relationship and the other walked out well… you know.). She’s filing for divorce and this is her “handshake” with him. (This later leads to her demise)

Beaten and Bruised

—

(Rami’s acting (THE BREATHING) in this scene gets me)

Robot props up Elliot and they then do more of a hold hands than a shake. Connection is seemingly being authorized at long last. He talks about handshakes; Initialized connections between two points of access. (Tech lingo.)

He says this to us:

“Hello. I see you, I recognize you, I acknowledge your existence. Let’s talk. Get to know who each other really are. All of this said with the simple act of a handshake between two people.”

He then goes on and says he “Doesn’t know how to follow the rules.”

What he’s about to say to Robot may breaks the rules of this new connection they now seem to have (Robot going that extra mile to protect Elliot from the beating)(Elliot then accepting that Robot is able to help him and they don’t have to fight).

What he mentions is Tyrell, and Robot is agitated that Elliot is hung up on him, but an agreement gets made through negotiation that gets Robot to finally say something in order to fill in those gaps of memory he doesn’t have. (So connection has been made, but it’s gonna be a false trust.)

“P-Popcorn” is the last thing Elliot remembers. (Popcorn is one of those repeated items in the show that connect back to moments in Elliot’s past. It may be a stretch but I think popcorn symbolizes the pretense of dying, given where we see it. It’s a weird irony of having death lie below the surface of whats usually seen as something fun or delightful.)

—

While talking Robot is lying to Elliot that they killed Tyrell (This would simultaneously be making that phone call they had unreal to Elliot’s mind, another part of the illusion. This will later make him think Tyrell IRL is not real). My best guess as to why Robot kept all of this is he figures that Elliot would NOT want what stage two is to happen, and it most definitely needs to happen or Dark Army would be pissed = bad new for them. Robot is once again playing the long game with Elliot to get him to fall for something. This conflict will continue to build, so yes this is the opposite of a handshake happening here, “Rules” broken. However he tells part of the truth about that night up until the point of “shooting” him, probably because Elliots picking up on bits and pieces of it and saying things that didn’t happen would break the fact Robot is lying to him. (He also isn’t looking to fight him because they’re finally working together and Robot’s been wanting that.) (Should read that Elliot is finally starting to trust Robot because of this btw. Like a relationship of trust appears to have been formed here, a perfect handshake. But who’s betraying trust now?)(My other guess is that Robot just wants to see out his plans alone W/O Elliot getting in the way)

—

Elliot gets moved back to Ray’s office. He’ll need a few hours to “move the site.” He’s planning on exposing Ray site, opening it up for more than just TOR traffic, opening it up to the public, in the next scene we see the traffic on the site is booming. To make things easier, he also emailed the FBI an anonymous tip. (Rays move was to let Elliot live and let him turn him in.)

Elliot negotiates a game with Ray and he confesses he never actually knew what was on his site, but Elliot made him look. (Not sure what exactly about Elliot compelled him but Ray talks about Elliot highly because of it.) (Rays sorta a toss at the end (?), morally ambiguous. He never actually knew what was on his site but he’s definitely not oblivious. He ultimately decides he should pay for his crimes. Elliots conversations previous seem to indicate confusion on Ray being a good or bad person, I think the guy sort of did enable all that shit to happen so like nah.)(He was also using Elliot for what he wanted out of him, this seems to be a repeated thing with Elliot and various ppl.)(Seeing him for what he can do for them instead of him as his own person.)(Characters like Darlene or Leon (who live) do seem to see Elliot for who he is.)

“You are my answer. It’s not the other way around. So thank you.”

Elliot quotes: “When you see a good move, look for a better one.” -Emanuel Lasker (World champion chess champion) (Elliot knows a lot of chess factoids) (What’s Elliots good move and what’s his better move?)

“Mr.Robot was a part of me that I created because of my pain. So now we have a chance to start again. Our handshake negotiated us as partners.” (Just a good line)

—

Elliot and Leon talk on the court, Leon mentions that Elliot has to watch out for people. The white guys show up to mess with Elliot but Leon does’t budge when asked. They had stock in Ray’s site and want payback. They definitely don’t feel like starting anything with Leon around.

“Just remember cuz, your sitting under the sword of Damocles.” - the imminent and ever-present peril faced by those in positions of power. (Leons word choice is always very nice)

—

There’s been some time since the last scene, Elliots wounds are better. We are in Church group the leader reads from Dueteronomy 12:29 - “When the Lord thy God shall cut off the nations from before thee, whither thou goest to possess them, and thou succeedest them, and dwellest in their land;”

I’m not gonna say I’m a bible expert by any means but it’s a big metaphor for “curiosity killed the cat”, to guard oneself against sinful curiosity and thereby betraying god by falling for errors in judgment; or else. Seems befitting enough to Elliots situation. (“Curiosity killed the cat”, Both in prison when his itch gets scratched with Ray landing him in a bunch of painful situations and at the end of the season when his curiosity towards Robot’s possible plotting leads him towards Tyrell who eventually has to shoots him.(thing is these were just curiosities)) (I can see this being VERY relatable to WR. She wants the Congo, and its her errors in judgement that make for her undoing.(These are more sinful))

—

There’s conversation then had between her and him about being fearful and vigilant as good, because it means gods present with him (IDK church stuff). The church lady thinks he speaks to Jesus/God, “If you let Jesus into your heart he’ll always listen.” (Jesus can be read as a prophet, Robot calls himself Elliot’s prophet), Elliot ends up speaking to Robot.

This is a continuation of this thing between them, “I was supposed to be your prophet, but you were supposed to be my god!” (Robot; season 1 episode 10), but also "Mr. Robot has become my god, and like all gods, their madness takes you prisoner." (Elliot; season 2 episode 3).

(It would take longer than an single episode analysis to unpack the religious themes in this show but I’ll say a few things.) The show is seeped with these religious themes everywhere, I’m still piecing sense together about it. It’s probably some way of saying the forces of life are mysterious at times, we can’t always understand them and yet they carry an amount of power over you. And that Powerful people are like gods. Gods are about to create things but they’re also able to destroy. They may guide you and they may also control you. God may be symbolic of power itself. Deciding who are the gods and masters and who are the men? Whoever has control over the world is he god? Should anyone be allowed to be?

Elliot doesn’t believe in god but Mr.Robot he can talk to and needs to talk to. He needs to know what it all means to work together as partners. Elliot has decided that they need to continue with their work, yet doesn’t know if he like’s what robot has to offer about it. Robot tells him Elliot is actually a leader, that he led the entire world into a revolution. Robot says he follows him simply because he does lead.

“I don’t want to be a leader.” (Probably has some preconceived notions on leaders being terrible people, but also might not feel he’d make a good leader given who he is)

Robot says to get anything done with E-corp it’s gotta have to happen like that.

This conversation between them seems like more metaphor to me, Elliot must sacrifice what he wants (not to be a leader) in order to move things forward to change the world and Jesus had to make a similar decision on sacrifice. (Whats weird about this scene though is how nothing seems to play out of it, after Elliot gets out he’s more of less on Ecorp’s side in order to prevent destruction. And wondering if Robot is even saying anything of truth here or if he’s simply further deceiving Elliot this whole time that they can work together on finishing things.)

—

Book burning: Elliot burns his journal because he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. Hot Carla and him stand and watch over it while he smokes a cigarette. (In RedWheelbarrow Carla has taken this apparently during some kind of riot. I think it’s this riot that lets the next thing happen without any guards coming by)

Attack: The racist white guys make their move on Elliot. They (the main guy) say they’re gonna “fix that courage problem of yours”. Robot takes all the punches for Elliot (King). (TW) They’re definitely taking off Elliot’s belt when they turn him around (fuccck)(TY Leon). Leon does his blade action and saves Elliot then we get the reveal.

“Gonna get a letter on Tuesday, do what it says.”

*stabs a guy in the ass*

“Hey yo man, when you see Whiterose. Make sure you say I did you good.”

*yanks his knife out of said mans ass*

“I’ll be rooting for you cuz, Always.”

Elliot’s in shock (who wouldn’t be?) (This establishes a lot between Elliot and Leon, I think it forms a true trust, but its one met with uncertainty)(This can be paralleled with Robot’s in a way, forming a false trust met with more certainty.)(…Don’t read much into what I say lol.) (It’s nice that ultimately both these connections do end up sticking around.)

—

Krista reads over Elliots release notice. (Tuesday I assume)

“But you were right, you can’t destroy a part of yourself.”

Elliot’s mentioning his “reality” the construction of prison as his moms place (perhaps little on the nose on how it was in the real house). Krista makes sure he hasn’t actually fallen into believing the delusions and we finally get the reveal that this is a prison (Honestly how did I not pick up on this sooner in the first watch?).

“Sometimes control can be an illusion, but sometimes you need an illusion to gain control. Fantasy is an easy way to give meaning to the world. To cloak our harsh reality in escapist comfort. After all isn’t that why we surround ourselves with so many screens? So we can avoid seeing?” (This line plays into a lot of things besides Elliot’s illusion. You could relate Price’s negotiations with the government to “make people believe” to this. You could relate Ray to this. You can relate Angela’s persona of professionalism to this. Whiterose’s machine gets references as a fantasy or something along those lines. You could relate Religion into this. All of them put on “masks”, or make others put on the masks, some avoid seeing and others think they see but they don’t. Ultimately every single one is trying to cope and grapple with life. And wearing them makes it possible to fight for the control they want (or are forced to want…))(I love the way this show messes with perception)

Angela / FBI / internal work

Dom tries to get something out of Angela about why she was on the FBI floor. Angela tells her about her Lunch plans. Dom (still pushing) expresses her curiosity about her job history, then mentions needing a statement from her before leaving. (She seems to be trying to fish for a reaction.)

Angela doesn’t react much, but she seems to falter towards the end, Dom says “Whatever this is? It isn’t like you,” and leaves.

Angela then completes connection to the wifi. They now own the FBI.

As part of this all security footage data is is corrupted on E-corps security cameras, a total wipe. Dom is present on the scene and suggests looking at Angela Moss’s computer. It’s the 3rd of July. (This Op later proves to be fairly pointless on FSociety’s end of things. The real ones who gain anything from this are DA.)(and because people keep perceiving that they have any control over what happens things end up worse.)

—

Angela is in a taxi on her way back home the night of the pwn. The TV in the Cab tells us how things are escalating, we get hints of switching over to e-coin, and suggestions that more services are beginning to stop.

Angela sees Darlene waiting outside the building. Angela hasn’t picked up any of Darlene’s messages or calls which is why she’s there (Angela’s pissed after finding out about Cisco).

We get what Angela has been piecing together throughout this entire time, she sorta knew at the beginning but also didn’t want to admit her friends would do something like this. She understands they’re hackers and could do something like this, but wasn’t able to admit 5/9 was them up until a certain point. Cisco certainly confirmed any unresolved ideas.

“You guys always thought that you were smarter than me. But come on. You never actually hid it that well. Every halloween, when we were kids. You guys made me watch that shitty scary movie. It was so bad.” (This line makes me think the Aldersiblings have always kept things from Angela, and have always kept her out of their more criminal hobbies, but for good reasons. That the siblings grew into very different tastes than Angela so she ended up an outsider of sorts. This jab towards the siblings seems to continue Angela’s story line of feeling under appreciated.)

—

Angela mets with her dad, who works at Walmart. He’s restocking FIVE/NINE emergency kits. Which he mentions are flying off the shelfs after the attack on Washington. (This episode does a lot of alluding to whats going on outside the main plot, forming a connection we previously weren’t getting much of)

Things get tense, this is the point where there relationship breaks. Angela betrays her mom by doing what she’s doing, but also her dad. We don’t ever see him again I’m pretty sure. There’s also an obvious class divide between them, we see just how polarized they’ve become. Somehow Angela is still convinced that what she’s doing will fix things (perceiving more control than she thinks she has).

—

Price meets with Angela.

“You protecting some evil secret agenda?”

(“Don’t we all protect our evil secrets agendas?”)

Angela wants to be moved to a manager position in risk management. (In order to change things from within).

Price confesses that it is his birthday, this is a secret from everyone but he shares with her and invites her to celebrate but she refuses. He’s definitely trying to build some type of relationship to her, since he’s her real dad and all. To Price finalizing the deal how WR needed it to be means Angela is no longer in immediate danger so maybe he’s more relaxed about opening up to her. I think one of Angela’s coworkers said this but it must seem strange to everyone else in the office there relationship, I think Angela finds it strange as well. Angela is an anomaly, caught in so many webs, and even WR sees it.

—

Angela’s first day in risk management, the man, who’s a director in risk management, showing her around. He mentions Flint,MI (who STILL doesn’t have clean water) as a thing they’re currently looking into. He apparently knew Gideon, worked with him a couple times. Angela’s hyper professionalism is super off, and its because literally every other person makes small talk and is fairly casual but her. I think it’s her way of commanding respect, something she wants is to feel respected. Angela doesn’t falter around, the problem is this persona of hers starts to carry on to her other relationships, it consumes her. (I just think to when she shuts Elliot away with her office professionalism in the episode where the buildings blow up.. 3.5?)

—

In Angela’s meeting Susan Jacobs (the executioner, f-society is using her house as HQ) is mentioned to be taking vacation days. (Hint dropped that she may be stopping by her house.)

A lot of legal settlement lingo is just thrown around everywhere (making us feel intimidated but also showing how Angela may find herself lost in this environment). Angela tries to get a shoe in on the conversation by suggesting to put together a summary, but obviously this wasn’t gonna work. Price told the head of risk management to treat Angela “however you want” and this guy finds Angela to be a suspicious case.

—-

F Society -

The gang are all over Mobley’s laptop (top secret call happening on OpBerenstain)(It reads that this should be the same day as the hack when Darlene comes in, which happened on the 3rd.)

(The show sort of hints that this next bit is whats on Mobley’s screen previous, but the dates don’t line up. “Tomorrow” isn’t the seventh.) The House of Representatives. (7/7/15) at 2:07 pm ET #droptheballs happens. Kinda a legendary move that just says “suck on these” to the government. However this scares some people into thinking the worlds ending (hence E corp selling out of emergency kits and needing the restock. Capitalism <3s to sell us our panic it created in the first place.) (and when we buy into that aren’t we buying into its fantasy?)

#h4ndshake.sme #mr robot #I'm not gonna bother tagging everyone who appears in this episode.#Also this is being posted out of order cause i'm still working on episode 6 #these are for fun so like dont take any of my takes seriously

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choisgirls · 5 years

Text

Red Fate.

A/N: *rubs my grubby, evil little hands together* The first mysme thing i write in a long time and it turns out this way, you’re welcome

The click of the keys were the only sounds to echo across the room.

For once in his life, Saeyoung’s mind was at a standstill. Nothing roamed the inner depths of his head—not jokes, not strings of code—not even beautiful images of a certain white cat popped up like advertisements as they normally did.

Mindlessly, he tapped at the keyboard in front of him, the light from the monitor being the only source in the room. It glared as it struck his glasses, taking unfair measurements to ensure it lit up only the harshest aspects of his features.

The bags under his eyes, the heavy scowl on his lips—his face screamed exhaustion, self-pity, and the line between blurred with swirls of emotions. He was well aware why he felt such a way, but admitting it to himself would bring life to the sin, make it truly real, form it into something he couldn’t make disappear.

What good did it do, truly, to keep his mouth shut? Time and time again, he’d watch as the sin in front of him reached out, begging him to join hands with promise of salvation, of protection, of love; He knew what he was in for, he knew what he had been feeling, yet he shoved it further and further down, knowing he wasn’t worthy of the pleasure sure to come with that very hand.

But god, that hand was beautiful.

It looked so soft and welcoming, cupping as though it were ready to caress his face gently and wash every impurity away; But that hand was the impurity instead—it was something he would never get as he was bound to this one, solid coordinate on a plane of vast existence, coded to simply watch in agony as everything unfolded in front of him.

A ding from his phone caught his attention, eyes mindlessly looking over the notifications, desperately searching for that one name to breathe a newfound life into his hallow heart; The message couldn’t open quick enough—he made a mental note to try and fix this problem later—and found his heartbeat rapidly picking up the pace to catch up to the smile across his lips.

They were online—yes, the very sin themselves, though Saeyoung preferred the much more angelic title of MC—suddenly, he had a purpose once again. The gears in his mind started to turn, though the once empty space filled with thoughts and images of them; Which was more painful? The empty, static dysfunction he got as he short circuited, or the silent truth behind the taut red string of fate between the two of them?

‘It’s late!’ He found himself typing, ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘I was worried about you.’

The genuine concern behind their words left him dumbfounded, his heart now beating in a peculiar fashion; No! He wanted to scream out—no, they shouldn’t concern themselves with him! Time and time again he would pull himself closer to them, grasping onto that string for dear life only to find himself letting go and watching as they pulled the string tighter and tighter, on the verge of snapping in two. He wanted so badly for that string to split, so they could find a better, stronger string instead—perhaps a nice yellow? Maybe a silver? How does a green or a purple sound? Anything but this damn red string that would only bring them misery.

How was he supposed to let them go if deep down he truly didn’t want to?

‘Lolololol,’ he falsely typed, ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m the great SEVEN! ZERO! SEVEN! Commander of the stars and conqueror of evil, and secretly—and I cannot stress this enough—the most handsome of devils.’

He could just feel in his soul how they laughed—god, he wished he could witness it firsthand. Maybe he could ask them to step outside in front of the camera—No! The hand around his heart would only crush its contents if he were to actually see it. A deep breath and a small smile later, their reluctant agreeance only tugged at his heart strings more and more as he knew what he had been doing to them.

Days dragged by while nights flew much faster than he wanted. Taking every opportunity to talk to them, laugh with them, even allowing himself to be as vulnerable as he could without letting everything pour out, he knew he had been tugging the string and pulling them close. Did he mean to? What was the right thing to do here? He wanted so desperately to be close to them that he knew it was wrong—that's why their very existence was nothing short of a sin.

And that’s why he would work tirelessly to sever that damn red string.

Saeyoung grew cold, distant—he spoke as though he were a madman and prayed that MC would not be able to decipher the riddles of his heart. He pushed, shoved, even went as far as to leave what was once an electronic safe haven to allow himself to bask in their radiance the moment he saw their name log in. Short answers, bursts of random conversation, distance.

The string around his finger tugged and tugged, begging him to come back, come close, do something to cut it some slack—but he solely watched from that dark room, catching glimpses of that string of his from the light of his monitor.

MC started to speak more with the others, growing closer, forming bonds. His heart and eyes pleaded, his soul begged, his fingers twitched, but his mind would not move for it knew the truth.

Snap.

The string around his finger grew heavy, slowly sinking back against him, the neat little bow that held it now sagging and dull. Eyes followed the line, painfully fading away as though it were merely computer-generated numbers and had no attachment to his heart. A small but of the line remained, however, tied around his finger; He played with the bow mindlessly, feeling the sharp pain in his chest as he did so.

And there, at the party, he anxiously rubbed at the bow on his finger as he waited to see them. Heart pounding, mind racing—and as fate would have it, his eyes landed on the perfect mold of pure, unfiltered sin—something so pure he could never be clean enough to hold in his arms.

The hand that once held out for him was now out of reach—try as he might, he could never reach far enough to grab it. The sun, as would have it, was truly too far for someone of measly existence to obtain. Fate was a cruel reality, and she loved to play Saeyoung like the hallow puppet that he was, generating his life time and time again with mixtures of ones and zeros.

He’d smile to himself, so sad and expectant, as he’d come to terms with the rules of Fate’s little game.

“So, Fate says you can’t fall in love with me.”

And there, around their finger, tied in the most pristine of bows, sat a coloured bow.

Saeyoung would have to watch, time and time again as Fate loved her game of torture, as the bow changed colours--none of which ever stayed red.

“But she never said I couldn’t fall in love with you.”

#mysme #mystic messenger #saeyoung x reader #saeyoung choi #saeyoung choi x reader #im asleep as this posts cause its scheduled so feel free to leave me messages saying how much you hate me LMAO #this is mild yall will be fine #mm saeyoung #mysme drabbles #mysme writing #mysme imagines #mystic messenger drabbles #mystic messenger writing #mystic messenger imagines #mm drabbles #mm writing #mm imagines

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

Text

Punisher 2099 #1 Thoughts

This issue far and away blows every other one in this event thus far out of the water!Remember when I criticized the rebooting of the 2099 line on principle.

Remember how I said it was asinine to redo the 2099 line with a 2019 lens of the future?

Well I’ll have to admit to being somewhat wrong about that.

Its still insulting and dumb to reboot the line. And there is still precious little about 2019’s vision of the future that’d be all that different to 1992’s. Or at least if you were trying to still be similar to the latter’s vision.

Buuuuuuuut…whilst those things are still broadly dumb this issue makes excellent use of them. And does so in a way that almost justifies this direct.

Lonnie Nadler & Zac Thompson (who I’ve never heard of before this issue) have truly EMBRACED the sci-fi nature of this event and the mission statement of it to reboot and update this vision of the future.

In this issue they present not just a new spin on Punisher 2099, but a wholesale new spin on the Punisher, at least from my own limited experience with the character.

The original Punisher 2099 (Jake Gallows) is an important part of this story, but he is not the main character, rather that’s new character Hector Tago.

At first glance you might think that we’re in a similar situation to F4 2099 wherein the title character is in fact not the main character, but thats not the case here.

Hector IS the Punisher of this title.

This is something of a mixed bag, especially if you liked the original Punisher 2099.

On principle you aren’t going to like such a change, let alone rebooting Jake’s characterization. In all honesty at face value the story could’ve worked just as effectively had Jake been the lead character and someone else (Hector or another original character) filled his role in the narrative. That also would’ve cut closer to the original character.

On the other hand though...how many people honestly even liked the original Punisher 2099?

Seriously, I’ve read it and seen multiple reviews of it and it comes up as unimpressive. It was really just ANOTHER Punisher book amidst the sea of them in the 1990s. What made things worse is that Jake Gallows wasn’t all that distinctive from Frank Castle. Whilst Miguel O’Hara zigged where Peter Parker zagged, Jake Gallows functionally simply wore a different outfit with more high tech equipment and had baseball bat.

When you look at a lot of the best 2099 reinventions of classic characters they always take something intrinsic to the character’s power set, costume and name and take it in a different direction. Case in point, Cap 2099 does from a free single white male into a sort of enslaved married Hispanic female (who’s RIPPED). Black Widow 2099 is literally a black woman who eats her lovers post-coital. In fact a fair few of the 2099 reinventions of characters operated by taking characters’ names and powers more literally.

Punisher 2099 wasn’t initially approached that way. But Hector Tago, the NEW Punisher 2099 absolutely was.

A major theme of this story, perhaps THE major theme, is punishment.

Jake Gallows in his mind is punishing the Thorites for his family’s deaths.

Davis Dunn is punished for crimes he didn’t commit.

Everyone punishes each other via a form of social media (we’ll get back to that), Kenji Wallace being the most obvious example.

And Hector punishes Gallows, but more importantly he punishes HIMSELF!

He views being the punisher as a form of atonement for the sins he committed as part of the authorities, and he is seemingly committed now to fighting the system.

This is almost the polar opposite of Frank Castle isn’t it?

Frank was a man who believed in the system, but felt it wasn’t harsh enough. His objections to it were not so much that it hurt citizens but rather that it didn’t go far enough in protecting them by curtailing criminal elements. Thus when those criminal elements took his family away from him, he resolved to punish them and by extension ALL criminals.

The fact that Hector is in most respects on the opposite end of the spectrum from Frank makes the Gallows in truth all to perfect an antagonist. Due to being so similar to the original Punisher, Gallows on a meta level represents the typical depiction of the Punisher and thus through on the page contrast with Hector more clearly emphasises where Hector zigs where Frank/Jake zagged.

The one thing Hector and Frank do share though is their absolute commitment to their respective missions. For both men, becoming the Punisher was a rebirth and they lived for their missions. One of the best scenes of the comic is when Hector metaphorically burns his old life down. He’s not Hector anymore. He is simply the Punisher!

I pray for the original 2099 line to be restored but if there was some way to fold Hector back into it, that’d be just perfect!

The ONLY thing that doesn’t really work with his character is the fact that there was zero justification for him to adorn himself in the skull outfit. It kind of came out of nowhere and he does it simply because it’s a Punisher book and that’s just expected.

There are other great aspects to the book too.

As I said up top, the title embraces the sci-fi nature of the event and the mission statement of re-evaluating the 2099 from a 2019 perspective vs. a 1992 perspective.

Whilst that’s mostly pointless this book makes it work by zeroing in on several elements that were either not around in 1992 or at least not as talked about:

· The prevalence of surveillance technology, including facial recognition technology (speculative science fiction in 1992, actual science reality in 2019). This was achieved through the IRIS drones among other security cameras

· Deep fake technology (see above). This was conveyed through the alterations of the IRIS’s allegedly objective recordings. Its particularly dangerous as its used as propaganda by the authorities.

· Police corruption and brutality, especially towards marginalized groups (definitely a thing in 1992, but the current zeitgeist in the 2010s is distinctly anti-cop). Literally everything the Public Eye do (especially regarding the Thorites), they reminded me of the Street Judges from Judge Dredd. I might be somewhat misreading the metaphor though because the Thorites aren’t exactly innocent, but one shouldn’t judge them as a monolith I suppose.

· Greater exposure of homosexual people, trans people and social activists (again a thing in 1992, but very much not as talked about as it is now). Wallace’s character. The comic book presents him as a man in a same sex relationship and it’s no big deal. He then transformed for lack of a better word into a robot, a robot who literally preaches to the crowds about the ills of society. He’s wiped out by the police. What’s most interesting is that not only is being in a gay relationship no big deal but Wallace’s transformation was motivated BY wanting to reconcile with his lover.

· Social media and how it’s empowered the court of public opinion. Everyone gets rated by everyone else on social media and you can find yourself essentially exiled as a result.

· Arguably dangerous prescription drugs, though I don’t know enough about that to really touch the topic.

· Artificial intelligence, though this is very lightly part of the story, more a background fact rather than something really explored

· The erosion of objectivity in favour of efficiency

For starters, whilst the text boxes doling out exposition about how technology and prison system work were interesting...maybe show instead of tell? This is a visual medium, showing is actually a lot easier than telling us.· The Conan 2099 comic had a warning about mature content even though that amounted to Conan cutting some people up. Maybe that does warrant a mature content warning, but you know if so then maybe this comic with it’s literal tree made from corpses should get one too? Just be consistent is all.

One more sort of positive I’ve going to give out, this was the first issue that made the Alpha story seem relevant.

In the Alpha story you SEE stuff that either sets up directly events for this comic or thematically sets it up by establishing the Public Eye’s conflicts with the Thorites. The only downside is that the tease for Jake Gallows, in particular him being Punisher 2099, was false advertising.

Also, if this story was deliberately written with the intention of subverting your expectations by making Hector the Punisher instead then it failed. Because it was obvious from the moment Hector became the character we were following.

Over all I’d HIGHLY recommend checking this book out. Small problems aside it slapped hard!

#Punisher #The Punisher #Jake Gallows #Punisher 2099 #Marvel 2099 #2099

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Note

Commissioned fic request: V & feisty fem reader, friends to lovers w/lots of sexual tension leading to lots of spice. V being awkward; reader finds it charming. Maybe he roasts her for being a shorty. He loves teasing her but she gives him a run for his money because she loves messing with him too, a lot. Little does she know she’s asking for it. Prompts "The skirt is supposed to be this short","Who gave you that black eye?"(reader gets black eye XD), "I just like proving you wrong"(reader to V)

Thank you so much for the commission! You are officially the first person to do so. Since you gave me so much to work with, this will be split into a few posts. I couldn’t resist writing a nice, long story for ya! Enjoy!

(Takes place after the events of DMC5, in an AU where V survived even though Vergil still returned)

Word count - 2,999

True North Part 1

__________________

In a dark room somewhere in Red Grave City, a man tossed and turned as he did every night. The chilled autumn wind caressed his clammy skin and he grunted, his face strained in the moonlight spilling from his open bedroom window. His tattooed fingers clenched and a tear leaked from his closed eye, spilling into his already sweat-dampened obsidian hair. There was no one beside him; the tormented man slept alone.

V bolted upright with a gasp, eyes shooting open as if he’d been struck by lightning. The pounding of his heart refused to slow until he checked every corner of the room, despite how sure he was of his own safety. His nightmares often robbed him of his senses.

As was his ritual, he reached out through the shredded remains of his bond with his familiars, mourning them as if their sacrifice was only yesterday. He still found it difficult to believe; the three demons he’d fought to gain as allies ended up giving the last of their lives to preserve him. Trading what little power they had to anchor his soul.

As a consequence, he no longer had the means to fight demons alongside his friends. He had become ordinary, and while his friends still cared, they were busy saving the world. They didn’t have time to support him or help him heal, for reasons he understood despite the ache in his heart. So, while he survived the showdown, V still felt as if he’d lost everything.

In a way, he had.

V sighed and threw aside the blankets, airing out the portion of the sheets now soaked with his sweat. He shuffled to the small bathroom and splashed water on his face, taking comfort in the sting the cold fluid brought. He stared into the mirror, assessing the worth of the person he saw.

There’s still so much to atone for.

His hands clenched on the porcelain, remembering the many sins of his past. Every day he strived to make amends, but it wasn’t easy. Most of his crimes proved too terrible to counterbalance.

Mass murder. Conspiracy. Matricide. Theft.

Theft. He could fix that, couldn’t he? His emerald eyes shifted to gaze at the dresser where his now useless cane lied, remembering the day he stole it. To be fair, his circumstances at the time were… complicated.

Still, perhaps he could find that shop in the morning, pay for the broken case and for his thievery. It was better than nothing. He sighed again and returned to bed, lying on the side where the sheets remained somewhat dry.

__________________

Retracing his footsteps from the day of his birth turned out to be more of a challenge than he’d expected. The city had changed so much, many buildings damaged or destroyed entirely during the crisis. In some neighborhoods, the carcasses of the Qlipoth roots stood vigil as a reminder to the citizens. V clicked his tongue as he stepped over one particularly large root, disdain written on his every feature.

What a fool I was.

He walked two more blocks before he saw it – the paned glass door, the carved columns framing it. V swallowed heavily as he remembered breaking the glass and unlocking the doors, dragging Griffon inside by his feet. Desperate to stay hidden from the pathetic Empusa. He was weaker now than he’d ever been.

He shook his head. This wasn’t a trip down memory lane, there was no point revisiting the past. No point dwelling on pain. He pushed the heavy door inward and entered the scene of his crime.

It had changed little. A display of porcelain dolls to his left, a case of jewelry to his right. Ahead, a shelf stuffed with baubles and accouterments waiting for a new home. He would’ve liked to browse, but he was here for a reason. His gaze swept the room, passing over the paraphernalia to find a tiny figure carrying a stack of books, a nametag barely visible past the bindings.

I thought child labor was illegal?

He approached curiously and watched as you shelved the myriad of tomes. Eventually he got a look at your face and he chuckled to himself, realizing you were most definitely not a child. He cleared his throat. You spun to face him with an obviously false smile.

“Hi, can I help you find anything?”

He shuffled his feet and sighed. This may end with him in handcuffs.

“I need to pay for something…” he began. You stared up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He held out the silver cane and gave you a sheepish smirk.

“I stole this a few months ago during the crisis. I’ve come to purchase it properly.”

Your eyes flicked from his face to the cane, then back again. A more authentic grin spread across your features and you snickered, holding a hand over your lips to hide it. V lowered his arms; by the time the cane clicked against the tile, your guffaws had reached a state of frenzy. He shuffled his feet in embarrassment and waited for you to calm.

“Are you for real? Dude, everything damaged during that bullshit got written off as a loss. You could’ve taken Elvis’ jacket and literally nobody would have noticed,” you said eventually. V clicked his tongue, unable to withhold his annoyance at being teased. Especially since he was trying to do something right!

“Regardless. I also broke in through the door and shattered the case that contained it. I may have damaged several other items during my encounter with a demon.”

You looked him over with a sly gleam of amusement and led him to a counter with a shrug.

“If you really want to pay for it, the owner won’t complain. I can get the cane sorted out, but the damage might take a while. Are you sure you want to do this?”

V grimaced. His job at a local bookstore didn’t pay well, and his work experience didn’t merit a raise. He’d have to take on extra shifts to cover the expense. More hours spent helping idiots find something to read on the plane, mindlessly stocking the shelves and pretending to have any deference for his boss.

I must make amends.

“I’m sure.”

You smiled and gestured at the cane, indicating you needed to see it again. He handed it over and you hummed.

“Well, you have my respect, then. Not many people would fess up to that.”

V didn’t respond. He locked his eyes on the floor, remembering how black it looked as Griffon dissolved right before he’d bonded with the mouthy demonic bird. It surprised him how much he missed the snide commentary and barbed insults.

No one left to insult me except myself.

“I think seventy-five would be a fair price,” you said, handing back the cane. V pulled his wallet from his rear pocket, finally having made use of the chain from so long ago. He handed you a few bills with a smile. The register opened with a sharp click and you counted out his change, even printing a receipt. The tiny scrap of paper in his hand lifted a fraction of the guilt from his shoulders and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ll need your contact info for the glass,” you said, holding out a pen and notepad. He scrawled his name and cell, adding a note explaining his request. You peered at his writing curiously.

“Anyone ever tell you your handwriting looks like you’re five years old?”

V chuckled. He knew better than to mention how young he was, but it was tempting.

“Ah, I must be improving then,” he replied instead. You snickered and shook your head.

“Good one! I guess I’ll talk to you soon,” you glanced back at the pad, “V…”

__________________

As much as he loved literature, working in a bookstore left V extremely unsatisfied. Most customers were after whatever new young adult fiction was big this week, or the latest self-help book. Not a soul asked him about poetry or classics, and the lack of stimulating conversation gave him far too much time to think.

He spent a significant portion of time trying to figure out other ways he could repay his misdeeds. Rarely did he stumble onto any new ideas or insights, and the repetitive cycle left him melancholy. Not a good mindset for customer service.

And according to Michael, we just sold out of that drivel the kids like. This will be a long day.

Still, he plastered as much of a smile as he could muster on his lips and pinned his nametag on, striding out onto the sales floor like it was a battleground infested with Hell Caina’s.

If only…

“Hey, you work here, right?”

He turned to face a youthful blonde, knowing from the tone of her voice alone what she wanted. Why she couldn’t have bothered Cassie instead was a mystery, the two would’ve likely been best friends within ten minutes. The idea twitched his lips into a faint smile as he nodded.

“Cool, you have that new one by Cyril McNabb, yeah?”

His jaw clenched in irritation. The girl didn’t even pronounce the author’s name correctly, let alone know the title. He took a deep breath and responded.

“I’m afraid we’re sold out. Can I recommend something else?”

The girl sneered at him, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a scoff.

“What, you don’t have like, one more copy in the back?”

V hid his hands behind his back and clenched them, keeping the pleasant smile on his face even as he seethed in annoyance.

“No.”

She pouted, puffing her lower lip out so theatrically he wondered how it remained attacked to her chin.

“Can’t you, like, go check? Cuz I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

Her words echoed in his mind, harkening to that day in the Qlipoth. Nero had used the exact same phrase.

The shelves surrounding him vanished, replaced by falling chunks of rock and bloody vines. He was dragging the rash young warrior away from where Dante held Urizen in a stalemate, even as the boy screamed for him to let go. V’s rage had howled through him, lending him the strength to get Nero out even as he wanted to charge into the fray and finish it.

“Uhhh, hello? So, like, can you go check for me?” the young woman’s grating voice said, shattering the memory like glass.

He didn’t think, responding on sheer impulse.

“I suppose I could, but I will not. I happen to know we sold the last copy this morning, and your insistence on special treatment will not cause another copy to magically materialize just for you. I’d recommend an alternative, but truthfully the best use of your time would be a grammar textbook or a collection of poetry, and I doubt someone of your limited intelligence would make it past the first page.”

Gods, that felt good to say.

Even as he enjoyed a surge of self-satisfaction, he knew he’d fucked up. The girl’s jaw hung open in shock as she blinked back tears. Her lower lip trembled as the first few drops slipped through her false lashes. To make matters worse, Michael stomped out from behind the mystery novels with a scowl, having overheard every word.

“V, go wait in my office. Miss, please come with me and I’ll have another associate check for you,” the pudgy manager said.

Damn.

Barely ten minutes later, V turned in his nametag and walked out the door. He brushed his hair out of his face and crossed the tree-lined intersection. Where could he work, with his lack of expertise in anything besides hell and demons? Life was so much easier when he didn’t expect to live longer than a month. Now, there were bills and rent to worry about, not to mention his car payment.

Granted, V had a respectable amount saved. He lived a modest life and made it a point of pride to set aside what he could. It may cost a great deal to atone, and it never hurt to have a safety net.

A buzz in his pocket stopped him in his tracks; his phone. He pulled it from his pocket to find an unfamiliar local number on the screen. His shoulders tensed and he braced himself for more bad news as he tapped the green dot.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this V?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

He stepped off the sidewalk to lean on a brick wall, allowing an old couple holding hands to pass.

“It’s Y/N, from the antique shop on first street?”

He smirked, adopting a teasing tone as he replied. “I believe so, are you lost?”

“Ha-ha, hilarious. The owner passed me the receipts today, total comes out to $3,274.55, including all damaged property. She wanted to say thank you and that you can make as many payments as you need.”

“Ah. I suppose I’m lucky Elvis’ jacket wasn’t damaged.”

You snorted in mirth. “Nah, just his wig. When can you drop by?”

V clicked his tongue. He needed to find work quickly, but if he didn’t have a minimum amount he wanted to make the first payment as soon as possible. Begin the process.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

—Reader—

You chuckled as you hung up, still stuck on his crack about Elvis. The man had a talent for one liners, you had to give him that much. Part of you hoped he’d make his payment in person, so you could exchange jokes with him, but in this era the chances were slim. You sighed and turned back to the thick stack of papers, re-reading the top sheet for what felt like the hundredth time.

Ugh, lame. I wish someone else could work on this.

Still, it needed to get done. You forced yourself to focus and muddled through a third of the stack before a soft voice interrupted.

“There’s a guy here to see you, should I show him back?” Peter asked from the doorway. You nodded and he vanished, silent as a mouse only to reappear seconds later with the tattooed man in tow.

A ruler marked where you left off in the accursed pile as you waved V inside with a smile. He looked strange in khaki pants and an olive shirt, the look so different from the dark jeans and layered tees he wore when you first met. He sat in the only other chair in the room, a mere three feet away from you.

“So! V! Ready to meet the owner?”

He nodded, making a move to stand once again. You cackled internally as you reached out to shake his hand.

“Surprise! It’s me.”

His lips twitched into a smirk and he let out a single syllable of amusement, eyes scanning the cramped room. Cluttered cork boards lined the walls, various notices and a few choice comic strips pinned up. Shelves lined the walls all the way to the ceiling in the few areas left over, packed with detritus and binders you hadn’t opened in years. Your desk was the cleanest surface in the room, littered with the stack of papers you needed to finish reading, a few pens and office supplies.

“So this is your office?”

“Yup! Though I let a few people use it sometimes.”

He nodded knowingly, as if something became clear to him with your words. You stared at him quizzically until he broke the silence to answer your unasked question.

“I was wondering why you had shelves so high when you’re so small,” he explained. “Which begs the question, how do you stock the higher displays?”

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes. It was inevitable, especially considering he was so damn tall. How could he not notice how short you were when he had to look down to make eye contact? You’d heard it all before.

“Witchcraft. And a few piggy back rides,” you deadpanned.

“Also known as a stool, I assume,” he replied with a smirk, not missing a beat.

Damn, he’s good. But so am I.

“Stewart, actually. Though we had to let him go when he started hiding my pens on the top shelf.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you couldn’t keep a straight face anymore, breaking down into laughter as V released a few quiet sniggers. You couldn’t remember the last person you met who appreciated your sense of humor. Wit was a dying skill, in your experience. How nice to find someone who enjoyed it as much as you did.

You fought your lips into a neutral expression, folding your hands professionally on your desk. V’s sparkling emerald eyes nearly sent you over the edge again, but somehow you kept your focus. Business first, jokes later.

Hopefully.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you asked, lips still twitching in rebellion.

He clenched his jaw, irritation radiating off him in waves. The change in mood wiped out the last of your amusement and you wondered if you’d offended him.

“I can do one hundred today, after that I’m not sure. I’ve just been fired,” he said tersely.

Oh my gosh, that’s perfect!

Wait. Slow your roll. Why was he fired?

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

He shifted his weight, matching your suspicion with plenty of his own. “What does it matter to you?”

You uncrossed your arms and smiled.

“Because I’m hiring.”

Part 2

#commisions #fanfic #v x reader #dmc5 v #dmcv #vitale #my writing

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chuckprophet · 6 years

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The RubinoosThe Rubinoos

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The Rubinoos are an American power pop band that formed in 1970 in Berkeley, California. They are perhaps best known for their singles "I Think We're Alone Now" (1977, a cover of the hit by Tommy James & the Shondells), "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" (1979), and for the theme song to the 1984 film Revenge of the Nerds. Although "I Think We're Alone Now," reaching No. 45 in 1977, has been their only charting hit, the group has a significant enduring cult following among fans of the power-pop genre.[1]

History

In November, 1970 Tommy Dunbar and Jon Rubin formed the Rubinoos to play at a dance for Bay High School in Berkeley, California. Other founding members included Greg 'Curly' Keranen, Alex Carlin, Ralph Granich and Danny Wood. Inspired by siblings' 45s and the Cruisin' vintage radio recreations LP series, Jon Rubin and the Rubinoos played rock and roll oldies, including covers of songs by Chubby Checker, Bill Haley and the Comets, the Dovells, the Troggs, Little Eva, the Chiffons, and others.

Soon after the performance at Bay High School, where Rubin and Dunbar were enrolled, the original band dissolved. In May 1971, they shortened the name to the Rubinoos and reformed as a quartet with Donn Spindt on drums and Tom Carpender on bass. The group now focused on original material by Dunbar, in association with Rubin and others.

The band's early development was assisted and inspired by the success of Earth Quake, whose lead guitarist and principal songwriter was Tommy Dunbar's older brother, Robbie Dunbar. The Rubinoos often appeared as an opening act for Earth Quake in clubs such as the Longbranch Saloon and the Keystone, in Berkeley.

After the expiration of their contract with A&M Records, Earth Quake along with their manager, Matthew King Kaufman, founded Beserkley Recordsand started recruiting additional talent. This included Greg Kihn, Jonathan Richman and the Rubinoos.

In June, 1973, Greg 'Curly' Keranen re-joined the group. In September, 1974, they recorded a cover of the DeFranco Family's "Gorilla", released as a single and included on the Beserkley Chartbusters compilation album. The group also provided accompaniment for Jonathan Richman on two Chartbuster cuts, "The New Teller" and "Government Center." Shortly after the release of "Chartbusters" Keranen left the Rubinoos to join Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers. He was replaced by Royse Ader.

Several 'high points' of the band's early career included: A performance at Bill Graham's Winterland Auditorium, September 24, 1974, on a bill with the Jefferson Starship. At this concert, the Rubinoos were joined on stage by Jonathan Richman, who danced to their version of The Archies' "Sugar, Sugar". This was greeted with intense booing and a pelting of unripe bananas by members of the audience.[2] Having a number one single in Modesto, California, for 13 weeks. Having one of their concerts raffled off to a high school by Burger King. Appearing in Tiger Beat and 16 Magazine many times.

In 1977, Beserkley released The Rubinoos, the group's eponymous debut album. It was well-reviewed and New York Rocker called it "The Best Pop Album of the Decade." The single, a cover of Tommy James' "I Think We're Alone Now," reached No. 45 on the Billboard Hot 100 becoming Beserkley's first hit. The group appeared on American Bandstand (live), So It Goes (by video) and Rolling Stone Magazine: The 10th Anniversary television special in which they were cast as a garage band, performed a tribute to the newly deceased Elvis Presley and morphed into claymationfigures.

The group's next album, Back to the Drawing Board (1979), featured the single "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend," which had been released in 1978 and received heavy airplay in England and Europe. In support of this album, the Rubinoos appeared on Rock Goes To College, The Old Grey Whistle Test, Top Pop and opened 56 shows for Elvis Costello on the U.S. portion of his 1979 Armed Funk tour.

In 1980 Royse Ader was replaced by Al Chan. The Rubinoos then recorded the demos for a third album which never came to fruition. These demos, released in the 1990s as Basement Tapes, engineered by well known audio guru, Dan Alexander, is still thought to be one of their best efforts. Spindt and Chan left the group in 1982 when Tommy and Jon decided to move to Los Angeles. In 1983, the group, now consisting of just Rubin and Dunbar, signed with Warner Bros. Records and released the Mini LP Party of Two, produced by Todd Rundgren. Party of Two yielded the single and cult classic music video "If I Had You Back," which has been in continuous rotation on MTV and VH1 for over 25 years. In 1984, they recorded the title song "Revenge of the Nerds" and "Breakdown" for the film Revenge of the Nerds.

The Rubinoos playing in Barcelona, Spain, in 2010

The Rubinoos began a long sabbatical in 1985. In 1989, Dunbar, Spindt, Chan, and John Seabury formed the group Vox Pop and recorded an album of material, co produced by Dunbar and Dan Alexander at Alexanders Coast Recorders. Also in 1989, Jon Rubin joined the noted Los Angeles a cappella Doo Wop group The Mighty Echoes. During the 1990s, two compilation CDs, Basement Tapes and Garage Sale were released. Their success led to the end of The Rubinoos sabbatical and a new album, Paleophonic (1999), produced by Kevin Gilbert. This album did not see the light of day until The Rubinoos' performance, their first in seven years, at the 1999 International Pop Overthrow Festival in Los Angeles. The lineup at IPO featured Rubin, Dunbar, Chan and Spindt. In 2000 Tommy and Jon were hired to sing the Flo and Eddie parts of Frank Zappa's 200 Motels at three concerts with the Netherlands' Philharmonic. In 2002 The Rubinoos toured Spain and Japan, released the all-covers Crimes Against Music (2002) and recorded the album Live in Japan (2004). In 2005 the group reunited with their original producer, Gary Phillips, to record Twist Pop Sin (2006). In 2007, Castle Communications issued the 63-song retrospective Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Rubinoos. Also in 2007, The Rubinoos toured Japan and released a two CD compilation titled One Two That's It. In 2009 the band toured Spain and released the compilation CD HodgePodge which featured one newly recorded track, a cover of The Hollies' classic, "Bus Stop."

Music critic John M. Borack called Paleophonic No. 36 in his list of the best power pop albums of all time, praising its "trademark pitch-perfect harmonies".[1]

In January 2010, The Rubinoos played their first kids show in support of their first all ages CD Biff-Boff-Boing. The CD is a mix of covers and new originals.

In May 2010, to coincide with their Spain/Italy tour, the Rubinoos released their first new original album in five years - Automatic Toaster, produced by Robbie Rist.

More recently, the group was in the news after filing a plagiarism lawsuit in mid-2007 against Canadian pop-punk musician Avril Lavigne claiming that her song "Girlfriend" had too much in common with "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend". The parties confidentially settled out of court in early 2008.[3]The conflict led to a re-interest in the Rubinoos' music, particularly on YouTube.[4]

Lawsuit

In 2007, Dunbar and co-writer James Gangwer sued Canadian pop-rock singer Avril Lavigne, claiming that her hit song "Girlfriend" had too much in common with "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend".

Filed in the United States District Court for the Northern District of California, the case also named Avril Lavigne Publishing, her songwriting partner Dr. Luke, RCA Records, and Apple Inc. as defendants.[5] Lavigne's manager, Terry McBride, as well as Lavigne herself, denied that "Girlfriend" was copied from "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend," and pointed out that "Boyfriend" itself was similar to the Rolling Stones' "Get Off of My Cloud". The two parties reached a confidential settlement in January 2008.

Members

Current lineup

Jon Rubin - vocals, guitar (1970-1985, 1999–present)

Tommy Dunbar - guitar, vocals (1970-1985, 1999–present)

Donn "Donno" Spindt - drums, vocals (1971-1985, 1999–present)

Al Chan - bass, vocals (1980-1985, 1999–present)

Touring musicians

Susie Davis - keyboards, vocals (2002–present)

David Rokeach - drums (2007–present)

Former members

Greg 'Curly' Keranen - bass, vocals (1970–1971, 1973–1975)

Alex Carlin - organ (1970–1971)

Ralph Granich - drums (1970–1971)

Danny Woods - saxophone (1970–1971)

Tom Carpender - bass, vocals (1971–1973)

Royse Ader - bass, vocals (1975–1980)

Michael Boyd - keyboards, vocals (1981–1982)

Discography

Studio albums

The Rubinoos (1977)

Back to the Drawing Board (1979)

Party of Two EP (1983)

Paleophonic (1998)

Crimes Against Music (2003)

Twist Pop Sin (2006)

Biff-Boff-Boing (children's CD) (2010)

Automatic Toaster (2010)

45 (2015)

Compilations

Bezerk Times (1978)

The Basement Tapes (1993)

Garage Sale (1994)

The Basement Tapes Plus (1999)

Anthology (2002)

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Rubinoos (2007) (3-CD box set)

One Two That's It (2008)

HodgePodge (2009)

The Best of The Rubinoos (2014?)

Live album

Live in Japan (2004)

A Night Of All Covers -Live At Koenji High, Tokyo (2018)

References

John M. Borack (2007). Shake some action: the ultimate power pop guide. Not Lame Recordings. pp. 17, 64. ISBN 978-0-9797714-0-8.

"Jojoblog backstage : Interview #15 : Greg "Curly" Keranen". Jojofiles2.blogspot.com. 2007-04-12. Retrieved 2014-04-25.

"Avril Lavigne "Girlfriend" Lawsuit Settlement; Rubinoos Avril Lavigne". popcrunch.com. January 10, 2008. Retrieved July 3, 2010.

James Montgomery (July 9, 2007). "Avril Lavigne Responds To Lawsuit, Says She's Been 'Falsely Accused'". MTV.com. Retrieved July 3, 2010.

"Apple sued for duping Apple TV image, hosting iTunes track". Appleinsider.com. Retrieved 2014-04-26.

External links

Official site

The Rubinoos facebook

The Rubinoos Automatic Toaster Review

The Rubinoos at AllMusic

Review of The Rubinoos Live In Madrid Feb. 7, 2009 at solo-rock.com (in Spanish)

Review of One, Two, That's It at Buhdge.com

December 2007 article from The East Bay Express

Review of Paleophonic at thenightowl.com

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intolerablexsacrifice · 6 years

Text

to find and lose yourself.

@oceanfoamed (from here)

It had all been a whirlwind from start to finish - in the past few days, Thomas could honestly say he felt more alive and human than he had in the past eight years combined. It was terrifying, how all of it had crescendoed into a blazing inferno - as if fire alone could wash away the damaging erosion of time and bring forth from the ashes an untouched whole.

When he had first seen James again, Thomas had lost track of everything he had lost long enough to reach toward the impossible and hold on to it. Touching him, feeling him in his arms had solidified the reality of the man’s presence in ways his visage could not. He was changed - hardened and wild in ways Thomas did not recognize - and as he had watched James and his companion stir the plantation into action, he had felt something in him slip.

It had been so inspiring, so breathtaking to watch those two at work that at first - in the midst of simply having James back, of having something solid and firm to remind himself that he really had existed beyond all this once, that the bitterness had slept in his breast unnoticed. Yet the clearer it became that action would be taken - that James now possessed the ability to set hearts on fire, to weave placid acceptance into a righteous shield with which to hammer the path to freedom, it woke and it bloomed deadly inside of him.

Where had this passion been, when Thomas’ father had sent him to Bedlam? Where was the man who could stir up a riot when Thomas had most needed one to rally? Now - when he had finally reached acceptance of his fate - James swept back into his life with all the force of a hurricane, and with his words tore away the last vistages of an understandable reality.

Thomas had run with the others - there was no desire to linger, no loyalty to speak of to the place that had transformed him into whomever he was now - but there’d been no choice in the flight, either. It was run or perish, and frustrated and impotent as he felt inside, Thomas could at least acknowledge that death was not the window through which he wished to escape just yet.

Choice had not been his for so long, that lamenting the lack of it in the wake of what was meant to be freedom seemed foolish and petty. He had hated the anger inside of himself as surely as he had hated feeling as though he were obligated to be overjoyed at all this, like some swooning maiden rescued from the clutches of a horrible dragon despite years of peace with the beast standing guard over her tower!

Then - to his astonishment - choice was offered to him in the form of Jack Rackham and his most unexpected proposal. Thomas understood the man to be Vane’s quartermaster, and blissfully unaware of the complicated history between himself and the self stylized ‘Captain Flint’ the man had offered him a place aboard the Ranger when everyone had seemed to take it for granted that he would be joining the Walrus. One Captain Flint included.

Since then, Thomas had churned the idea over inside of himself, determining if he wanted this for himself or out of some damning internal need to lash out. In the end, he realized it mattered little - for so long as this anger existed inside of him and the question remained of who he even was anymore, standing in James’ shadow would only poison the good in their memories and leave them holding on to ashes in the wake of this blaze.

It was with this conviction that he reached out and gently laid a hand upon a stubbled jaw that had once been so intimately familiar, his lipscould recall its secrets in silent moments of sinful reflection. His thumb traced beneath a devastated gaze that tore him asunder, but he did not grant himself the mercy to look away. He had to accept the damage here, as surely as he must face his own.

“I have to, James,” He could not bring himself to use any other name or title, not in a moment so dire as this. “Too much - there is too much I must come to terms with, to go with you right now. I have an opportunity to find myself again,” His gaze was imploring as he quietly withdrew his hand, “I will not forget that I have you to thank for that - but I cannot promise that in finding myself I will return to you. I will not leave you with that false hope.”

It was cruel, the depth of those honest words, and he felt sick with himself for them. He had to step back, to keep himself from crumbling, from taking hold of James and apologizing, throwing himself back into this without giving himself a goddamn chance, if it meant easing the hurt in that man’s face.

“I am so sorry,” His voice wavered, and he knew there was no denying that this was affecting him too. “It’s been eight years,” He managed in a final act of placation - for himself or James, he could not say. “What’s a little more time, in the face of that?”

James stiffened when Thomas’ hand touched him, but trembled when it withdrew: he wanted to chase it, press his face into it, terrified he’d never be touched again. Terrified that Thomas would go and never return - either of his own free will, or because the sea and its dangers had claimed him. Selfishly, Flint could not decide in that moment which outcome was worse.

He wanted to interrupt. He wanted to beg. He wanted something--anything, the faintest glimmer of hope--but Thomas saw fit to take that from him, too, and James’ breath caught on a choked, wounded noise he hadn’t realised he’d been fighting not to make, vision blurring with tears.

please don’t do this please please don’t you can’t do this--

“What’s a little more time–?”

It was barely above a whisper, and his voice cracked at the end of it before dying entirely: James’ mouth formed the words several more times, but no sound came with it. His chest heaved with the effort of holding himself together, eyes lowering away from Thomas’ blurred face. He could hear Miranda: what does it matter now? and how deeply that had wounded him- this, this was worse. James’ chest and gut ached so deeply that he felt it in his very soul, because a little more time was too much, it was too much, please please don’t go and he couldn’t fucking speak--

His breathing stuttered, then came in short, sharp bursts: Flint’s eyes flashed as they met Thomas’ once more, eyelashes damp with tears and upper lip twitching. It was easier to be enraged than wounded- it was easy to hate Rackham for making the offer, to be furious with Thomas for accepting it, for leaving him for reasons that were barely comprehensible to Flint and his obsessive nature. But even as his expression shifted to one of dangerous anger, it simply wasn’t possible to put James and his pain back where they’d been hidden for the past decade. His feelings were horribly transparent no matter how much he wanted to drown them in rage.

“I thought--”

Flint’s face twisted. He seemed to realise, then, that it didn’t matter. That whatever fantasies he had entertained upon realising Thomas was alive were just that: that there would be no dreams realised.

In the same moment, he realised both that he had never wanted to cast Captain Flint into the sea more than he did now, and that there was no longer any future for either Flint or James McGraw in this story.

Slowly, he stepped backwards to put distance between them. Even as he did so, his eyes were fixed on Thomas again--trying to commit him to memory, in case that was all he was left with--

“Will you--” His voice almost left him again. Flint gritted his teeth, taking a deep, shuddering breath that threatened to dissolve into hyperventilating again. His fingers were twitching rapidly at his sides. “Will you... come back at all? Not--not for me, not to--”

Not to be with me.

He could no longer look at him: his face was wet again, voice trembling with barely-suppressed emotion that turned rapidly into something cold and angry:

“I want to know if I should expect to see you again at all, or if you’d like to be free of me entirely for the time being.”

#ic #threads #thread: to find and lose yourself #oceanfoamed #oceanfoamed: thomas #v: living may not mean a happy ending #[ this took me ages to write and i choked up like three fucking times ]#[ g-d ]#[ you absolutely do not have to reply to it but i wanted to give you this anyway ]#long post//#[ james 'i dont know how to handle pain so it's anger time' flint ]

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talkmagically · 7 years

Text

SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 16 | @talkmagically vs. @lotrspnfangirl

Title: The Catholic Dog

Prompt: Devotion

Ship: Michael/Ruby

Word Count: 2712

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, Priest!Michael, Blasphemy, Severe misuse of an altar

Summary: Father Michael is a simple man. A weak man. How could be possibly resist temptation when Ruby makes it look so good?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621089

Michael wiped the cotton cloth across the altar, marveling at the shine left behind as he cleaned. The marble was always covered in smudges, fingerprints, and stains from splashed wine by Sunday night. Michael found joy in making the surface pristine for another week of worship. Giving the parish a ‘clean slate’ to worship upon made Michael feel like he was giving himself permission to preach, as well. He could not bring himself to lead his parishioners without doing this every week. Not to mention the church looked absolutely beautiful after dark, lit only by candles. Seeing it was but one of the few luxuries he’d allow himself to have.

“Well, that truly is a sight to behold,” a voice echoed through the empty church. “A priest bent over an altar.”

Michael froze mid-wipe, still bent over the altar, and glanced down at his rosary as it slipped out of his partially unzipped sweater and made a tinkling noise on the marble. That was not a voice he expected to hear on a Sunday. She usually showed enough respect to not show up on Sundays. Letting out a weary sigh, Michael brought himself back up to a standing position before turning around.

“It is not Monday yet,” Michael pointed out. He looked at one of the clocks mounted on the walls just to make sure he was correct. It was 10:48pm. He had just over an hour until Monday.

“Do I really seem like someone who cares?” the woman asked as she meandered closer to Michael, dragging her fingers over the pews as she passed them.

“No, but I do. Why are you here on a Sunday, Ruby?” Michael asked. He twisted in place to set his cleaning cloth down on the altar before Ruby reached him.

“Well, Father,” Ruby began. She slowed to a stop in front of Michael and reached out to run a finger down one side of Michael’s rosary as she gave him a mischievous look. “I have a confession to make. You do still provide those services, do you not?”

“A demon seeking the Lord’s forgiveness? And here I thought I’d never see the day,” Michael muttered.

“It has been several centuries since my last confession,” Ruby continued, ignoring Michael’s comment. She took a step closer to Michael and began to tip-toe her fingers up his chest. “I have...quite a few sins I wish to confess. Do you have the time?”

Michael closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he felt Ruby’s fingers make their way closer and closer to his collar. It was a familiar game that Ruby was playing; Act coy so it made Michael feel as if he was the one corrupting Ruby instead of the other way around. A week would never go by without this. And, Lord above forgive him, did Ruby know the exact strings to pull to get what she wanted from Michael.

Feeling the string of his self-restraint break, Michael pushed Ruby’s hand aside and reached out to grab her face to pull her into a kiss. He was a weak man. There was no way he could handle her teasing until midnight struck. And tease Ruby would, if given the opportunity. Michael growled into the kiss when he felt Ruby’s hand tangle into his rosary pinned between the two of them and turned the two of them around so he could push her into the altar.

“Break it and I’ll exorcise you, myself,” Michael hissed during the moment he pulled away so he could start mouthing at Ruby’s neck.

“God, I love it when you start talking dirty,” Ruby breathed into Michael’s ear.

Michael bit down hard on Ruby’s neck for the blasphemy, grinding his hips into hers as he listened to her moan echo off the church walls. Michael briefly wondered how high on the blasphemy scale that sound ranked because he didn’t want her to stop. He’d do anything to keep her from stopping.

“I am afraid I break several commandments on a regular basis, Father,” Ruby continued. She removed her fingers from Michael’s rosary and unzipped his sweater the rest of the way so she could run her nails down his shirt. “I covet. I steal. I’ve beared false witness.”

“Quite the sinner we have here, my child,” Michael murmured into Ruby’s ear. He smirked into her hair when he noticed the goosebumps that grew on her neck.

“Oh, yes,” Ruby agreed with a few jerky nods. “And it gets far worse. I cannot remember the last time I honored my parents. I take the Lord’s name in vain. I commit adultery. I murder.”

“That is such a long list. How can one even hope to gain the Lord’s forgiveness for such sins?” Michael questioned. He pushed a hand up Ruby’s shirt to remove it completely and blindly tossed it onto the altar behind her.

“Oh, I didn’t come to confession for absolution, Father,” Ruby chuckled. She took the removal of her shirt as an invitation to start attacking Michael’s belt. Once she had it loose and Michael’s pants open, she hooked her fingers through the front two loops and pulled Michael closer. “I came to brag.”

“Now, you’ve broken enough of the rules already. No need to bring the seven deadly sins into this,” Michael chided.

“Where is the fun in that?” Ruby asked, giving Michael doe eyes.

Michael dipped his head to kiss Ruby again in response and cupped his hands under her ass to lift her up onto the altar. Ruby immediately wrapped her legs around Michael’s waist to pin him against her as she ran her hands through his hair. It was Michael’s turn to moan when Ruby scratched at his roots before gripping his hair tightly and jerking his head back so she could nibble at his adam’s apple.

Michael’s eyes focused on the face of Jesus, hanging high above them on the cross, and he swallowed hard as his brain began to finally register what he and Ruby were doing. What Ruby had baited him into. Thinking back to why he was in the church so late to begin with, Michael let out another growl and stepped away from Ruby.

“What is it?” Ruby asked, a look of confusion growing on her face in response to Michael’s sudden change in demeanor.

Michael ignored her question, however, in favor of pulling her off the altar and turning her around so he could push her forward and pin her down in a bent-over position. He held her down with one hand between her shoulder blades - an action he was sure he’d pay for later - and used his other hand to make quick work of undoing her jeans and pulling them down, along with her underwear. Sometimes it amazed him how much Ruby was willing to let him do when he considered how she could overpower him without effort. But he also knew better than to comment on her tolerance - or, dare he say, preference - for manhandling. She would turn it around on him purely out of spite. She had done it before.

“You come into the house of the Lord,” Michael said as he ground his hips into Ruby’s, pulling a moan out of her as his zipper scraped against her skin and left red marks behind. “On the Sabbath. A walking example of lust and debauchery. And you don’t expect to pay for such blasphemy? I dare say, I could almost call you a masochist.”

“Yes. I agree. I deserve to be punished. What punishment fits the crime, Father?” Ruby asked with a smirk, looking back over her shoulder at Michael.

“I have something very fitting in mind,” Michael hissed back. He undid his own pants the rest of the way and snatched the small bottle of mineral oil he had intended to use on the altar that night out of the basket of cleaning materials that sat at their feet.

Ruby quickly took the opportunity to push back against Michael when he had to remove his hand from her back to slather oil on both of them. However, she was soon grasping at the far edge of the altar and letting out a long moan after Michael tossed the bottle of oil aside and grabbed both of her hips to thrust in with one quick movement. Michael took a moment to steady his breathing, the room suddenly feeling much warmer than it was before, and reached forward with his dry hand to grab a handful of Ruby’s hair.

“Now, just look at that,” Michael whispered into Ruby’s ear as he held her head back far enough so she’d have no choice but to look at the crucifixion. “All these sins you’ve listed off, and he loves you regardless.”

Ruby let out a mewling whimper when Michael pulled out nearly all the way before snapping his hips back forward. She scrambled to get one arm under her for support and used the other one to reach back and grasp at Michael’s hand on her hip. Ruby shuddered at the feeling of Michael’s hot breath on the side of her neck as he gave her a few kitten licks and refused to let go of her hair.

“You didn’t even have to ask him to die for you. He did it, anyway,” Michael continued, punctuating every third word with a hard thrust. It took every ounce of Michael’s self-control to not let loose when Ruby’s moaning from earlier returned, but he managed it. Barely. A sudden high-pitched squeak from Ruby when Michael had to adjust his weight on his feet and inadvertently changed his angle didn’t help. “And, truly, that is the ultimate forgiveness. Nothing I say, nothing I do, can ever absolve you more than you accepting that precious gift of love he has given us all.”

“Good, ol’ JC can come visit me in Hell if he has something to give me,” Ruby shot back in a breathy tone. Michael slammed his hips forward and tightened his grip on Ruby’s hair before leaning forward to speak into her ear again.

“I am sure he would do just that if you asked him very, very politely,” Michael hissed.

Michael began thrusting into Ruby in earnest, foregoing any further banter back-and-forth in favor of pulling as many noises out of Ruby as he could. Which she delivered with repeated moans and heady breaths. It was intoxicating. If Michael was going to succumb to sin, this had to be his favorite way to go.

“Gah, fuck… Michael…” Ruby squeaked out between breaths, whimpering in need when he gripped her hair even tighter to keep her eyes on the crucifixion hanging above them. “Michael.”

The sight of his bouncing rosary caught Michael’s eye when he glanced down to adjust his grip on Ruby’s hip, and the reminder that he shouldn’t be doing this was enough to push him close to the edge. Michael released Ruby’s hair so he could grab both of her hips while he tried to get closer and closer. Beneath him, he could feel Ruby start to shudder as she cried out and gripped at the marble atlar again with white knuckles. The sensation of Ruby clenching around him finally pushed Michael over, and he rode them both out with a few more shaky thrusts.

The church soon fell quiet again with only heavy breathing to break the silence. Michael leaned forward with a forearm on the altar, next to Ruby, to keep himself upright as he attempted to catch his breath. Ruby let herself lay slack across the altar, in no rush to move out of Michael’s continued grip on her hip, and pressed her forehead onto the cool marble. Michael glanced up at the clock and couldn’t stop the sharp laugh from escaping his mouth when he saw that the time was 11:23pm. It was still Sunday.

“You are the most blasphemous creature I have ever met,” Michael said as he slowly pulled away from Ruby finally.

“And yet, every week, you never say no to whatever I ask,” Ruby pointed out with a chuckle. She lifted her head up to look at the crucifixion and gave it a mock salute before pulling her pants and underwear back up.

“Would you even listen if I said no?” Michael asked while re-doing his buckle, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer now that he voiced his thoughts out loud. He was very much aware again that the woman in front of him wasn’t human. Ruby turned around to give Michael a look.

“I may be a demon, Michael, but even I have standards. We’re not down below. While here on Earth, it’s a hell of a lot more fun when you’re an active participant,” Ruby scoffed. She paused a moment and leveled another look at him. This one a bit wary. “You wouldn’t actually go through with it, would you?”

“With what?” Michael asked. He absentmindedly zipped his sweater back up and tucked his rosary back in, barely catching Ruby’s glance down at it. “Oh. An exorcism. No, Ruby. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t do it if I tried. Regardless of what anyone does, I would not be capable of knowingly sending them to Hell. That is not a judgement that is my place to make.”

A look flashed across Ruby’s face that Michael wasn’t entirely able to decipher, and it was gone before he could imprint it in his memory to consider later.

“Still. Quite the threat for a string of beads,” Ruby pointed out.

“It was a gift from my parents when I held Mass for the first time by myself. It has far more meaning to me than any rosary I could ever receive from the Church,” Michael explained. He didn’t understand why he was telling Ruby anything. She was usually out the door by now, unable to be within the grounds of the church any longer than an hour and unwilling to test her limits. But Michael could tell she was fighting the pain that had begun to creep up under her skin. And, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she stayed.

“Humans and your sentimentality,” Ruby laughed with a shaky breath.

“Ruby, are you okay?” Michael asked. He took a step forward and raised a hand to touch the side of her face. Michael’s face scrunched up in concern when Ruby let her eyes flutter shut and turned into Michael’s touch.

“Such devotion, you have,” Ruby said, ignoring Michael’s question. “To meet up with a demon on a weekly basis and still remain loyal to the church.”

“We are all sinners, Ruby. Each and every one of us. While the Lord may judge me for my affairs with you, I still have a job to pass along his word to all who are willing to listen.” Ruby fell silent at Michael’s answer. Whatever her reasoning for still being there, Michael knew she couldn’t stay any longer when he began to feel her shake under his hand. “Ruby, come on. You shouldn’t be here. We’re getting closer to the hour mark.”

“Just a minute more, Michael. To stay here with you,” Ruby whispered. She inhaled and exhaled deeply before opening her eyes, both of them flashing black. “You really do deserve to be a priest.”

Michael pressed his lips tightly together when he had no immediate response. Now was not the time to admit that he had been questioning his position in the Church as of late. Because as much as he loved the Church, he didn’t need to be a priest to teach others about the word of God. And not being a priest meant being able to stay somewhere that didn’t cause Ruby physical pain. He needed to find a balance between his devotion to the Church and his devotion to her. It wasn’t coming easily.

“Come on, Ruby,” Michael insisted, grabbing her arm and pulling her gently in the direction of the main entrance. “It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

Michael didn’t know whether or not to take Ruby’s compliance as a sign of anything significant. But for now, he’d focus on getting her out of here. He could get his answers later.

#spnrareshipcc #Michael/Ruby #lotrspnfangirl #General Salt #Mine

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