#(regretting taking scenes with the most different lighting possible...)

[tea-earl-grey]

Requested by anonymous: my three favorite Vulcan characters.

(maybe it's cheating since they're also the three Vulcan main characters but I do love them all!)

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 8: Pleasure Scene (Overstimulation)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spy shows you there’s more than one way to he dominated.

Tags: Overstimulation, bondage, scene negotiation, toys, sub/dom, aftercare

Word Count: 3.5k

The Masterlist

“So, what would you like me to do to you?”

Spy spoke so casually, no matter the subject. Even when delivering one-liners in battle, he could almost come off as bored. Perhaps it was an intimidation tactic that he didn't know how to turn off. Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t make it any easier for you to figure out his true intentions.

“Are you trying to tease me?” you asked, prepared to get up and leave if this whole thing turned out to be some joke at your expense.

“Not at all,” he said, lighting a cigarette before offering one to you. You declined, but something about the gesture seemed genuine enough to make you believe him. “I simply want to figure out what you would like to get out of this experience.”

You furrowed your brow. This was strange. That was the only way you could describe it. Everything about this situation was incredibly strange. When you first took this job, you never imagined that it would lead you here- sitting in Spy’s smoking room, negotiating a scene.

A few nights ago, somewhere between your fourth and fifth glass of wine, you had brought up the possibility of letting Spy dominate you. No, that was an understatement- you outright asked for Spy to dominate you. He was handsome, charismatic, and you knew you would enjoy being under his control. You woke up in your bed the next day, a blanket haphazardly thrown over you, and before the regret could even set in, Spy came to your room asking if you were serious. Sure enough, the scenario that you outlined through a slurred, drunken confession was just as alluring to your sober self.

“I don’t like pain,” you finally said, deciding to focus on what you definitely didn’t want before trying to determine what you did.

Spy nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaling the smoke. “How about pleasure?” he asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Well, obviously, but how are you going to dominate me with that?” you asked. “Don’t you need to, I don’t know, spank me or something?”

“Not at all. Domination comes in many different forms, ma chérie. We can work with pleasure alone.” The gears were already turning in Spy’s head, the perfect framework beginning to take shape in his mind. “Since this is your first time, we could use that as a jumping off point and simply see where the scene takes us.”

You liked that idea, finding some relief in no longer having the pressure of needing to plan out every detail from scratch. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you said, allowing yourself a soft smile. Spy mirrored your expression, taking a final drag before snuffing his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray.

“Have you picked a safeword?”

The question caught you off guard. “Oh, um- I hadn’t thought of one. How about red? Like a stoplight.”

“Perfect,” Spy said. “Many people use the stoplight system. It is easily memorized.”

The spotlight system? You hadn't even known that was a thing until Spy explained it. He stood up, beckoning for you to follow him. You were led into an offshoot of his smoking room that you had never noticed before. “Oh, wow.”

“Much nicer than a simple barracks, isn’t it, my dear?” Spy made a long, sweeping motion as he showed off his private quarters, much of which he had clearly taken the time to renovate and redecorate to his own tastes. It was like a room in a fancy hotel. That said, what surprised you the most was the massive wooden X-shaped cross that stood against the far wall, adjacent to the bed.

“So you’ve done this before?” you asked, grinning playfully. He chuckled in response.

“I have entertained a few ladies in my time. And men on occasion. Although, all that was before I took up mercenary work.” Spy glanced back at you with a smirk. “This is a Saint Andrew’s cross. It has not seen use in quite a while. I do believe you voiced some interest in bondage during our little wine induced chat, oui?”

“Yeah,” you said, blushing hard. “I sure did.”

“Would you be open to being bound to this, ma chérie?” Spy asked, motioning at the cross, which you now noticed had cuffs affixed to the top. You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “Good, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. First, I would like you to undress.”

You didn’t hesitate, stripping layers of clothing from yourself. The room was a pleasant temperature, not too cold for you. If anything it was a little warm, although that may have just been the blush in your cheeks. Once all your clothes were in a pile on the floor, Spy approached you, looking you up and down with a hungry gaze. You held your breath when he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Si belle,” he whispered. You could tell from his tone that it was a compliment.

Then, he was all business once again. “Alright, let us go over the bindings.” He guided you towards the cross, showing you how to stand against it. “I will only cuff your hands tonight. Let me know if it’s uncomfortable.”

The leather was surprisingly soft, attached to the upper corners of the cross by short chains. You tugged on them experimentally once you were secure. Everything seemed to be in order.

“Are you ready, mon ange?”

You glanced away from the cuffs and to him. His gaze was soft when it met yours. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves one last time. “Yes sir.”

Spy took a liking to that title immediately. “Let’s start with something simple.” He turned to a nondescript dresser drawer, opening it and retrieving a small, but powerful little device. The wand toy felt lightweight in his hand, far from the bulky structure one would usually expect from a wand. “Ah yes, this will do nicely.”

With a click of a button, the toy buzzed to life. The vibrations seemed so loud, or perhaps you were just very focused on the toy. ‘That’s for me,’ you thought. ‘That’s going to be used on me.’

“I’ll press this against you, right here,” Spy said, dragging out the last two words as he slid a gloved finger over your slit. It came back slick, your arousal glistening on the leather. “Already so wet. You really need this, don’t you?”

“Yes sir!” you cried. You were far less shy about begging now.

Spy grinned wordlessly and pressed the wand against you. Immediately, you bucked against the toy, the vibrations coursing through you. “I wonder if you’ve ever felt so much pleasure that your mind went blank.” He circled your clit slowly watching your hips twitch sporadically.

“I don’t think so,” you stammered between moans.

“You are about to, ma chérie.”

His voice, low and sultry, sent a shiver up your spine. The vibrator felt so good when it was pressed firmly between your legs, massaging you perfectly. The pleasure was building fast. You had never gotten this close so quickly before.

“I want you to come for me,” Spy said. He had been watching your body language. It was obvious that you were about to fall apart.

“Already?” You looked up at him, a hint of confusion slipping through your blissed out expression.

“You agreed to be dominated by me, darling. Tonight, you will do what I want.” Spy leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And I want you to come.”

Well, you had agreed to follow his every order. If he wanted you to come already, who were you to deny him, or yourself? You let your orgasm overtake you, warmth spreading throughout your body, muscles tightening, and soft moans spilling past your lips. You came down from your high, relaxed and dazed, as per usual, ready to bask in the afterglow, only for you to notice something strange.

The vibrator wasn’t moving. It remained steadfast against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves. “Spy- uh, sir!” You quickly corrected yourself. “Um, I finished...”

“I know.”

You blinked at him, his answer only inspiring more confusion. “Sir- Oh fuck! You can move the toy now!” Your voice was starting to betray a hint of desperation. You started to squirm, trying and failing to pull away from the relentless buzzing.

Spy looked deep in thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Non, I don’t think I will.”

“Shit,” you cursed through gritted teeth. You tried to keep your voice down but as the overstimulation really began to set in, it became a futile effort. You shuddered against the cross, torn between trying to pull away and trying to press yourself harder against the vibrator.

“I am going to wring every last orgasm I can from you. This will be so fun, darling.” A look of realization passed over you and Spy chuckled. “Now you are beginning to understand. You have never had pleasure used like this, have you? To make you submit.”

You shook your head, whimpering a soft “no sir” before your words once again became an incoherent string of moans. Every so often an intelligent word or two could be discerned, such as a final plea for mercy. “Please, it’s too much!”

“You can take it. You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Spy asked. You nodded despite the tears welling in your eyes. A faint click could be heard above the buzzing, the sound of Spy pressing a button on the toy. The vibrations intensified.

“I’m- fuck! I’m still really sensitive!” you whined, as if your complaints would bring any relief. Your legs were beginning to buckle. Thankfully you had the wrist cuffs to keep you from falling to the floor, especially when you felt Spy’s fingers brushing against your inner thigh.

“Let’s see how wet you’ve become,” he mused, slipping his fingers inside you with little resistance. You gasped at this new sensation, a welcome distraction from the relentless stimulation of the vibrator. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep your reactions in check, only for Spy to immediately bring your barriers crashing down. “You can moan for me, ma chérie. I want to hear you sing. Let me know how good it feels to have this toy pressed against your clit while my fingers pump in and out of you.”

He curled his fingers inside you, brushing against your sweet spot. You saw stars, cursing as Spy repeated that action. He was definitely aware that he found a good spot. The build up was sudden this time, an unexpected rush that barely warned of your imminent climax.

“It feels so fucking good! I’m-” you stammered uselessly, trying to say something coherent.

“You’re getting so close, I can feel it.” Spy crooked his fingers, making a come hither motion that stroked just the right spots inside you. “Come again, ma chérie.”

You wouldn’t have been able to disobey him even if you wanted to. With the dual stimulation both inside and out, you didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm came hard, much more intense than before. Your muscles went taut and the cry that slipped past your lips seemed almost inhuman. You were still shuddering with the aftershocks when Spy pulled away. Even in the ambient light of his bedroom, you could see how his fingers and the toy glistened with your release. Your eyes widened in surprise. Fuck, you had never come hard enough to do that before.

“How are you holding up?” Spy asked, speaking as casually as if he was asking about the weather.

“This…” you began, before faltering, taking a moment to catch your breath. “This is amazing.”

Spy chuckled, taking in the vision before him. Oh, you were gone. Your eyes were glazed over with a dazed expression. You seemed far away, out of body, the poster-child of subspace. It was impressive that you had made it this far, especially given that this was your first scene.

It seemed submission came naturally to you, and Spy wondered just how deep you could go, how far he could push you. “I would like one more from you,” he whispered,

You snapped to attention, looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. It reminded him of a puppy, always so eager to please, although there was a hint of nervousness there too. “Are we going to…” you trailed off, not sure how to put it delicately. Then again, at this point, was there even a reason to try to put things delicately? Luckily, Spy seemed to understand.

“No, I’m not going to fuck you, not during your first scene.”

You didn’t know why hearing Spy use such vulgar language startled you. For some reason you had always taken him as the type of man to use some frilly, vanilla term for sex, like ‘making love.’ Then again, you kind of detested that term, so this was better. Besides, what you were doing right now certainly wasn’t vanilla by any means.

“Now, what do we have here?” You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of Spy’s voice. He was muttering to himself, back at the dresser once again, searching around in the same drawer. His eyes lit up when he finally found what he was looking for. “Let’s see how you handle this, my dear!”

Spy turned around to reveal a small, curved object. It was sleek and black. He held the toy in one hand and in the other he held a matching remote. “Fuck,” you whispered, feeling your arousal start to build again, even though your legs were still shaking from your previous orgasms.

“I’m guessing you know what this does?” Spy asked, smirking as he approached you. He fiddled with the remote, rubbing his thumb over the buttons as if he was itching to press them.

“Yes.” Your eyes were glued to the toy. With the way it was curved and shaped, it was obviously meant for dual stimulation. “It goes inside me.”

“You sound scared.” Spy paused, looking you over, eyes peeled for any sign of discomfort. “Can you truly handle this, ma chérie?”

“I can keep going! I want to keep going!” you responded quickly, eagerly tilting your hips forward as best as you could while still being restrained.

Spy chuckled, now reassured that the tremble in your voice was not from fear, but rather anticipation. “Very well. Allow me to just…” He trailed off as he slid the toy into you, listening to your whimpers. It was obvious that you were still quite sensitive. The toy sat snug within you, pressing against your g-spot while the smaller part curved up to rest on your clit. “Perfect. Now, let’s turn this on.”

Your reaction was immediate, feeling the toy buzz to life both inside and outside of you. A soft, keening noise caught your attention, only for you to realize that you were the one making those sounds. You had officially given up on trying to stay quiet. Your only focus now was the deep, heavy breaths that you sucked in between moans, trying and failing to keep your breathing steady as your body was ravished by the tiny device within you.

“You make such cute noises,” Spy crooned, reaching out to stroke your cheek. He smiled when you nuzzled against his hand, eager for his touch. “That’s it darling. Let it all out. No one will hear you except for me.”

Your moans resembled sobs, but your lips were still curved upwards into a giddy smile, and you hadn’t said your safeword. The only words you had said were the occasional curse or desperate cry of Spy’s name. You really were a sight to behold, writhing on the cross, legs shaking with little muscle tremors, jolting and pulling against the cuffs even as they held fast. It was a struggle for Spy to ignore his own excitement, reminding himself that this was for you.

He sated himself with the feeling of your body beneath his palms. A hand ran up your side, and you shivered when it reached your breast. You arched into his touch, showing that you were receptive. He caressed you gently, marveling at how soft and pliable you were beneath his hands. You were so responsive too, still loud as ever, but even so, Spy took notice when your moans suddenly rose in pitch. Your eyes went wide, fixed on some point beyond the two of you.

“Do you feel it building again?” Spy asked, although he didn’t expect a response from you in this state. He could practically see your mind going numb and fuzzy. “Good, that’s my beautiful girl.”

The shaking that was initially confined to your legs had spread to your whole body. What was once a pleasant, warm arousal now felt like a raging fire. You were burning up and loving every second of it. You were just barely aware of Spy speaking to you, his voice seeming far away.

“I rather like this side of you. A pleasure-drunk mess, coming undone over and over again.” He had backed away, and you had just enough awareness to whine at the loss of contact. Spy now paced back and forth in front of the cross, watching you with a wide grin. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Isn’t it nice to just lose yourself?”

Nice was an understatement. It was euphoric. You could get addicted to this feeling. Another orgasm set your nerves on fire, but you didn’t even have the energy to writhe anymore. All that your body could manage was a few involuntary twitches. Even your moans were reduced to pathetic little whimpers.

“That’s it, come nice and hard. Such an obedient little ange.” Spy wasn’t sure you were even present enough to hear him. You did have a dazed smile on your lips though, so he guessed you got the gist of it. He reached out and removed the toy, trying his best to be gentle. Almost any sensation would feel overwhelming for you right now. You were barely holding your own weight up, and Spy knew that when he undid the cuffs, you would drop. “I’m going to unfasten the straps now. Lean on me.”

Sure enough, you practically fell onto Spy. He held you upright with his arms wrapped awkwardly around your waist, guiding your nearly limp body to the bed that was thankfully only a few feet away. You laid there, looking like a proper mess. Your face was streaked with tears, and you were shivering. It was obvious that you had been through something intense. Pleasureable, but intense.

“Here, for the cold. Your body temperature may drop suddenly after running high for so long.” Spy draped a plush blanket over you. A bottle of water was also pressed into your hands. “You must drink, darling. This will help you come down from the high. I don’t want you to crash.”

“Crash?” you whispered, your voice slightly strained from how loud you had been.

Spy nodded. “Hormones are fickle things. All those endorphins need to even out. You may feel anxious, guilty, or even scared.”

Ah, so this was aftercare. You took a sip of water, which quickly turned into you chugging half the bottle. Fuck, you were thirsty. Apparently sobbing through multiple orgasms could be quite dehydrating. Spy sat beside you on the bed, smiling as you curled up beneath the blanket.

“So, what did you think, ange?”

“It was nice, really nice,” you said, trying to put your feelings into words. “I didn’t realize how intense things would get, but I liked it.” You fiddled with the edges of the blanket before bringing a hand up to your face, feeling some residual dampness on your cheeks. Your smile dropped slightly. “Is it weird that I cried? I didn’t even realize I was doing it at the time.”

“Not at all. It’s a very common response to overstimulation, actually.” Spy said. That made you feel a little better.

“Could you hold me?” you asked suddenly, reaching your arms out. “Just for a bit.”

“Darling, I’ll hold you all night if that is what you desire.” He scooped you up, letting your body lean on his and making sure you were still wrapped up nicely in the blanket. Your body felt heavy as you melted into his embrace. Spy smiled down at you. “You look as if you could fall asleep right here.”

“Is that alright?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of kicking you out now,” Spy said, sounding baffled at the very concept. He ran a hand over your back as you made yourself comfortable, your eyes already drifting shut. “Sleep well, ange.” After a few minutes, Spy sat up, making sure not to stir you from your slumber. He had promised to hold you close for the night, and he would, but there was some clean up to be done first. He got to work, knowing that the sooner he finished the sooner he could rejoin you, safe and secure in his bed.

[lyco-riis]

I've been thinking about it and I think the reason why such a vocal part of the fandom has been twisting the ending of MHA into such a negative thing is because the concept of being content with one's situation is something they don't take into consideration. Or not properly, at least.

The story has always put an emphasis on how much Izuku wanted to be a hero and I guess that's why it's so difficult for people to grasp that... his goals/wishes might have changed. Quite a few years passed between the final war and the end of the manga. It's more than feasible that his wish has changed or adapted in that time. And overall, his desire to help people still remains the core aspect of his goals. Being a teacher is a great way to achieve that—he had the experience, the skills and the personality for it, too. Plus, as someone who had a not so great school experience (middle school), he understands well how to help the students.

That said, the one thing that seems to bother a part of the fandom the most is that they think the manga paints him in a position where he just accepted the teacher position and his life, because of the loss of his quirk and thus is forcing himself to be content with the outcome.

That's honestly a really depressing way to view the ending. It's also wrong.

I'm not going pretend losing OFA didn't make him reconsider things—that's a big, sudden change, after all. But like, Midoriya Izuku is literally written as one of the most stubborn characters ever. He wouldn't have quit and packed it up just because of that. Maybe middle school!Izuku would have, but the final war!Izuku is different, he has a lot more confidence, knowledge and experience. He has grown as person and I doubt losing OFA would have truly stopped him.

I feel like it's wrong to even consider him becoming a teacher as him stoping being a hero. Overall, the Izuku during the finale has one big difference compared to the one from the beginning—he's content/confident about being quirkless. It's not really something that's holding him back anymore, that's making him falter. I don't think people realize it even though Hori kind of spelt it out. But 14-year-old Izuku let his quirklessness hold him back. It's obvious in the way he searched for validation in others (the rooftop scene with All Might). Meanwhile, during the finale chapter, it's very obvious that it's not really something holding him back. He's the one to reassure a kid that he can be a hero—because Izuku has been, still is, a hero. Because now as adult he simply knows it's possible. He doesn't need the validation of others and the lack of a quirk is not something that will hinder him.

I think this is a very important point to understand about his character, because I believe it... puts his job as teacher into a whole new light.

A large part of the fandom read the scenes where he talks about his former classmates and his loneliness with Aizawa and somehow created a misconception about the situation in their head.

They see this scene and so on as proof that Izuku isn't content with his job. As mentioned, I think, people don't really understand what being content with one's situation actually means. Feelings of what-ifs and loneliness and other stuff like that are normal, even if you are truly content with something—as long as they don't appear in an excessive amount. Even if you truly love your current job, there might still be times you're going to think, 'What if I chose that other job...' But as long as you don't think like that constantly, it's not regret. The loneliness comment isn't meant to be proof that he's unhappy with the situation. It's natural to feel lonely once in a while, especially if everyone's busy with packed schedules and you can't meet up until, like, two months pass. Missing people is normal, y'all. That doesn't mean Izuku has been abandoned by anyone.

(That whole debate about 1-A abandoning him is so ridiculous, because anyone who's ever had a job, knows it's damn tough to find time to meet up with people because you can't always have off at the same time and weekends aren't a guarantee either. Plus, that doesn't count how expensive meeting up can get when you don't live near each other. Also, I've seen someone say, Hori should just have not done that part based on reality then because it's a manga about heroes with superpowers—are you serious? If Hori has always done one thing in his writing, it's that he still made the world of MHA somewhat realistic despite the superpowers. The kids school life, the discrimination, the job aspect of the hero industry as well the entertainment aspect—of course, he was going to keep it realistic. Anything else wouldn't even make sense. Being a hero is supposed to be a demanding job. If they all had constantly time to hang, that would be questionable too.)

It's also baffling me that the concept of Izuku shifting his goal from being a hero on-field to training future heroes as teachers is so unbelievable to a part of the fandom. If you ask me it makes perfectly sense. Izuku wants to save people, to help people. Training future heroes is an indirect way to do so... But also a direct way. You can't tell me his whole story with Shigaraki didn't make him think about his situation. You can't tell me, he completely forgot about his time during middle school.

Y'know, considering he had such questionable teachers in middle school and then such great ones in high school (seriously, Aizawa and All Might did a lot), it wouldn't be surprising if he realized that he might be capable of helping the students, even if it's just to reassure them that everything's going to be fine and stuff like that.

I'm not saying he completely gave up on being an on-field hero (the ending with the suit is a clear indicator on where he stands there), but acting like he's miserable as teacher and hates it and is unable to shift his goals and dreams, is a disservice of his character, in my opinion.

Anyway, sorry for the rant, this was building up over the days.

[mythicalartistx]

Riku is a Disney Princess and here's why...

Riku displays Princess features

He's just so Princess. And I've been thinking why is he so princess what is it that makes him like this

So I turned to the official Disney princesses and the comparison is something else.

Kingdom Hearts itself does this all the time with how Riku or Sora acts and gives phenomenal parallels through the categories

Animal Sidekick

Royal Bloodline

Central Character

Prince

Adventure

Disney Princess Parallels

Animal Sidekick

One of the mainly criterias are animal Sidekicks, but wait Riku doesn't have one does he?

Guess again.

He in fact does, and so does Sora.

Let's take a look at Dream Drop Distance— a game where Riku displays affection and is accompanied by these silly little guys known as Dream Eaters and his main one is Komory Bat.

The novels add some great details and scenes where they show affection to Riku. They help him fight as well as rub against him.

How could you not find them so adorable and want one?

Royal Bloodline

The next thing is royalty and just note I'm using only knowledge we definitely know or implied, sorry no bloodline theories. In the criteria most princesses are princesses from having a royal bloodline or displaying some act of heroism.

And throughout the series we see these qualities of heroism.

Starting out in darkness, he redeems himself by displaying heroic qualities as any 15 yo in fiction.

In the second game, Riku helps defeat Xemnas, the ultimate bad of the group they were trying to defeat.

After KH1, he deeply regrets his actions and sacrifices himself multiple times, such as pushing Sora out of the way during the final Xemnas battle. Instead of Sora getting hit, he does himself. In DDD, he then displays skills to accept himself and who he is while also rescuing Sora from darkness.

He even states, "...Are you what's trapping him in that nightmare? Cause if you are... I'm what nightmares fear!"

P.S. the JPN translation of the scene is: If you're a nightmare, I'll eat/devore you

And in KH3 not only does he comfort Sora when he feels down, but he sacrifices his own life for Sora's in the keyblade graveyard

Central Character

Riku is one of the main characters, he is the second important character— the first being Sora. Riku actually is in more games than Sora. In 358/2 Days, Sora is not in the game. He is only shown through flashbacks, but Riku he is there. He interacts with Xion and Roxas. Then in DDD the game centers around him more than it really does Sora.

But even in the other games he is still important. Without him, all of the games would be different. No character could take his place.

If Riku simply didn't exist, there would be no one trying to bring destiny islands to darkness. Terra and Aqua wouldn't have gone to Destiny Islands since they came there following Riku's light.

Kairi also would never have gone there because there is no keyblade wielder there. Sora would probably make friends with the other Islanders and he wouldn't have gone on an adventure and there would be no one bringing the princesses to Maleficent.

Prince

Not every princess has a prince, but he certainly does. And Sora is certainly his.

Riku even called him a prince before

They would have a mutual relationship of both saving and comforting the other.

They both have a care and understanding. Sora always thinking of his princess and Riku does all he cans for his prince. They rescue the other multiple times, they sacrifice for the other, and the two even fight together

Adventure

Not every princess goes on an adventure, but Riku certainly does. He goes from using darkness to feeling at his lowest point where he has to accept himself and his darkness (and even possible romantic feelings for Sora his prince).

He then spends a year trying to defend his prince and sacrifices his form to help him awaken. Then he becomes a version of himself that is almost like a monster and refuses to let anyone see him like that.

But when Sora does he doesn't care Riku is still his friend, his princess. It doesn't change a thing and Riku is still Riku. And Sora loves who he is

This gives so much fairytale prince and princess vibes.

They both work together and save the day and after being stuck in darkness they're okay cause the two are together. Then a light appears and the adventure seems to be over..

But no, they both take an exam for becoming keyblade masters. Riku goes through it trying to understand himself and how he feels about Sora and his darkness. He becomes a dream eater for his prince,

Who says princesses can't do rescuing too?

In Recoded, Riku gets kidnapped by Maleficent and Pete and Sora his prince goes in search to save him.

His next journey arrives when he goes through the realm of darkness to search for a missing keyblade wielder. And when Riku is against her he calls out Sora's name and Sora, his prince comes to the rescue. Together they help free her from the darkness. Then after Riku sacrifices himself for Sora, Sora saves him by putting his heart back to his body.

And Riku is on his way to find his prince once again at the end of KH3... His adventure is still ongoing...

Fairytale Parallels

There are so many fairytale Parallels in Kingdom Hearts. Riku sacrificing himself with every little things reflecting a Disney princess.

In the beginning Riku wishes to explore other worlds and leave his island. Many of the Disney princesses also expressed this desire.

Ariel—who is basically a scholar, wants to know more as well as go to the human world.

Belle wants to go on an adventure that's more than her simple everyday life.

Rapunzel wants to go outside to see the world but also see floating lanterns.

Anna— who has barely any social interaction, is tired of being shut away from the world and wants to also experience it.

Riku also gets tricked/manipulated by darkness. While the other princess don't become an antagonist for the first game like he does, they do get tricked or manipulated.

Ursula tricks Ariel into signing a contract to make her into a human where Ursula hopes to eventually become the ruler of Atlantica when Triton trades places with her.

The evil queen manipulates Snow White into taking a bite of her apple after feeling bad for her.

Maleficent tricks Aurora into touching the spindle of the spinning wheel, causing her to die.

Mother Gothel manipulates and gaslights Rapunzel through her entire upbringing.

Raya gets tricked by Namaari into showing her the chamber with the magical gem

Anna gets tricked by Hans into thinking he's the one so he could rule her kingdom.

Riku makes sacrifices throughout the series like when he does it for Sora in kh3 or even sacrificing his form when fighting Roxas to wake Sora up. In general he sacrifices himself for Sora, as well does Sora sacrifice himself too and there are also many princesses who also make sacrifices

Mulan, wanting to protect her father, she sacrifices herself when she takes his place in the war.

While he's not technically a Disney prince, Hercules sacrifices himself to make the dive and save Meg. Hercules also gave up his strength for her but she pushed him out of the way of a pillar to then save him as well. This relates how Sora and Riku both constantly sacrifice for the other.

Anna sacrifices herself for Elsa by freezing to death.

Belle sacrifices her freedom to save her father.

Rapunzel was willing to sacrifice her freedom to save Flynn's life.

And there we have it, I'm sure there are many more examples then what I said but Riku is a Disney princess and should definitely be added to the line up.

[troperrific]

/ekuoto chapter 52 spoilers/

Warning: discussion about sensitive topics, usual ekuoto stuff.

Hahaha, holy shit, hahahaha!!

This chapter was just about as horribly wonderful and wonderfully horrible as I’d expected and hoped it’d be!

First things first, dang Mr. Priest is terrifying this chapter. He turned the tables on Asmodeus in so many ways and there’s so, so much to unpack.

The way Mr. Priest echoes and throws Asmodeus’ words right back at her, the way he aggressively ignores her choice (her “consent”) to retreat/get away from the fight (he slammed the door!!) and forces her to “take” his anger anyway- it all mirrors what Asmodeus put him through in the best and worst way possible.

Mr. Priest’s violence towards Asmodeus isn't sexual (as in, this isn't rape in a literal sense), nor is his enjoyment of getting back at her (as in, this isn't sexual gratification). But the mirrored actions/words and the one-sided “pleasure” of violence should still evoke, in part, the horror of Asmodeus’ attempted rape towards Mr. Priest.

It’s very reminescent of domestic violence too, which, if you remember Mr. Priest's flashbacks and what "Aria" told him, make this even more fucked-up than it already is.

Of course, there is a certain sense of catharsis to be found in this mirrored violence, in seeing Asmodeus get a taste of her own medicine. The reader can see where Mr. Priest is coming from, and after an entire arc of seeing Asmodeus’ manipulation, anticipating the worst AND witnessing the worst in chapter 51, one can appreciate the irony applied here, even while simultaneously feeling horrified.

Rip Asmodeus' thighs. And she even did her leg days properly too...

I think Arima-sensei manages to achieve a good balance in their writing, when it comes to making “revenge scenes” both cathartic and horrifying/fucked-up. I also like the way they use innuendo and subtext in the narrative- it’s great! I liked how they did those things in the Beelzebub arc/Part 3 and I like how they did it here. And both aspects are enhanced with Fukuyama-sensei’s art- the facial expressions were particularly good in this chapter.

(something something the interplay between violence and sex and hunger, something something primal urges and passion, life and death, something something)

Speaking of expressions…!

I really love these two in particular.

Just what do they mean, I wonder… the first one takes place between two maniacal, rage-fueled grins. It appears alongside Mr. Priest’s new halo (which I’ll get to in a moment) and it’s such a curious expression.

Is it a sad, resigned smile? Has he come to accept and embrace his role as the “Child of Hope” because he’s “learned” what “wanting a normal life” leads to? Maybe he’s thinking “Well, what did I expect?” regarding the good things that happened to him this past month, all a trap laid by Asmodeus.

Is it a regretful one? Does he regret believing another fake victim? Does he regret his good intentions and well-intentioned actions and trust, as they’ve backfired on him again?

Is it a relived one? Did something click and he’s convinced himself he no longer needs a normal life? Is this relief a future one? Has he gone full-circle into wanting to martyrize himself again?

Whatever that expression means, it looks like whatever Mr. Priest felt or realized at the moment allowed him to (temporarily?) reach new heights regarding his holy powers.

(And right as he’s at his most violent too… Mammon would be proud.)

Also, his halo… that’s one fancy halo. I tried to research a little and found some interesting facts about different artistic depictions of halos.

From what I can tell, his halo looks a little like a dodecagon (a polygon with 12 sides) or maybe a tridecagon (polygon with 13 sides). It also has multiple rings within it, with little… arrows/rays of light(?) and stars/particles(?) adorning it.

According to these sites, a polygonal halo (usually an hexagon, and sometimes referred to as a Nimbus a Pans) is often used to depict allegorical figures, many times a personification of a Virtue.

The little arrows cutting through the halo could very well be rays of light. In this case, it could also be a rayed halo. This type of halo is apparently often combined with others, and is usually attributed to a member of the Trinity.

Finally, the number twelve and the presence of what appears to be a bunch of little stars could be a reference to the starred halo. This halo is almost solely drawn on the Virgin Mary, depicting the Immaculate Conception or being a reference to Revelation 12:1.

(As if the line about reviving people and Beelzebub mock-crucifying him wasn’t enough lol. Makes me wonder about Mr. Priest’s mom though. Since we’ve only vaguely seen his father.)

But who knows. Maybe it's a reference to a piece of art?

It’s just something to think about. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning. Maybe it’s just rule of cool. Hopefully it’ll be both.

Also, this has nothing to do with this chapter’s commentary, but this small research made realize that Leah’s triangular halo wasn’t just an aesthetic choice to go with her cubes forming circles (lol).

The triangular halo is also used to indicate a member of the Trinity. She’s invoking their power, so it fits. But y’know, makes me wonder if there’s gonna be a third…

Back to Mr. Priest’s smiles. I wanna talk about this:

Friendship ended with Mammon, Mr. Priest is the funniest ekuoto character now.

Just what is “beautiful”, Mr. Priest?

Is he marveling at his own strength? Is he glad he’s reached a new height like Mammon did? Is the fact that he’s so strong he could “end up destroying everything” beautiful?

Is this self-acceptance, something similar to Leviathan’s own epiphany back at Part 2?

Or is this a new-found joy in seeing the fragility of life? Maybe he’s seeing beauty in the fact he’s “feeling almighty” as he’s “earned the right to end another’s life” (and promptly give it back if he chose to), something akin to Beelzebub’s thoughts on human nature.

Is it all of the above? Something else?

Hm.

It’s very worrisome. Even moreso because it’s followed by this:

It’s okay, guys! Mr. Priest has gathered all seven Dragon Balls, he can just wish Kuririn back to life!!

Coldest line in the story so far. What the actual fuck, Mr. Priest? (No jokes, I love this, please continue to freak me out more, Mr. Priest).

Also, this is quite in line with the way the Demon Lord’s have acted so far, isn't it? Who cares?? He’s gonna do what he wants right now, who cares about casualties? He can just bring everyone back??

Ah, but it also echoes what he probably heard in his memories from his father and from Abbot Nicholas (chapter 31). “So? You will heal anyway” and “So? You won’t starve”.

Mr. Priest is very funny, actually.

And speaking of funny…

No high-school romcom manga is over without a good ol' kabedon!... Er, doordon...? Gates-of-Hell-don...? Rodindon...! forgive me

Mr. Priest invented a new memetic kabedon.

But really, this has been kinda of a pattern with the Demon Lords so far: they approach Mr. Priest out of their own accord, hurt him (by deceiving/fighting /triggering him) because they want something out of him (a challenge, a friend, a hunt, an answer) and then they usually try to leave, on their terms, once they’re satisfied.

It almost went like this at the end of his second fight against Mammon. It did go like this at the end of his first fight against Beelzebub.

(It also went like this when he fought Leviathan, but considering we don’t know how he feels about her and the fight after the arc, I hesitate to add her in this ‘list’).

You see, I do think that the Demon Lord’s did/do want to help Mr. Priest in some way or another, whether that’s by teaching him their “wisdom” or “freeing” him from his duties/Church-aligned morality. I do! I genuinely do!

But just as they want to help him, they also want something from him. Their motivations do have a certain selfishness to them.

I’ve seen lot of readers joke that the demons want to give Mr. Priest therapy, but I’d argue it’s more accurate to say that the demons are using Mr. Priest for their therapy.

The Demon Lords always seem to want to prove something to themselves while fighting Mr. Priest. They want answers. And it’s because Mr. Priest is the “Child of Hope” (the strongest exorcist, the most righteous, the purest soul) that they seek those answers.

And part of their fondness towards him, to me, seem to hinge on that title and on the expectations and projections that the Demon Lords seem to put on him.

In short: they also have used Mr. Priest for their own benefit, despite whatever good intentions they might’ve had or whatever connection they might’ve felt, and then they dared to refuse him any sort of satisfaction.

Or at least, that’s probably how the boy sees it.

No wonder Mr. Priest is pissed.

On that note, the scene where Mr. Priest goes all creepy between Asmodeus’ (literally) thunder thighs…

I take it that this can be interpreted both figuratively and literally.

Figuratively, in the sense that the Demon Lords project so much shit on him, they don’t know him as well as they think they do. Yes, even when they’ve been briefly inside his head. But also because he really isn’t in the “right” state of mind.

And literally… well, because he has a head buddy, apparently.

I’ll just leave these cool theory posts here. Go read them, they’re great.

To finish these very short thoughts about the chapter (sarcasm), about Asmodeus and Sarah…

I also love this panel. What a great expression. She looks like she’s about cry. She makes me want to cry. And slap her. And cry.

There’s a lot to be said and analyzed about this relationship (which I will do, a bit more throughly, later): about how Asmodeus wanted Sarah to fight back and to defy her fate and her family, about how Asmodeus seemingly couldn’t fathom the idea of having a consensual physical relationship with Sarah (or anyone?), about how Asmodeus equated Sarah retaliating against her first abusive husband to Mr. Priest (and Sarah too) retaliating against her…

But I want to focus on Asmodeus’ “epiphany” about what she wanted to confirm to herself.

…I really do enjoy how the 7 Deadly Sins are written in this series. It’s not just that the author wants to say something with their portrayal and that they’re thematically consistent and interesting…

They’re… very entertaining and complex characters, I think. There’s always a good balance between all the characteristics one can expect from memorable antagonists. Like, they’re charismatic and fun and charming, they’re scary (in all kinds of ways!!) and awful and really fucking vile at times, and, deep, deep down, they’re… pitiful. Pathetic.

They’re very, very pathetic. And I like that.

And this… this has kinda proved to me what I’ve suspected for a while.

The Demon Lords, against all odds, have very little to no ambition when it comes to a relationship with a human, don’t they?

They’re willing to settle for the barest scraps. I wouldn’t say that they’re completely okay with things never working out… but if there was a bare minimum of love there, then maybe it’s not bad that it didn’t work out…

Even Leviathan, who desperately wants friends and readily admits her loneliness, is okay with ending things with Mr. Priest with a fight.

As a Demon Lord should.

I mean they’re monsters!! They’ve accepted that they’re monsters, and it’s not something they can help anyway, right?! They can’t help their monstrous nature, their monstrous bodies, so it’s better to embrace them!! It’s not something they can help, right, so it’s better to give up, right?!

Right…?

(It's at this point that you gotta stop and wonder about their incessant babbling about the nature of men/women/humans/demons... they're originally angels- or in Leviathan's case, a being blessed by God- after all...)

It’s a form of comfort, I suppose, to realize that no matter what you did, things wouldn’t have changed for the better. Sometimes, wondering about “what-ifs” can be the greatest torture of all.

Sometimes giving up, specially on yourself, can be the greatest sin of all.

Asmodeus originally wondered if, had she taken those men’s places, had she been the one to rape Sarah (because, again, Asmodeus can’t seem to be able to separate any sort of sexual relationship/act from sexual violence/rape/sin, and likely because, to Asmodeus, if Sarah’s being forced to marry, it’ll be rape anyway, so Asmodeus might as well have been the one to take Sarah) if she could’ve made Sarah happy.

Asmodeus wondered if she could’ve made Sarah chose her over her filial duties.

But she didn’t. She wouldn’t.

It's insane!! Actually, it's not even about Sarah choosing Asmodeus anymore! She can't even imagine that!! I wonder, does Asmodeus think that, because Sarah didn't "fight hard enough", that meant she didn't want her? That it meant Sarah would never have been with her willingly?

Of course she wouldn’t, why would she? Asmodeus is a monster, right? She would’ve hated her anyway, right? Even if Asmodeus had ripped away Sarah's ability to choose, she still woudn't have picked Asmodeus. Sarah would never have been hers, no matter what Asmodeus did or didn't do!! So it’s better that things ended how they did, right?

After all…

…

Anyway, with the arc coming to an end real soon, I wonder how things will wrap-up.

…I’m reaaaally dreading the fact that we haven’t gotten “Masses of Trash- Part 2” yet. Is it gonna be in this arc?

…….Is it gonna be in another future arc?

“Erase all with a flick of the wrist”, indeed.

[heliads]

Your fics are amazing!! I especially love the Unwind ones! :) Can I request an angsty what-if fic where Connor doesn't go deliver his letter and is there when Nelson finds the antique shop? I don't know how specific you want me to be in my request, but a fight scene between Connor and Nelson would be cool (Nelson deserves to be punched). Thank you!

yes...YESSSSS

'guess that's growing up' - connor lassiter

masterlist

warnings: blood, violence, death

Five years ago, if you had asked Connor Lassiter where he thought he’d end up in life, he wouldn’t have said the basement of an antique shop. He certainly wouldn’t have expected to be in that same basement twice in the span of a few years. Life has a way of throwing you a few curveballs. It isn’t Connor’s fault if he can’t help but follow their winding paths until he ends up exactly where he started.

It isn’t like he’s back to square one. It can’t be, after all the friends he’s made and lost. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he keeps getting dragged back home. As a kid, he’d always dreamed of running away and making it big, and then he’d actually had to run away when he found out he was going to be unwound. Now he’s back in Ohio, and although Connor finally has a hope for the end of unwinding thanks to the Rheinschild organ printer, he knows as surely as anyone that if this doesn’t work, the last of his luck might finally have run out. He was born here almost eighteen years ago, and he might just die here too.

Connor tries to keep his emotions light, but it’s hard, especially after being stuck in Sonia’s basement for far too many days. It took forever for them to leave the first time, and now he’s wondering how long they’ll spend trapped inside the lightless cellar now. Maybe someone will come down here decades in the future and find his old, brittle bones propped up in a corner someplace, the Akron AWOL reduced to a skeleton with a white, wiry beard like in the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

So no, he’s not exactly doing a great job of staying optimistic, but it’s hard to get up the energy to converse with the other scared unwinds down here when he knows how this is going to end. It’s not his first rodeo. Nothing gets better before it gets worse again. Why take the time to memorize everyone’s name and favorite color if they’re just going to get ripped apart again in a matter of months? Connor might as well spare himself the heartache. If they do get unwound after all, some future client would probably appreciate it if Connor’s heartstrings were tugged as little as possible.

It’s not a funny thing to think about, but Connor’s sense of humor has gotten increasingly jagged and sarcastic as of late, if it wasn’t already bitter in the first place. When he tries to be funny, he just ends up cutting to the bone. He’s not Hayden. He’s never been good at making the jokes land when he needs them the most.

Hell, maybe that’s what’s unsettling him the most about being back here. If it weren’t enough to see the same familiar shadowy walls and low ceiling (look, there’s the place he gouged his initials in the corner two years ago), Connor has to do all of it not only with new faces but with the ghosts of the former ones. 

Thinking about who had been here with him before makes his stomach roil with guilt and regret. Roland is unwound now; Connor has his arm and is starting to understand his surly temperament, his gut reaction to snap at everything around him instead of smiling. Mai became a clapper and blew up Happy Jack; Lev was there with her, chemicals in his veins, but saved himself when she didn’t. Hayden is still alive, hopefully, although Connor hasn’t seen him in ages; he misses Hayden’s sense of humor most of all.

The only repeated characters in the basement are Risa and himself, but even they are so fundamentally transformed from who they’d been at the start that they could be different people entirely. Connor isn’t sure that he’s at all recognizable as Connor Lassiter anymore. He has the same skin, or most of it, but that’s the end of the similarities. Connor is left wondering how everything changed so drastically over two years, which leaves him in a state of hazy dread.

And then, of course– well, there’s the letter, and that blows everything else out of the water.

Sonia still has his letter, the one she’d had him write to his parents when he first showed up at her antique store. All of the notes from past unwinds she’s harbored are still here. The thought unsettles him more than Connor would care to admit. Even if the kids who wrote them are long since stripped of their parts, dead and gone or maybe somehow still alive, their writing is still here. He wonders if his handwriting has changed since he wrote it last. If Connor saw a few sentences of his letter, could he recognize it as his own, or is even that last hallmark of the boy he’d been gone from him forever?

Connor can’t help but obsess over every detail. It’s hard not to when Sonia keeps bringing it up. He’s not sure if she thinks he’s dramatically different from the boy he’d been, but she must want him to return to that former version of himself somehow, because she’s offered for him to hand deliver the letter to his parents. In fact, she seems rather put off by the fact that he hasn’t leapt at the chance.

It’s not the first time in his life that Connor doesn’t have the right answer, and just like every other impossible choice, Connor isn’t even sure that there is a right way to go about this. He can take his letter to his parents, the people who had him unwound in the first place. He can be the bigger person and forgive them for wanting him clinically dismembered. Maybe, after time, they’ll even be able to move on from it and grow back together again.

Or, far more tempting still, Connor can let his resentment stand as firm and impenetrable as a fortress. This is the choice that calls to him the most. Why should he forgive them? It’s up to his parents to reach out to them first, even if they have no idea if he’s still alive nor how to contact them. Connor is not the one who wanted his own flesh and blood unwound. There’s no reason for the responsibility of breaching the immovable gap between himself and his family to fall on his shoulders.

Still, the Objective Right Thing to do is to give them the letter. Connor knows this, in a shifting, sinking feeling in his stomach, like when you tell your first big lie as a kid even though you know it’s wrong. Connor should meet his parents again. Probably.

Problem is, he doesn’t want to. The anger may not be as white-hot as it had been when Connor first found out he was going to be unwound, but it’s still there, simmering beneath his skin like a stovetop that wasn’t turned off properly. He isn’t going to burn down the house, not yet, but the possibility is there.

Risa would support him in this, Connor knows that. She immediately advocated against it, citing the immense risk posed by leaving their hiding place in Sonia’s basement. She doesn’t know the conflict in Connor’s heart quite as well as the terror of getting caught by the Juvenile Authority, though. She never had a family to love and loathe like this, and although Connor hates to say it, this will be the one time her advice won’t be as picture perfect as usual.

Sonia can sense this hesitation, and she’s been even pushier than usual in an attempt to convince him to visit his parents. At one point earlier today, Connor was helping her bring down some groceries when she asked him again when he was planning on leaving.

“I’m not going,” Connor had complained angrily, and immediately felt like a kid throwing a temper tantrum because his favorite shirt was in the wash or something stupid like that. So many unwinds here would kill for a chance to see their parents again, and here he is practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of it.

Sonia had raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing, for once. Connor had lugged the last of the bags down and sat in silence, fuming, until he finally cooled off again. He feels bad for snapping at Sonia like that, especially when she’s risking her life for him by harboring unwinds right underneath her shop, but not bad enough to deliver the letter.

Sonia doesn’t usually check up on them during the day, electing to preserve her ruse by manning the counter of the antique shop, so Connor assumes he’ll have all day to practice an apology before she checks up on them after closing time. Maybe he’ll write her a letter. He could both thank her for shoving him in her basement for so many weeks and also say he’s sorry for being an ass. He probably owes a lot of people similar letters. He’s been an ass many times.

Connor is idly monitoring the sounds upstairs, waiting to tell when Sonia will come down again so he can have his statement ready, when he first hears the loud thump. Noise isn’t uncommon up above; customers buying large objects can be heard huffing and puffing as they drag their purchases to the door. However, this sounds wrong. The voices Connor makes out through the dusty floorboards don’t sound like people ogling antiques. One of them sounds cruel, and the other, Sonia, sounds distorted somehow, unlike herself. They’re too quiet for him to hear, but none of it can be good. Then Sonia lets out a cry of pain, and Connor knows for certain that something is wrong.

All of the other runaways in the basement perk up. Fight or flight senses are always amplified among AWOLs. Connor silently gestures for them to back away from the cellar entrance, holding a finger to his lips. This could be a Juvey-cop, so they can’t risk exposing Sonia through too many sounds. Risa picks up a wrench, testing its weight experimentally, and Connor and the others follow suit. Whatever’s going on up there, it can’t hurt to have a weapon.

They wait in tense, painful silence, and then there’s a softer thump from above as the rug is flipped off of the trapdoor and Sonia shouts down for Lev of all people to come up and help her with something. Lev isn’t here, he hasn’t been near Sonia’s shop at all. Sonia knows this, and she’s well aware that the kids know this, too.

Connor’s eyes widen as he puts it together. This is a trap, obviously. Risa, sensing the same thing, grabs a small, blond kid (Jack, maybe? Connor tried not to learn their names. Unfamiliarity makes it easier to lose them) and starts to push him up the stairs, promising that she’ll be right behind him. Connor moves to join her but Risa stops him with a single harsh look.

“Don’t you dare even poke your head out,” she urges in a terse whisper. “Whoever’s here is probably only looking for you. Don’t make a sound.”

Connor would like to argue with this, but he knows she’s right. Odds are somebody saw him through a storefront window or something after closing. It’s not right to let Risa fight his battles for him, but maybe the intruder will leave if they don’t see the Akron AWOL. It’s not lost on him that Risa and the blond boy might get taken away anyway all for the sake of covering for him, but Risa’s not taking no for an answer, and she’s gone within a moment.

Connor paces back and forth, unsuccessfully trying not to let his panic show. Beau, one of the latest wannabe top dog types, starts prying at a window in the back, which is good. Odds are, they’ll need a second way out of here than just the trapdoor. Connor is about to pitch in and help when he hears a gunshot up above, followed by an agonized cry by Risa, and then all bets are off. Risa’s plea for him to stay hidden is gone from his head. If his worst fears are true– if she was shot, if she was dead– nothing matters anymore.

Connor bounds up the stairs two at a time, emerging into utter chaos. The blond kid is crumpled on the ground, a mess of blood and gore coating his chest. A grungy man is standing over his body holding a real gun, not just a tranq. Risa is beating him with a wrench, but he throws her off of him the second Connor appears. The man’s face cracks into a leering grin, and Connor realizes that he knows this man. It’s Nelson, the cop he shot so long ago.

Worse than that, it’s not just Nelson. Half of his face has been replaced with unwound flesh. Connor discovers with a sickening lurch of his stomach that he knows the donor, too. That’s the good side of Argent Skinner’s face isn’t it? Come to think of it, Connor hasn’t seen Grace in a little while, too. He silently hopes she’s alright, then shuts off every part of his brain that isn’t wired to defend himself. Nelson looks crazy. He has to be ready for anything.

Nelson lets out a slow, cackling laugh. “Connor Lassiter. In the flesh.”

“Nelson. In somebody else’s flesh.” Connor mimics. “What did you do to Argent Skinner?”

Nelson rolls his eyes elaborately. “He got in the way. I think his fate is obvious, isn’t it? I needed new skin. He needed to learn his lesson. No one crosses me and gets away with it. You’ve been on the run for a long time, but I’ve caught up to you at last. I always catch my prey.”

To the side, Risa is slowly getting to her feet, but there’s a gash opening up on her temple. Behind her, Sonia is chained to a chair, obviously in pain. Only Connor can save them. Only Connor can save himself.

Nelson starts to glance over at Risa, following Connor’s line of sight, so Connor quickly speaks up again to distract him. “So what, are we going to fight again? Boring, but let’s get on with it. Do you want to get out your tranq gun for old time’s sake? Maybe I’ll shoot you again. They might give me a new nickname for that.”

Nelson actually growls in anger. “I’m not interested in tranq guns, Connor. A permanent solution is better for you.”

He’s still holding the gun he just used to kill the blond boy, and Connor realizes with a sinking lurch that Nelson is planning on utilizing it for a second kill. This time, Nelson isn’t leaving until the job is done. Sure, it would be good to collect the payout of grabbing the Akron AWOL, but this is personal. Nelson can make up any excuse he wants about why Connor forced his hand. In the end, this is about Connor repeatedly humiliating the guy, costing him his job, his life, his flesh and bone, everything. One of them is walking away from this, not both. Perhaps neither of them. Looking up at Nelson, Connor finally knows:  this is where it all ends.

“That’s fine with me.” Connor tells him. “I’d like to get rid of you, too.”

He briefly considers going for the ‘nice socks’ distraction, but, afraid of having used it one too many times, Connor decides to ignore the pleasantries and just get going. There’s a table of antiques next to him; Connor grabs the closest heavy object, a brass candlestick, and lobs it at Nelson’s head. The former Juvey-cop manages to duck, but not entirely, and the metal clips him on the temple.

Nelson grunts in pain and angrily points the gun towards Connor, who frantically hurls himself to the floor. The shot misses, shattering a glass cabinet and sending the contents showering to the floor. Connor picks himself up and sprints away, hoping Nelson’s more interested in him than staying to finish off Risa and Sonia.

Luckily, the guy’s got blinders on for anything that isn’t his least favorite AWOL, and Nelson gives chase immediately. Unluckily, this means that more bullets are directed Connor’s way. He skids through a series of small displays, using the advantage of a few tight corners to remove himself from Nelson’s immediate line of vision, then ducks into a hiding space below a desk. There, he waits, one hand clamped over his mouth so Nelson can’t hear him breathing.

Nelson stalks slowly from room to room, Connor can hear the thud of his boots against the ground. “Come out, Connor,” Nelson calls, “Let’s settle this like men. You can’t hide forever.”

Maybe not, but he can certainly push off more fighting as long as he can. Nelson was a cop once, he’s got way more combat training than Connor. Connor’s only hope is to stay one step ahead and confuse him into letting down his guard. There’s no way he’s winning a direct fistfight, so Connor has to be as difficult as possible. 

Something dense thuds on the ground, then the glug of liquid pouring out follows the sound. Connor has no idea what that could be, but there’s no mistaking the subsequent click of a lighter. “If you won’t come out on your own, I have no problem smoking you out. I hear that’s best when taking care of rats. You have to burn down their nest to kill the young.”

Connor does not know much about rats, nor the proper method of extermination, but at this moment he doesn’t like any of it. Nelson is just as stuck in here as Connor if the antiques shop goes up in flames, but Connor realizes with a sinking feeling that Nelson doesn’t care about getting out if Connor doesn’t either. As long as Connor dies first, Nelson is happy. 

Connor, however, needs his friends to stay alive. He rolls out from under the desk to find Nelson crossing over the threshold of the room. The former Juvey-cop bares his teeth in a grin. “See, there you are. I knew you’d let your feelings get in the way of your own self preservation.”

He holds up the lighter triumphantly over a slick of what might be rubbing alcohol or gasoline. Connor tries to stay cool, but his hands twitch at his sides. “Easy, man. You don’t want to blow yourself up, too.”

“How considerate of you to think about me,” Nelson muses. “I won’t return the favor.”

With that, he drops the lighter. The liquid immediately erupts into flames, streaking out of the room and into the next with lightning speed. Connor shouts in despair, but it’s too late. He can only hope that Risa was able to get Sonia out, that the unwinds in the basement could get the window open. Hope is all he has left. That, and the undeniable anger coursing through his veins. Nelson wants to play with fire, does he? Connor is more than willing to follow suit.

He’s not stupid enough to start a fight in a burning house, so he runs for the back door, which opens up into a barren grassy patch hemmed in by a fence. Good; Connor doesn’t want Nelson running. If Connor is the only one that survives the fire, he will make sure Nelson pays for it.

Connor makes it out the door first, so he has enough time to pick up a rock and hurl it at Nelson’s head as the Juvey-cop chases him out. This time, Nelson doesn’t duck, and the man cries out in pain as the rock connects directly with his left eye. Whatever Unwind’s eyeball ended up in Nelson’s face, he hopes that they’re not aware of the injury. He wants only Nelson to feel the agony of the blood welling up in the ruined socket.

Nelson clutches the bloody wound, swearing at Connor. “Do you know how costly those things can get on the black market? I’ll have to replace it with yours to even things out.”

“Try it. See what happens,” Connor dares him, and lunges for the man.

Nelson’s sense of balance is still impacted by the blow to the head, so Connor manages to tackle him around the middle before Nelson is even aware that he’s attacking. They roll around on the ground for a little bit, exchanging punches back and forth, before Connor is able to force him onto his back. From there, it’s easy to keep him pinned and rain blows upon his face. 

He used to get in fights a lot before the unwind order, it’s all coming back to him now. Nelson tries to shove the barrel of the gun towards Connor, but Connor knocks it out of his hand in an instant. The man’s face is almost unrecognizable by now, but Connor isn’t done yet. This man is responsible for so many teenagers being unwound, doesn’t he deserve this punishment? He, too, should be in pieces. Connor can arrange that.

Nelson tries to shout something, but the words come out garble and broken around his swollen tongue. It’s going to attract attention, if the inferno behind them hasn’t brought scrutiny already. To shut him up, Connor wraps his hands around Nelson’s throat and starts to squeeze. It’s easy at first, just a matter of applying pressure. One of his hands– the right one, Connor thinks, but he’s not entirely aware of the difference nor why it should matter– tries to back out, but Connor redoubles his efforts. Nelson is not getting away. Not this time. Not ever.

It takes Connor a long time to realize that the man is no longer moving. Longer still to realize why. Connor has never killed someone before. He didn’t think he could, but. Sometimes we learn things about ourselves later than we expect.

Connor falls to his knees, leaning back slightly as he stares at his handiwork. His heart beats an urgent, irregular beat, telling him what he has known for a while now but is certain of today:  he is a terrible, terrible person. Lev wouldn’t blow up Happy Jack, even Roland couldn’t kill, but Connor could. There are no lines he would not cross, no boundaries he cannot push. He is, at last, well and truly feral. No wonder the world wants him in pieces.

People are starting to emerge from their houses, attracted by the glow of the fire and the jumbled shouts of the fight. Connor is sheltered by the fence and hedges for now, but soon they’ll come for him and find the bloodied corpse of the former Juvey-cop. There are very few people who would mourn for Jasper T. Nelson, if there are indeed any at all, but any witnesses will see a dead man and a living killer and know who is worse off at the moment. The dead rest. The living do not.

Risa finds him first. She skids over the ground to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Dimly, Connor is reminded of tackling Nelson to the ground, one rough arm against his throat, but this is Risa, this is different, this has to be different. Not everything in this world brings death. Still, it’s hard to remember now.

“It’s over,” Risa breathes against his ear, “It’s over. Let’s go home.”

Connor isn’t looking at her, though, he’s watching the flecks of burning paper float down around him like snow. In his head, he’s a kid again, bundled up in a parka and too-big snow boots. He’ll grow into them; so will his brother, in a few years. Now Lucas gets new clothes and Connor gets nothing at all. Lucas has had two winters now of being the first one to run out into the yard in the fresh snow, of sinking the first boot prints into the endless expanse of white, and Connor hopes to God he’s loved it.

Connor stretches out a shaking, blood-spattered hand and picks up one of the pieces. It’s an envelope, the contents either ripped away in the wind or already burnt to bits. Right now, the delivery address is damn near indistinguishable from the coarse ash rubbed against it, but Connor can pick out the words by heart:

Claire & Kirk Lassiter

3048 Rosenstock Road

Columbus, Ohio 43017

As he watches, the smoke from one corner of the envelope picks up into a spark, which turns into a flame that gnaws away the words one by one. Like unwinding, his mind whispers. Each letter ripped away to some new fate. Risa has to pluck the quickly burning paper out from between his fingers so Connor doesn’t scorch himself. He doesn’t even notice the flames are at his flesh until a dull, throbbing ache some time later.

Connor is still in Ohio. He’s within driving distance of his house, but there is something Connor has known from the moment he came back here, from the moment Sonia put that letter in his hands again, from the moment he throttled Nelson until the light left his eyes:  he can never go back. That house is for the whole, and although Connor still has possession of all of his limbs, he cannot ever be described as such again. He is not his father’s son. He is not his mother’s boy. If there was ever a Connor who could return to the Lassiter family, he is not the one who just strangled a man to death. There is no place in Ohio that Connor can ever return to again.

“No,” Connor chokes out, half-gagging on the wet slurry of ash and blood in his mouth, “No. I have no home.”

Risa’s saying something soothing about how that’s not true, he’ll always have her, and they’ll find a way, they always have, but he’s not listening anymore. Instead, Connor’s face is tilted back, letting the sun wash over the gouges on his cheeks, his split lip, the bruises already flowering under his skin. He stares once into that blinding light, then snaps his eyes shut. 

The elder Lassiter boy is dead. Only Connor remains.

requested by @bopeisdope, i hope you enjoy!

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[ofdragonsdeep]

11: Surrogate

One that takes the place of another.

(Dawntrail spoilers up until ~lv98 MSQ)

Ar'telan speaks with a knight.

The ruins of Alexandria were a strange place to be.

If anything, the effect was chilling not for being in the empty streets, but for what they represented. The impact site, a crackling pool of levin, still seethed in what had once been bustling city streets. The water of the lake seeped into the streets, foundations sinking lower with no-one to maintain them. Some of the houses had been collapsed by the bombardments, some by being dismantled to build Everkeep and the Outskirts - it was clear which was which. Feral constructs and levin-sick creatures roamed where people had once walked.

And nobody cared.

Ar'telan had kept his dislike of the Regulators to himself since arriving in Heritage Found, not wanting to cause a scene when it was important that they flew under the radar long enough to find Zoraal Ja. But though they could not directly erase the memory of a concept, they had still eroded it - the people who had cared for the streets that now lay barren gone to dust, the memories of that care slowly scrubbed away. How could you remember a love that came from someone that never existed?

Everkeep had cannibalised Alexandria for parts. Queen Sphene declared her love for Alexandria.

Zoraal Ja suited this place.

They had spent the evening with Gulool Ja, thanks to Ar'telan's efforts in tracking him through the ruins. He had almost refused to do so, after how disastrously his last attempt to track a child had gone, with Meteion, but the situation was different. Thankfully, he had not been given cause to regret it so far.

Ar'telan liked Gulool Ja. He had understood the boy's reticence to speak all too well, and had been pleasantly surprised to learn that he was very sensible when he ran away from the bright lights of Everkeep. Oblivion hadn't taught him that. They had given him a space to exist, but hadn't known how to give him much more - they weren't built to give him more than that, they had made that clear in how Cahcuia and Erenville acted around each other. All business, little family.

Otis, meanwhile, had taught him a great deal.

The others had begun the walk back to Everkeep now, Gulool Ja in tow. Ar'telan, meanwhile, sat with Otis.

"You've been most pensieve this eve," the man remarked, the queer echo of his processed voice still odd to hear. Ar'telan frowned.

"He doesn't wear a Regulator," he remarked. Otis tilted his head. Ar'telan wondered if it was possible for the construct to blink. "I wondered if you influenced him, but you couldn't exist without one, could you?"

"Oh, I am a very unusual case!" Otis disagreed. "My transference came long before the Regulators became commonplace. I was a trailblazer!" He did not have a mouth to beam with, but Ar'telan could imagine it all the same, from the energy in his voice.

"But he knows you couldn't exist without the technology. And Zoraal Ja wears a Regulator."

The temperature in the air cooled a little at Ar'telan's sign of the King's name. The motions had changed since they had come to Heritage Found, and not in the man's favour. Otis clearly shared the sentiment.

"I will confess I never thought to ask him," Otis admitted. "It never seemed important. One wages a constant battle against time and the elements out here in the city, after all." Ar'telan's frown deepened.

"Does he know, then? That your… your body. It's old, and there are none left to repair it for you?"

"I should imagine he does, though we have never directly talked about it."

Ar'telan made a thoughtful noise at that. It was easy to paint Gulool Ja's knowledge of electrope as a survival skill, but he had to know. Otis was the only person he trusted in the entirety of Everkeep, it seemed. He existed in an anxious haze around Oblivion, seeking the safety their under-the-radar existence provided, but in Otis he had a home.

Ar'telan couldn't help but be reminded of being offered a safe harbour after the attempt on Nanamo's life. He thought about the graveyard on the edge of Alexandria, and the man who maintained it in thankless vigil, his activities a secret from his colleagues.

"If Wuk Lamat helps to set things right in the city, so it's less scary for Gulool Ja, would you go back with him?" he asked. "I know you've been alive a long time, but there would be a place in the city for you, I think."

Otis cast his eyes towards Everkeep - or his optical sensors, if they truly were in those little green lights that lit up what passed for his face. There was a moment of quiet, and Ar'telan was struck by the soft sound of Otis's body humming from the mechanisms that powered it.

"Nay, I do not think so," he said eventually, his tone quiet. The tinny echo felt forlorn in the silence. "It has been my honour to guard the young Prince so far, but I am a relic of an age long past." The lights on his faceplate flickered. "I am a Knight of Alexandria, and in Alexandria I shall remain."

Ar'telan wanted to ask if the city could be restored, but he knew the answer without having to utter the words. It could, but none would want to. Alexandria faced forwards, and refused to do anything but scavenge scraps from the city which had nurtured it. It had no choice. Only Sphene still remembered the place it once had been, and Ar'telan had no way of knowing if it was even a memory she treasured.

Unease twisted in his stomach, the source hard to pinpoint. It all felt off, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Heritage Found… Alexandria has been merged with the Source now, in almost every sense," he said, choosing his words carefully. "The dome protects Everkeep from the harsh atmosphere of your original world, but now you are removed from it, could the dome come down?"

"A curious question," Otis said. The melancholy had immediately left his voice, replaced once more by the upbeat cheer that so characterised him. "I should think it could, but it would put Everkeep in quite an unusual position. The electrope from which everything was built requires the unique atmosphere of our world to function. Without it, I would imagine the city would struggle quite significantly."

"But there are… There are children dying slowly, because of this lightning," Ar'telan said. "Is it worth it?"

"A question best posed to the residents, I would say." Otis turned to regard him then. "All of these are questions you could have asked before, my quiet friend. Why wait until now? Why ask them of me?"

"I don't think the Queen would answer," Ar'telan replied. "And I'm not…" He paused, considering the words. "I'm here for Wuk Lamat. To protect the people of Tural, yes, but because Wuk Lamat needs my support to do that. These questions… they're mine, not hers. And the answers don't really matter, in the grand scheme of things."

"But they matter to you!" Otis disagreed. "I should say that is very important. Young Gulool Ja does not speak too much, but I have always encouraged him to voice his thoughts where he feels safe to do so. I find it most tragic that Tural's loyal… retainer? Companion? Cannot do the same."

"Mentor, I think," Ar'telan offered. "It's not that I don't feel safe. It's that she's already shouldering so much, and has so much left to shoulder. Zoraal Ja is her brother, and she loves him. She loves Gulool Ja, too, even though she has barely had chance to know him. She's like that." He smiled slightly at that. "I think, a few years ago, I wouldn't have voiced the thoughts at all. But now I'm just saving them for a better time. And of everyone here in Heritage Found, I think you've been the most amenable to them. I appreciate that."

"I have spent many a long decade devoted to Alexandria," Otis said, his face once more regarding Everkeep. Ar'telan supposed it was the closest thing the nation had to a palace for its rulers, now, and Otis knew that well. "It will always be my dearest pleasure to teach people of my beloved country, and its beloved Queen."

"Still, I owe you thanks," Ar'telan replied. "For listening, even if you think it a forgone conclusion. I hope… I hope we can settle things between our nations without too much bloodshed."

"Zoraal Ja may be King, but I swore fealty to none but my Queen," Otis replied, fervour in his voice. "I can only pray that the people are left unscathed by what has to ensue."

Ar'telan wondered what it would feel like to the Alexandrians. They had been tormented by Zoraal Ja, if the discomfort of all but the army was any indication, for near thirty years. When he died, they would immeidately forget that he had ever existed. How would the wound look? Would they remember a King had led them to war, but not his face, not his name, not his motives? Or would the ache take formless shape, unanswerable for the rest of their lives?

Ar'telan could not even fathom the wound of forgetting the dead.

"As will I," he answered, keeping the rest to himself. "Thank you, Otis. I hope we can speak again soon."

"As do I, my new friend!"

[cleverthylacine]

from the cutting room floor

Warning: Spoilers for Every Day Is A Winding Road and Recovered Light

So, the other day I was talking with @jariktig and we talked about the death of Terminus at the end of Winding Road.

I'd misunderstood her--she'd said she was trying to reconcile the needs of the story with her own emotions and I was like, okay, welp, the interpretation of Terminus as a Good Person is slightly less weird to me than the interpretation of Dominus Ambus as a Good Person, but at least you're not arguing and then she said, "oh no! I just don't think Terminus suffered enough!"

And I laughed, although on the other side of multiple ponds and continents she couldn't hear me. Uproariously.

In the original outline for these fics, though, Terminus did survive the ending. One of the reasons he was supposed to be in Recovered Light (and possibly Year of the Cat and even Quintessential, where he would have been a valued knowledge resource) was that he was supposed to bring Ravage and Minimus together.

(By being someone they disliked even more than they disliked one another...but I digress!)

I was unable to keep Terminus alive because he tried to take over my story, much like he did Megatron's early life, and Ravage's also. He is a blowhard who can't shut the fuck up and he's not even funny most of the time.

He has almost as much to do with the reason it took a year to write the ending to Winding Road as my brother's cancer did. (He's in remission.) The cancer was definitely more life-altering and emotionally terrifying. Terminus, however, was deeply and truly annoying at a time when I didn't need any more annoyances.

Anyhow, some of the scenes I'd written for later fics in the series did have Terminus in them and will obviously have to be cut, but I'd like to share this half-chapter or so, because it is actually funny. It is a draft, and the POV isn't clearly nailed down, and some bits of it may end up in the actual fic, but they will be very different, because Terminus won't be in them.

Fic starts below here:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megatron was surprised when he realised—a half second before he did something he would have regretted—namely, giving Howlback a big hug—that Ravage had not come to meet him.

“That is my wife, Megatronus,” said Grimlock. “And I don’t think she wants a hug.”

“Not from you,” said Howlback to Megatron, looking him up and down. “Megatron, I’m Chair of the Station Security Committee, and you’re a security risk. You have the right to ask for sanctuary, if that’s what you’re going to do, but right now I’m going to need your word and bond that you and your boyfriend both understand that we can’t guarantee your safety unless you stay in your assigned quarters. A number of citizens have Filed Intent on you, and I don’t want to have to explain it to Ravage if something happens to you.”

Megatron shuttered his optics for a moment, and nodded. “Of course. I should have expected that.”

“You can’t speak for me,” said Minimus, bristling beside him.

“Of course he can’t,” said Howlback, growling at the interruption. “I’ll deal with you momentarily, Gluteus Magnus.”

She ex-vented. “If you elect to ask for Sanctuary, Megatron, you will have to be willing to cooperate with the Truth and Reconciliation Committee. That is the only way you can get those people to withdraw their claims on your life. Otherwise, you can’t stay here for more than three days and I can’t guarantee your safety if you go anywhere by yourself without a good bodyguard.”

“Of course I’m willing to cooperate,” said Megatron. “But I would like to point out that Ravage is the one who’s insisting on this.”

“I thought Ravage said we’d be safe here—” Minimus snapped, bristling.

“Shut up, Commander Fox!” said Howlback. “I’m not finished talking to Megatron. You’re not the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord anymore and even if we did ‘diplomatic immunity’ here, you are certainly not a diplomat. Unless you’re asking for sanctuary and forswearing all ties to the ruling Prime on Cybertron, you’re a tourist. Also, you sent my conjunx to Garrus-9! And I don’t think anyone actually likes you here, except possibly Cosmos.”

Megatron sighed heavily. “Minimus, please do not expect these people to handle things the way Autobots do. We are in Destron now.”

“Yes. You are.” Howlback looked back up at Megatron, crossing her arms over her chest. She’d had her bipedal root mode restored, but unlike Ravage, she still had a root mode face. At least she wasn’t wearing her second head on her chest.

“You both have other options,” she continued. “There are settlements in the Belt that are affiliated with Sanctuary, but they’re independent communes or syndicates. We don’t govern them and I can’t tell you whether or not they’ll protect you from people with claims, but there aren’t any claims or charges against you there. You can go back to the Warworld that brought you here, if Esmeral and Deathsaurus are willing to have you. Or you can go down to Earth—but I don’t recommend that. They haven’t forgotten your reign of terror down there.”

“Now, wait a moment—” Minimus sputtered.

Howlback growled at him again. “You are a traitor to our kind. I have exactly one fuck to give about you, and you’ve just used up three. Ravage probably said that we don’t execute people here. And we don’t. And we don’t extradite people to places that do. But she didn’t say there’d be no recompense expected for the things that he has done, or that nobody here wanted revenge on him. We’ll keep you both as safe as we can, but you’re not exactly popular here, either, Minimus Ambus. There aren’t any Filings on you, but only because those have to be personal injuries.”

Howlback shrugged. “Ravage wants you to stay here. I think it would be best for you to stay here, too, but I’m not going to beg you to. Especially not if you’re going to make my life more difficult.”

“No,” said Megatron. “No, we don’t want to make your life more difficult, Howlback. Congratulations on your conjuncture, by the way. Where is Ravage? She’s my amica, and I want to see her.”

“I’m sure she’ll see you when she’s ready to, Megatron,” said Howlback. “Right now, she is introducing Nautica to Soundwave and Jazz, and after that she’ll probably want to see Stalker if Buzzsaw and Vortex are ready to let go of him. But the two of you are a security risk, so nobody gets to see you before I do.”

“And me after that,” said Grimlock, over her head.

Howlback rolled her optics, but her smile was altogether affectionate. “That’s enough, Grim.”

Terminus looked down at her in complete disbelief. “Do you know who he is?”

Ten caught him easily by the shoulder. “Ten,” he said softly, but Terminus ignored him..

“Yeah,” said Howlback. “I’m Howlback of Stanix, Chair of the Station Security Committee. I was the chief of his military police force for way too damn long. So I think I know him better than you, whoever you are.”

“I’m Terminus of Messatine—”

“Really,” said Howlback, with a double roll of her optics. “He wrote you out of the book, but I was alive back then, and even if I was a kitten, nobody treated me like one. I have one piece of advice for you, and here it is. Take care how you speak to my sister. Things have reversed from the way they once were. Ravage is now incredibly patient…but Soundwave is not.”

Megatron was all too well aware of this. “So who’s the chair of the Reconciliation Committee?” he asked, trying to sound even a little bit casual about it.

“Doctor Glitterbomb,” said Grimlock, and bared all his dentae.

“We’re in trouble,” said Minimus, scowling, and Megatron couldn’t argue with that.

“Well,” said Howlback, “if you’re lucky he’ll decide to recuse himself. He does have claims of his own. The problem with that is there’s nobody else that wants the job who everyone trusts, and Ravage and Soundwave don’t want it, in case someone raises a claim against them. It hasn’t happened yet, but everyone who could conceivably raise a claim against Glit is either already dead or very aware that he didn’t want to be there at Grindcore either.”

~*~*~*~

“What was all that about?” Minimus was pacing. They’d been assigned a secure suite, with a berthroom for the two of them, and another for Ten and Terminus. Sanctuary didn’t have prison cells but he suspected it could pass for one if they needed it to. “And why is he in here with us?”

Terminus glared back at him. “This place is overcrowded, can’t you tell? Didn’t you see the new habitats they’re still building? And they can’t put us in one of those—not if they want to monitor us. Someone should tell Captain Howlback that a prison doesn’t have to look like one.”

“She knows,” said Megatron. “This is not a prison; if you want to go out, they’ll let you. They’d probably even let me, though they’d tell her. But if someone who had an established claim on me shot me dead, the only charges they’d be up on would be for discharging a weapon in communal space, or something like that. I know how this place is set up. I’ve read every word she’s written about it. And I didn’t ask you to read them just because I thought you were bored, Terminus. This place is what Soundwave and Ravage meant Destron to be, not you. And they don’t outsource revenge to the state, but they don’t treat it as murder when the suspect has cause.”

“And we want to live here why?” Minimus grumbled.

“I don’t, but I faced the judgement of the Autobots on Cybertron, and now I have to face the judgement of the Decepticons.” Megatron lifted one heavy brow ridge. “Anyroad…they don’t execute people here. I’ve made my peace with the fact that it’s what I deserve, but I’m not going to let it happen on Earth.”

Minimus scowled. “You don’t think they have the right?”

“I think that the number of humans I’ve killed is both mathematically smaller than the number of Cybertronians I’ve killed, and that I’ve certainly killed a smaller proportion of humans than of some of the other species we’ve dealt with, because there are more than a few of them left,” Megatron said, with an uneasy sigh. “There are even some here. I’m certain I saw that pink-haired girl who told me to fuck the hell off that one time.”

Ugh, thought Minimus: Miko. Verity liked her, though.

“Are you saying you’ve committed a genocide?” Terminus frowned.

“How many times do I have to say that before you can actually hear it? Not all by myself, but certainly not just one,” said Megatron, scowling.

Terminus shuddered. Good, Minimus thought. Let him chew on that one a while. But he didn’t: “You’re telling me Howlback’s never killed anyone since she came here—?”

“No,” said Megatron. “I’m saying that if she has, it was in defence of the Station, or in personal self-defence. I’m very aware that Strika and Howlback are both responsible for killing people who attacked the Station. But Soundwave—Ravage wasn’t here, then—wouldn’t let them kill anyone who surrendered. I don’t doubt Howlback wanted to. And I don’t doubt that if Overlord came to the door she would shoot him right in the face, but she’d be shooting him as Howlback, not as the Chair of Security.”

“So why are they being so unpleasant? I thought Ravage wanted to make peace with me—”

“A lot of things,” Megatron said wearily. “You know very well why Ravage doesn’t like you. I love you anyway, but I can’t forgive you on her behalf. And she’s not going to do it until you admit to her that you have collaborated in the oppression of your own people. I strongly recommend reminding her that it was your brother who wrote the Ambus Test, but you did enforce the law—”

“Coward,” muttered Terminus.

“Dead,” said Minimus, and stared right back at him. “Or not, but only by the grace of Censere.”

Minimus did not like Terminus, who was always harassing Megatron about decisions he hadn’t been there for and seemed to be not the least bit concerned about Megatron’s conscience, Megatron’s body count, or Megatron’s actual best interests.

But he did wonder why Howlback hated Terminus. Terminus had disappeared before the war, when Ravage had still been working on the Senate floor and Howlback had still been working for Prowl. 

Megatron had continued: “Are you really surprised that Howlback and Grimlock dislike you as much as Ravage does? Grimlock isn’t just a Predacon; he’s a saurian. If he hadn’t been forged in urban Liaconia he’d probably have been hunted, and even so he did still end up in the Pits. Besides, I think there’s other business you’ve left unfinished with him.”

Minimus stood there for a moment and winced. “Not by my choice. I offered him a deal and he wouldn’t take it. I’m also not responsible for anything that Overlord did. Why is he conjunct with her?”

“He’s been her paramour since he and I were both in the Pits of Kaon,” said Megatron, laughing a little. “They’ve been off and on, because of the war, but the war’s over, so now I suppose they’re back on. She got mad at him for working with…us.”

It took Minimus a moment to realise that Megatron was referring to the Autobots.

“You weren’t one of us then.” Minimus scowled. “Perhaps someone should tell her how terrible Grimlock actually was at being an Autobot.”

“I think she knows,” said Megatron, smiling wryly. “He’d not be back in her berth if she didn’t. She went a million years once without speaking to him.”

“Does she actually love him—?”

“In some kind of way,” Megatron said, “but probably not in the way you love me.” Although it might have been similar, given that Minimus knew all of his faults and still stayed.

“Don’t these people realise that you were their liberator?” Terminus fussed. “Do they really think they could have got where they are without you?”

Minimus glared at him. “They’re here because of Soundwave, Terminus. They were in ghettos on Cybertron before they came here, and that was because of him.”

“I’m not sure I don’t think Soundwave and Ravage wouldn’t have got where they are even faster without me,” Megatron grumbled. “Scorponok, Starscream and Onslaught all failed but if Soundwave and Strika had ever got tired enough of my pitslag, I’m sure they would have done just fine. I may have been necessary in the very beginning, but they’d have had Drift, and they’d have had Maitri, and Deathsaurus, and plenty of others, longer than I could hold onto them.”

Terminus frowned. “You don’t mean that—”

“Oh yes he does,” said Minimus.

“TEN,” said Ten, stepping between them.

“Thank you,” said Megatron under his vents. “I have a long list of charges and claims to review. You are both giving me processor strain. I’m not at all sure that being expected to stay cooped up in here with both of you at once is not a part of my punishment, and I know it’s part of yours.”

“What’s Howlback got against him?” Minimus said, very quietly.

“Nothing valid,” said Terminus.

Megatron ex-vented, slowly. “You know what you said to Ravage, back on the noisechans.”

Terminus rolled his optics. “I was trying to make her feel better about the situation.”

“And I told her to run, if she could,” said Megatron. “Maybe if she’d run when I told her to, she and Soundwave would have done better.”

“Megatron?” Minimus frowned. “What’s this about?”

“It’s Ravage’s business,” said Megatron. “But I’m sure you can figure it out from the poetry.”

Minimus’ jaw dropped, and he stared for a moment. “She bought herself back with her knives—”

“A few million years later than she should’ve done,” said Megatron, “and that was my fault, too. For starting to think like he did.”

“I wish I’d met you before,” said Minimus, fresh shock and anguish all over his face.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Terminus. “You’d probably have married him and he’d never have done anything but write! Somebody else would have led the revolution—”

“And it would have been better!” Megatron bellowed.

“It would have failed,” said Terminus. “Soundwave was worse than you were back then—”

“Soundwave was always better than me. Ravage knew it,” said Megatron, “and that’s why she left me aboard the Lost Light. They had Strika. They had Grimlock, who left because he and I had a fight. They had Drift. They didn’t need me to take up arms, or to whore myself out in the Pits.”

Minimus wasn’t sure about that, in the moment, and being unsure of it hurt him more than anything else that anyone there had said. “I need a moment,” he said, and went back to their berthroom to lay himself down.

Megatron, who’d finally begun to learn understand the difference between repression and boundaries, didn’t follow him. “Not one more word,” he told Terminus. “Not now. I can’t take it. I was always weak. You were right about that. And now I need to think my own thoughts. Not yours.”

Megatron curled up on a sofa, uncomfortably, to read through the mountain of paperwork that Howlback had just dumped in his lap.

“I’m telling our guards to summon our precious Parvilla,” Terminus muttered.

“You’ll regret that,” said Megatron softly, before he remembered he didn’t want to keep talking to Terminus. “Nobody summons Ravage.”

Terminus ignored him. He was already yelling at Lugnut, who had been standing guard in the hall, Lugnut being one of the few old soldiers still willing to protect him.

Some of the claims were exaggerated, or false, or insufficiently personal; but only some of them. There were a fair number of people on Sanctuary who had a legitimate claim on his life. And Soundwave had filed one, which hurt more than it ought to have done, given the way he had treated their relationship and their family. The order to Ravage had been cruel, and he’d rescinded it, even though Ravage had been freed of cassette coding. That didn’t mean Soundwave did not want him dead.

Terminus and Lugnut were still yelling, and finally there was a softer voice in the hallway. It wasn’t Ravage’s, though.

“Why don’t you two calm down and chill? Ravage and her girlfriend are having a little reunion, okay? Soundwave’s making our dinner, I came down here to see what the fuss was about—wait, who are you?”

Great, thought Megatron, and went to the door. “Terminus. Shut the fuck up. Immediately.” He looked down at Jazz. “They really did adjunx you, didn’t they?”

“Ain’t official yet.”

“How is she?”

“Pissed off,” said Jazz. “Spent a good bit of time talking her down, back when it all got started, tellin’ her that I didn’t want to come between ‘em like you did. But she loves you. Mind you, I don’t know why.”

“If she weren’t mad at me, she wouldn’t have sent you,” said Megatron.

“Reckon not, but I came on my own accord. Anyhow I’ll give you one thing you don’t deserve. She made Sounders promise not to kill you on the grounds that it would hurt her, which is not what he wants to do, ever again. But he’s going to see you and make his demands before he lets you see her. So you better figure out what you’re gonna say to him, because you’re not getting any closer to her than you are right now unless he trusts you not to do or say anything stupid.”

“So, sometime next vorn, I presume.” Megatron sighed.

“What’s Parvilla still got to be mad about—”

“You say your name was Terminus?” Jazz looked up at him thoughtfully.

“What of it?”

“I was reading those boards back then,” said Jazz, almost cheerfully. “I think you should keep that name and all of the rest of her names the fuck out your mouth.”

Terminus looked up at Megatron, as if he expected…something.

Megatron shrugged. “I think you should actually try to accept the fact that it has been over four million years since you ‘died’ and that neither I nor anyone else here is what you think we should be, because as much as we loved you—as I did, anyway—many of us tried that, and it failed spectacularly.”

[daily-rayless]

15 Years of Naoto

It's time for another character appreciation post! And it's one we're long due for: Naoto Shirogane from Persona 4.

February 2009, my first Naoto.

Witness the genesis of my eternal awkwardness drawing The Hat. I might not be able to explain why the hat bedevils me so, but I can take a stab at explaining why I love Naoto so much.

March 2009

Persona 4 wasn't my first Persona. I'd played P3 about half a year earlier. But while I liked it, it wouldn't really light up my brain until 2010's P3P. But P4, that was the first Persona I got excited for. And it largely came down to the characters, and ever since playing it, one of my favorites has been the Detective Prince, Naoto Shirogane.

May 2009

I wish I could remember more specifics from then, what it was or when it was that first drew me to Naoto. The design is great, very stylish and streamlined with a bit of a 60s/70s flair of nostalgia.

September 2009

And I still love the original VA's performance, the measured way in which Naoto typically speaks, the deadpanning, the momentary awkwardness, the heartbreaking vocal lifts during the more painful and dramatic scenes.

November 2009

If you knew me in 2009, you know that whole year was basically sunk in Persona 4 fanfic and fan art and a ton of it was dedicated to Naoto. This was when my original writing was suffering, and I really turned to fandom for artistic expression. I'd written a little Persona fic prior to that, but now I really got into it, and I made friends with a great community of people because of it.

March 2010

I think in some respects Naoto's a character who's taught me a lot creatively. Naoto isn't easy to write – composed, intelligent, mature, but far from bullet-proof, either physically or emotionally. Detached but not unfeeling, seasoned but in many ways very immature and self-conscious. That air of being in command of a situation, even to an intimidating degree, while in reality being this very small person who fears not being taken seriously and then abandoned.

December 2010

For about a year, I probably drew more Naoto than anything else. (You'd think that would let me master The Hat.) To me, Naoto feels very steely, but with this delicate beauty as well, and I enjoyed capturing that. Possibly drawing Naoto again and again influenced my artistic style overall, taking it out of its more angular style in 2008-9 and into the softer more doll-like look of 2010-11.

November 2012

And of course I was and am a fool for the KanNao dynamic. The contrast between their characters, but the way they also compliment each other while coming at things so differently, is so good.

February 2013

As time's gone by, I've lost touch with Naoto artistically. Other interests, both fandom and original arrived, and I don't regret that. Losing touch with a character doesn't mean I no longer like them. But because most of my P4 stuff is in my creative rear view, I look back on it with nostalgia – a short but happy period in my fandom past.

November 2019

Coming back and drawing Naoto feels a bit like revisiting an old house I used to live in, or maybe a school I went to. And even after all these years, I still remember the lines, the shapes – the Naoto-ness.

November 2023

Someone else might look at this one and compare it to the soft, smiling December 2010 Naoto and think that's not even the same character. But not to me. Looking at them, I see the differences, but I still see Naoto in both of them.

April 2024

Naoto's one of those characters who had a big impact on me, my writing, my style. You don't just forget about that.

[tiabritana]

Hob turns his face towards the sun as he reclines back in his chair as he sits at one of the tables outside the New Inn. He ignores the papers he’s suppose to be marking and instead brings a hand up to his face and traces his lips. He recalls with a smile the scene from this morning. One of the rare times all his spouses were present together and co-existing peacefully for the most part.

It started with him being in a rush to get ready for work, having been running late thanks to a certain red-haired giant and dream lord not wanting him to leave the bed.

He had stumbled into the kitchen, attempting to slip an arm through the cardigan he was regretting choosing to wear; when Death handed him a piece of toast with pomegranate jam. She helped get the article of clothing situated as the immortal took a big bite of his breakfast. She moved back to the kitchen and picked back up her mug as Destiny stepped forward and handed Hob a travel mug and his leather satchel.

Hob hastily tried to swallow down his toast and almost choked had it not been for Despair appearing behind him and thumping his back. The piece flying from his throat and being caught by one of her rats.

Delirium bursting into giggles as her eyes followed where the rats had run off to the other side of the room and ended up tipping over into Desire’s lap who just smiled fondly down at their sister and reached up a hand to card into her unruly hair.

He had been ten minutes late by the time he had said a proper goodbye to everyone but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Hob tunes back to the present where his fingers still rest pressed against his lips. He recalls the phantom sensations of his spouses lips against his own and the differences he feels when he kisses each of them.

Kissing Destiny is like getting a glimpse into spanning futures that twist and branch off. There one moment and gone the next. Like a spiraling labyrinth of possibilities ever changing, leaving Hob dizzy and head feeling overfilled with what-ifs.

Kissing Death is like being born and dying. Like taking your first and last breath simultaneously. Like all the opportunities are at your fingertips only to be filled with grief at never having enough time to fulfill all your goals. Kissing Death leaves the immortal thankful for all that he has been given by the being in front of him as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ears making the Endless beam at him.

Kissing Dream is like dipping into an ocean current. He catches glimpse of all beings that can dream. Gets to live their lives briefly as if he is them. All their trials and tribulations flickering rapidly through him, leaving him light headed. But Hob never feels more rooted in reality than when he kisses Dream.

Kissing Destruction is like the rise and fall of civilizations. Being in the middle of battle, blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Like holding the clay of creation, thumbs pressing into the soft lump wondering what to make next. All the potential to create and destroy.

Kissing Desire is like all his fantasies come to life. All the sensual and seduction you’d expect from the personification of Desire, but so much more. It’s similar to kissing Destruction, where his blood pounds and his heart races; but at the same time it’s the most easy thing in the world. Kissing Desire is being able to feel how much he is wanted and how much he wants them.

Kissing Despair makes him want to cry at times. Hob can feel the anguish of all his years when he kisses her, but also the hope at the end of the tunnel. It’s like the end of a good cry, when not all is better yet, but the potential is there. You will get through this. Like lancing a wound and letting it heal.

Kissing Delirium is the most maddening in all the best ways. It’s like losing yourself to the best and worst high. Like every drug he’s ever tried combined, but underneath he feels the most sane he’s ever been. Like tasting colors and seeing sounds. He finds delight in kissing Delirium, and he knows the irony that comparisons brings, but finds the juxtaposition appropriate all the same.

“Thinking about your mysterious spouses?” The voice calls, interrupting his reminiscing. Hob turns to find Addie settling into the previously unoccupied seat across from him.

“Something like that.” The immortal says. He finally turns back to the marking he left and picks up his biro as Addie pulls out her own stack of marking and slides it across the table. Hob groans and massages his temple wondering not for the first time what possessed him to go into teaching.

All thoughts of his spouses and what it feels like to kiss them vanish as the two settle into a routine with biro scratching against the surface of his students essays and Addie’s fingers typing on her laptop.

In the distance a Raven caws and Hob smiles, thinking he should bring Matthew some of his good brandy the next time he sees him.

[meraki-yao]

https://www.tumblr.com/meraki-yao/744553456721870848/you-answered-me-so-kindly-that-i-take-the-liberty

I agree with everything you wrote in your answer. There's no need to add anything else. I just want to give another little point of view: as much as I regret that in Rwrb there were no explicit scenes or more intimate scenes, I'm happy that it was edited like this, because people don't just talk about kisses or caresses, but also of Alex and Henry's speeches, of the story and of the message that the film sends. M&G had good intentions, to bring to light a dirty story of sex and power so clearly sex, orgies and everything else were at the basis of this project... but people only talk about Nicholas' butt and only the video in which he fucks with the other protagonists. I've read very few reviews of his acting performance, but plenty of the rest. And I believe that the same could happen in TIOY, considering that there has already been controversy over the theme of the film. Basically, I hope that Nicholas throws himself into different projects in the near future, where we focus more on the emotional aspect and less on the physical one... besides obviously the hope of seeing him again in the sequel to RWRB... I think Matthew is managed to make the most of it, so I hope they can get back to work together soon. Thanks for your possible response ❤️

I haven't quite looked into the reactions of M&G but from what I've seen on the Chinese side, you're right. There's a lot in M&G, it is a good show (it's not perfect but overall it's still good), but instead of the acting, the complex and detailed acting performance by the cast, or the costume and set design, the most thing talked about it how much sex there is.

But I would say that's the audience's fault, not the show, because all of the sex scenes in M&G were done with intent and either establishes character (see the opening of ep3 and ep7) or pushes the plot (see the last scenes of ep 2 and ep3). It's necessary. It's the audience's fault for solely focusing on "oh wow they're fucking damn". I would say the marketing feeds into that as well? If you looks at the posters the subtext of "this is a sexy show" is very obvious (George's costume, King James... drooling over him, George is literally named the seducer which true but ... eh) Even in the "describe the show in three words" most of the cast said "sex" which, okay, but also feeds the (untrue) narrative of "this is just a show about fucking your way through the court" I wish the media picked up on more than that. Actually, now that I think of it, in every interview the boys got to do for RWRB they get asked about sex and intimacy in a similar manner, even though for rwrb the focus is on the emotional aspect instead. So this might be a change the media needs to make.

We're not in a position to tell Nick what to do with his career though (other than obvious, definitive red flags that is) so we'll just have to see what steps he wants to take next. Plus even if for the audience it's just sex scenes, for him it's learning a genuine new skill on acting intimacy.

[random-thoughts-collection]

The Rings of Power: A brief look on Sauron

... and why Amazon's The Lord of the Rings series just isn't working for me.

There is a lot to be said about badly written dialogue, missing character moments, shallow mysteries and illogical actions. But I want to shine a light on the issues of the show by focusing on the character of Sauron in the first season.

[spoiler warnings]

Sauron's introduction

We as the audience first hear of Sauron when Galadriel tells us about him in the prologue of episode 1. He is briefly shown in his dark-lord-look, and that's officially all we see of him for a while.

Without knowing (theoretically), we meet him again in episode 2 under the name of Halbrand, when Galadriel coincidentally comes across his path in the middle of the ocean. He saves Galadriel from drowning, the two get picked up by the Númenoréan ship, and eventually the reach Númenor. Halbrand gives the impression to be happy there, and he wants to stay and start a new life, leaving his dark past behind. Galadriel however convinces him that he should join her on her quest to Middle-earth. Halbrand eventually agrees, so they end up fighting against the Orcs in soon-to-be-renamed-into-Mordor, and witness the erruption of the Orodruin. In the aftermath, Halbrand is hurt and Galadriel takes him to Eregion for healing. There he assists Celebrimbor a bit with the issue of combining mithril with gold and silver in order to create powerful Rings. Galadriel then realises that he is Sauron, and when confronted about it he offers her to rule together with him over Middle-earth, but in a "good" way. She refuses, and Sauron threatens her and leaves.

In this story the showrunners have hidden two possible arcs for Sauron as a character, but both possible interpretations contradict each other. But because both appear at different times, they also hinder each other in consistency, and as a result the character of Sauron falls apart.

The Redemption Arc

"And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven... That I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin."

Sauron being haunted by his past – allegedly.

One version of Sauron's story goes like this: he truly regrets what he did in the past, and is now trying to get away from it. This is who Halbrand seems to be and what he presents to Galadriel: someone burdened by the past, with a real fear that he can never be forgiven for his crimes.

This version of Sauron truly hides who he is because he is an enemy to everyone. In this version he really wants to stay on Númenor because he believes in a new and simple beginning. His hesitance when Galadriel tells him to join her is real, as is the scene where he first puts the crest down on the table, before he changes his mind and grabs it.

And when Galadriel eventually tells him "Whatever it was he did to you, and whatever it was you did... Be free of it", it really means something to him. In this arc, her encouragement lets him believe he really has something to contribute to the world, to right his wrongs. It's why he offers Galadriel a place at his side.

Sauron hoping for redemption – allegedly.

And this Sauron, with his fragile ego, imediately falls back into old habits and turns dark again when Galadriel turns him down. With his repentance rejected, he starts to resent Galadriel, and the chance for redemption is lost.

In this version of Sauron's story, none of the events have been planned by Sauron. He is relucant and only gets involved because Galadriel involves him in this again and again. In this version what he says about himself and what he presents to everyone as Halbrand is honest.

The Master Manipulator Arc

"In an instance like this, it seems to me that you'd do well to identify what it is that your opponent most fears. [...] Give them a means of mastering it. So that you can master them."

Sauron having a good time.

The other version is a very different story: in this, there are no coincidences. In this version, Sauron manipulates everyone in a way that will eventually lead towards his goals, whatever they may be.

So it's not by chance then that Galadriel crosses his path in the middle of the ocean. Getting to Númenor is also part of the calculation, and on Númenor he gently directs Galadriel in a way that she can win the queen's favour. He pretends to regret things in his past and to stay on Númenor (and maybe at first he wants to in order to then corrupt the Númenóreans), but he will eventually agree to come with Galadriel to Middle-earth.

Adar may or may not be part of his plan, but he certainly doesn't mind his actions. The wound Halbrand-Sauron has after the erruption of the volcano could even be self-inflicted, to convince Galadriel that she has to take him to Eregion. How much is planned when it comes to Eregion is hard to say, because we have no real knowledge about the origin of the tree darkening. In any case, Sauron takes the opportunities as they present themselves, and uses them to his advantages – he gains influence over Celebrimbor, and has some part in the creation of his rings.

Sauron returning to the dark land that apparently came to be without his help.

In this version, Sauron's words are mostly manipulation, not honesty. If he is implementing his plans, he has to use the people around him and has to deceive them to get them to where he wants them to be.

This version of the story is more difficult to see, because the manipulation – by nature – cannot be as obvious as what he pretends to be. But we see it in the advice he gives Galadriel in the cell about mastering the fears of others. And it's most prominent in his reaction to Galadriel figuring out who he is – he is not scared of being "cast out" as he seemed in Númenor. And although he still gets angry when Galadriel rejects his offer, in this story the reason is rather because she rejects his vision, not his chance for redemption.

The Atoner vs The Liar

These two character arcs are different interpretations of the same story. Both are possible, and at first this sounds like a fascinating situation: a character that could go either way, presenting many different options on how the story could continue.

And they truly can't be mixed: the whole point of Sauron's atoner arc is that he is honest, and for the liar arc the opposite is the case. Atoner-Sauron cannot plan anything in advance, because he has to go through an emotional journey – only slowly and thanks to Galadriel he develops the belief that he can do good in Middle-earth by ruling it. Liar-Sauron already has the aim to rule Middle-earth, he just has to move forward slowly and carefully to get what he wants.

For now the season doesn't give a definite answer on what version the correct one is, but most likely it will be revealed in a later season.

Sauron simply walking into Mordor.

So, what's the problem with either of these versions? I feel like they try to aim for both versions at the same time, and this just doesn't work.

Sauron as The Atoner fails to be a calculating, powerful villain. This Sauron has just been hiding, and hasn't really done anything and so far hasn't been much of a threat.

The creation of Mordor happened because of Adar and the Orcs, and Sauron had no hand in it.

The creation of the first Rings of Power wasn't part of his plan either, and anything he later does with the One Ring in regards to them is purely coincidence – it couldn't have been planned, because Sauron never intended for the Elves to create the rings.

His reaction on seeing Adar – if it's an honest reation – makes it seem like Adar was indeed able to hurt Sauron in a serious way. This weakens Sauron even further.

Sauron's attempt at redemption is given up too quickly. His change back to the dark side after this only seems to come from the rejection of a woman, which is a weak motive for the Dark Lord in Middle-earth.

Another important point to consider is the reduced timeline: if Sauron has been honest and "harmless" so far, his rise and fall as a Dark Lord won't last long – anyone who has read the books or seen Peter Jackson's movies knows that the players to end his reign are already in place.

And of course, this honest Sauron would not be the deceiver as the showrunners have described him in their interviews.

Furthermore, in the case of Sauron as The Atoner, Galadriel is indeed the one who has rejected his plea for redemption. This is not a storytelling-issue in itself, but has huge implications for her character and everything that follows in this Age and the following one. It irrevocably sorts her into a group with the likes of Túrin Turambar, and not a group with people like Gandalf, Faramir, Aragorn or Frodo.

Sauron as The Liar creates a character that doesn't exist. While Halbrand would be a character that Sauron has made up in order to fool everybody, her also told a story to the audience that wouldn't actually matter. The man lost at sea, the man with the dark past regretting his crimes, the man hoping for redemption – in this version there is no origin story here, not as the showrunners intended.

If we are supposed to believe that he has planned many things in advance, and has deceived everyone to further his own goals, then his strategy still depends on many many coincidences and contrivances:

Meeting Galadriel: he coldn't have known that Galadriel would jump from her ship.

Galadriel's demands in Númenor: he couldn't have planned for Galadriel to realise what the mark means and where it's located

Galadriel declaring him King of the Southlands: he also couldn't have planned for Galadriel to decide that his sigil meant he was King of the Southland, and that she wanted him to come back to Middle-earth.

While he could have had his hands in the erruption of Orodruin and could have faked his wound, he couldn't be certain that Galadriel would take him to Eregion on a ride that should have killed every actual mortal being.

Sauron hardly could have forseen the Elves getting mithril from the Dwarves to forge Rings. What happened in Eregion would have been mostly luck on Sauron's part.

In addition, any second attempt to get back to Númenor later on would hardly be an accomplishment – he had been there before after all, and hasn't used that chance.

Conclusion

Real of fake emotion? Was Adar part of Sauron's plan or not? Was he really able to hurt Sauron?

By trying to present Sauron mostly as the Atoner, the show failed to build up the foundations of Sauron as a threat. He hasn't created Mordor, nor were the Rings of Power his idea.

With the lack of focus on a manipulation arc for Sauron, any interpretation of this season in the light of Sauron the Liar struggles to be convincing because too many events in this plotline are purely coincidence. The fact that Sauron had been to Númenor already and that the rings can't have been part of his plan will most likely be a weakness in the storytelling of later seasons.

As so often with this show they may have had some good intentions here – but the execution was not convincing.

[nakedmonkey]

127 Beth and Rhea

“you’re insane.” - “people keep telling me that.”

So she's done it. She's told Rhea the truth. Everything. How she knows Rio, how it all started, and it's been...well, Beth would check her watch but she doesn't imagine that Rhea would react well to that right now, judging by the look on her face, and the general vibe of the scene, but it's been at least several minutes since she stopped talking and Rhea--well, Rhea is yet to say a word back.

They're sitting on Rhea's stoop at half past midnight because Beth had a drink and was feeling lonely and annoyed by the men in her life, and couldn't stop thinking about her and the look on her face the last time they saw each other. Couldn't stop thinking about how she felt. How badly she wished, in that second, that she'd done things differently. It's just that, she didn't expect this part. The part where she develops feelings for his kind-of-partner in literal crime's ex. Yeah, that part really came out of left field. Beth tells Rhea as much. She tells her that she was sitting in her living room with half a drink in her hand and that the feeling of missing her just didn't fit in her chest anymore and she had to come see her and explain.

Well.

It seemed like a good plan at the time.

Now, Beth wrings her hands and waits. It's the most painful stretch of time before she feels Rhea's eyes on her and she turns to meet her blank stare.

"You're insane," Rhea says. And Beth can't tell if it's an accusation, a compliment or what. She feels the corner of her mouth turn up anyway and she shrugs a little.

"People keep telling me that."

Rhea smiles at that and Beth exhales a quiet laugh, resisting the urge to reach out and...what? Touch her hand, offer a hug, or kiss her, maybe? She doesn't know, but she feels the energy reverberate through her like static.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," she adds. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to hear it from me, because..."

She trails off. She wont' tell her she doesn't trust Rio to not paint her in the worst light possible given the chance, but it's hanging in the air. She sees it register in Rhea's expression, the way it softens just enough.

"I like you, too."

Rhea's voice sounds earnest with underlining regret, and while that stings, Beth doesn't blame her.

"But you don't trust me," she finishes for her and nods before getting up. "I'll go."

Beth starts toward the sidewalk, readying another apology before Rhea jumps to her feet and grabs hold of her elbow, pulling her back into a surprisingly sweet kiss that Beth had thought about but was definitely not expecting tonight. She exhales through her nose and melts into it, bringing her hand up to cradle Rhea's neck as she parts her lips, deepening the kiss for just a moment before they slowly part.

Rhea's eyes are hard when she says, "This doesn't mean I trust you."

Beth nods.

"But you're welcome to keep trying."

Beth laughs as Rhea takes a step back, just out of reach.

"I will," Beth says, watching Rhea reach her door, where she stops and looks back.

"Marcus has been asking about Jane. Maybe we can schedule a playdate."

Beth nods.

"Definitely."

"Be good until then," Rhea says, pushing her front door open, and Beth's smile widens.

"I'll try."

[angelicsentinel]

Unsure if you're still interested in sharing WIP snippets, but if you are - I love your fic Candy and Gin. I know there's the implication of an eventual chapter two. Do you have anything from that work in progress you'd want to post?

I'll share my work almost anytime I'm asked. It's more than an implication, it's about half done. ~1500 of 3000 words. I keep this blog sfw, and most of what I have written down is Shiho's and Shinichi's love scene, but I can share some.

Reminder it's a first draft and incredibly rough. The block is in the first scenes; it has to cover the salient points of canon and build to the ShinShi ending. That transition is easy enough, but for characterization purposes I do have to go over some canon for it to work, and that's the part I'm dreading, so. Enjoy (?)

-

Candy and Gin, 002

The thing of it is, Shiho likes the pain. It's a reminder not to let her guard down. She guards it closely, keeps it tight and near and dear to her heart. 

She knows what happens when she stops thinking of it. The evidence lies in the kamidana in the Professor’s basement, a small urn of ashes next to sticks of incense, an infinitesimal space she keeps for herself and for her sister. 

(her parents are gone; she left them behind, only able to take herself. She’s an ocean of regrets, but what’s one more black line in her blood ledger?)

It is good to have it present in her line of sight while she works; she might forget otherwise. 

And it’s dangerous to forget. But it’s happening more and more. It’s all too easy to lose herself with the children. Such bright little souls, with their petty joys and petty cruelties. She’s not that innocent. She never was, not even at their age. She was nothing but a poison, left to steep and grow bitter and deadly. At that age, more from instinct than conscious choice, she decided to keep herself frozen—a glacier, cold and contained. 

But no matter how cold she is, they still surround her, agonizing in their warmth, melting her ice-cold heart bit by bit.

The cold is there to keep the poison away, the part of her that kills and kills and kills again, insidious and deadly. But they are the embers on the fire in the dead of winter, and her icy heart melts and melts and melts. 

But they pale in comparison to him. 

If Gin is cool, unyielding metal, a silver alloy of fear and pain, then Kudō is fire, hot enough to burn her alive, spreading from the inside out.

But warm and comforting at a distance, and it is this distance Ai keeps. But he shines bright like the bare sun, almost too much to watch directly, and yet Ai finds herself unable to look away.

When his hand rests in hers, it's ephemeral light.

This light too, she could kill with just a word. But she wants. Oh, how she wants, with a strength she never had, with an intensity she thought was long dead with her parents. 

Shiho fights to keep herself frozen, but the ice cracks, and her love leaks through the dam of her heart. 

But she still has enough sense to keep it hidden. Luckily for her, genius though he is, he’s always been an idiot in matters of the heart, and so her poison will not spread today.

-

The parting is surprisingly amicable.

To see them fail is to see her own hopes crash. If those two, the ones she sees as the pinnacle of romance can’t remain together, where does that leave her? What chance can she possibly have to find her own happiness? None, that’s what. 

(even if a traitorous part of her heart yearns at this unexpected chance)

-

Kudō has her caged against the wall and her heart is racing, but not from fear. She marvels at the deep abyss inside his blue eyes, how different this feels from Gin’s embrace. His grip on her wrist is tight but doesn’t hurt. His shoulders, while broad, are not the vast imposing expanse of Gin’s, and they radiate heat. The warmth of him is so enticing she nearly breaks there. 

(but she can’t, she can’t, no matter how—no, it’s unbearable, she can’t) 

And his face is so soft; his eyes, so unbearably fond. He’s chewing his lip, belying his confident words. 

She could kill him with one word. ‘No’ would undoubtedly do it. He would respect it, and never ask again.

The power in that word is heady. She wants to do it. She wants to destroy him as easily as he could destroy her. 

Shiho licks her lips. The part of her that yearns for him can’t do it. But she still cannot speak. So instead, she slips her hand into his shirt, curling against the small of his back, bringing him close. 

His hand slips under her blouse in exchange, and he pins her against the wall with his body weight. Far from being oppressive, it’s enticing, and it is that feeling that drives her to close the distance between them and kiss him. 

[blondiest]

🥺🛒✨⛔️💖👀?

omg okay I don't know how to do submissions so Hopefully I'm doing this right @lunasink

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Idk if this counts as a moment or interaction type, but a dynamic I deeply deeply love is exes. Writing don't say yes, run away now was so, so fun because there's that built in history that kind of creates a sense of yearning without having to really build up a previous relationship explicitly in the text.

this is another one that is probably inspired from real life too bc i've gotten back together with literally every ex i've ever had, at least briefly 🫣

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

This is a tough one bc I know there are some very common ones but I'm struggling to pin them at the moment... I really like intense emotions— guilt, love, regret, fear, affection, etc. I don't actually know if I go heavy on imagery to be honest— maybe sky descriptions? I tend to keep a lot of environmental descriptions pretty brief tbh. I also really like the mundane moments in life— laundry, food, studying, driving, etc. Also, for kissing scenes, talking against each other's skin and light biting are favorite descriptions lol

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

Whew take 3 now I think, uh— I've gotten pretty good at laying out what I want a plot to look like! Genuinely I'm actually shocked that I have a 50k word fic bc that genuinely, truly felt impossible to me before I started writing for hellcheer.

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Oh God, so many. I keep a collection of fic ideas, some of which are pretty fleshed out and some of which are very, very short notes, and the vast majority of them never see the light of day. Actually, voted most likely is a repurposing of a fic idea I had in 2021 for a different ship, one that never got finished. One really early fic I thought of— I think even before I started putting out call it what you want— was a concept in which fem!eddie and chrissy meet in mandatory school group counseling bc both their mothers have recently passed away.

💖 What made you start writing?

Answered this one here 🥰 but tldr: couldn't find what I was looking to read ❣️

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Okay, so— wlw hellcheer is the main thing on my mind at the moment for whatever reason (aside from voted most likely, which I'm steadily working on still!!). In particular, the one I posted a little of earlier is compelling me— I'm picturing Chrissy coming back from her first year of college, having dumped Jason months ago and trying to spend as much time outside of her house as possible to avoid her mother. She's working as a lifeguard at the local pool and spending time with her closest friend Naomi from high school, but when Naomi goes out of town for several weeks to visit family, Chrissy one night resorts to just spending the entirety of her evening after work in the library. She doesn't have a car, and doesn't want to call her mom, so she just starts walking home, but then runs into none other than Eddie Munson, the girl she tutored in senior year. Obviously they hit it off and start spending a frankly ridiculous amount of time together; then, one day, while they're smoking, Chrissy kisses Eddie. What follows is a whirlwind summer romance with an expiration date of the end of August, when Chrissy is due to move back to college. Or IS there an expiration date... 🤔

Thank you for the ask!! 🥰❣️

[from-dre]

The Feature Presentation

As vital a moment as it was, the last-minute coughing fits and readjusting of strange bodies in creaky seats would still happen, every time, without fail. The lights would dim, our minds as well. Automated unseen machines roped in the cheap velour curtains to the sides of the now-wider screen. Though it had every last pair of eyes in the theater glued to it like cement—mine included—I now retrospectively wonder to myself, how of all the inanimate objects in the known universe; the immeasurable amount of toys, towels, shoes, and large plastic Starbucks straws, how among the zillions of products one’s mind can imagine, the simple concept of the screen deserves humanization more than any other.

Personifying a screen—more specifically, a theater screen—should be easier than it sounds, and make more sense than it does. Had it only known how many different pairs of strangers’ eyes it’d attract over its lonely lifetime, maybe it would’ve fought harder. To be fair, it did fight. Unknowingly, it fought incredibly hard for its well-deserved attention, many times. A canvas, however, has no say in what color its artist chooses to splatter across its blank slate. It must sit there with a silent smile and accept the work at hand, regardless of personal taste or opinion. Realistically, a giant roll of white vinyl offers up no critique whatsoever, so our own are then perhaps, projected onto its face, shoving for space between mindless dialogue and senseless explosions. The screen—assuming it could—would probably try to hear your thoughts, most likely agree with you that, “Yes, the original was much better.” Though, it cannot and will never possess that humanistic trait, to cease communicating others’ thoughts and ideas and begin belting out its own logic, love stories, and musings. Heart-wrenchingly, the mere ability to possess a skill doesn’t promise it ever being put to good use. A million human beings are thinking the exact same thing right at this very second, and because they know this very fact, will continue to do so, simply because a million different independent minds can’t be wrong. However, how many of them are projecting organic ideas and not merely playing the quiet canvas, sitting idly by, allowing and even encouraging some artist to splotch away at their unique mental-prints. How many of them don’t realize they can be their own artist?

What you aggressively allow no other person to see, the screen takes all in. It devours the tiny details that may have never crossed your own mind. The boy’s shaking arm slowly reaching around the back of the girl’s seat but stopping just short of full-contact, palm-to-foreign-shoulder. The man who’s been fidgeting since he sat down, one moment a ring on his finger, the next, after reaching into his coat pocket, gone. The woman in the next seat over seems to be enjoying herself, as well as having a bare finger all night, not noticing the man’s inability to decide whether he should be here at all.

I’m no different. It’s looked back at me many times before. It’s peered into my wistful eyes, themselves peering at a seemingly safe object. Through them, it’s seen my soul and read every line in my subconscious library of secrets and regrets. I imagine some of the more bold-faced phrases included such gems as: “Do I really love her?”

Its method is absolutely genius. There are lovers embracing on its widened-face, having just gone through an experience that nearly killed off any possible future of them reuniting again, and yet, here they are, on high-definition display for the world to witness. Most sets of eyes are at the very least glazed-over, mine are not only dry, but rolling as well. The screen sees this. It processes it with remorse. It doesn’t want to see that much cynicism radiating from a single person, no matter how corny the scene may be. Perhaps it’s not of two newly-weds at all, and instead shows a short transitional scene of a not-so-happy average person pulling into a parking stall at their not-so- spectacular job. A ritual they’ve performed for many years and will continue on with for many years to still come. Maybe the movie’s supposed to be a comedy. So why is this unimportant scene making me unconsciously tear up? The screen knows, even if I never will.

It’s witnessed my upbringing. It’s been there for my maturation, regression, ups and downs. First dates, excitement for sequels, anxiety-filled precursors to a talk I’ll have to eventually have tonight with a girl who’ll be completely blindsided—the screen’s been there through it all. At sixteen, it saw my blood-shot eyes and unusually stiff demeanor, correctly deducing just how paranoid a few hits off of a water-bong earlier in the day can make an amateur like myself. At eighteen, it saw my date do things no person should ever feel comfortable doing at a midday-showing of Kangaroo Jack. At twenty-two, it saw my expressionless face in vividness it probably wishes it could forget. In hopeless attempts to do exactly what it was built for and distract me from whatever seemed to be weighing on my frontal lobe, it filled its face with bright colors, state-of-the-art visuals, and swirls of different worlds, realities, and lives—to no avail. It’s been beaten down by the very kids who’d come running down its halls, shouting in excitement and picking out favorite seats in front-row sections that parents hated. Those kids grew up into cynics who aren’t impressed by loud, booming noises and superhero costumes like they once were. Fair enough, maybe indie dramas and underground horror festivals? It still comes up short. At least, it did with me. I wish I could look it in its face with pure honesty, at some point before the pre-show or maybe after the credits. Those handful of minutes in- between the very end of the last show and long before the next one’s start-time. I wish I could stare into its dark abyss, let my eyes relax and let the center of itself envelope my thoughts so I could tell it how much it deserves.

“You have always been here for me!” I’d admit. “I do lose myself in your stories!” I don’t say anything though, I don’t even think about it, because the alternate realities I’ve become accustomed to seeing up there is exactly the reason for my disenchantment now, and why it’s nearly impossible for my being swept away at twenty-seven like I was at seventeen, at twelve, and at nine. Much like walking out into the sun after hearing a sermon that sounds like its got your name written all over it, and with even a thousand other people in the congregation, the pastor’s speaking directly to you, the first time walking out of a first-viewing of Jurassic Park, Inception, or Lord of the Rings feels like bathing in a warm, bright, shimmering enlightenment. I envy those who have yet to see those classics and others, as you only get one “first time.” The sermon stays with you for a while, maybe only until you reach your car, but the radio comes back on at some point, doesn’t it? Or a text reminds you of something you’d been intentionally putting off for a while now. One way or another, the sun too, sets and goes away and the cold night air reminds you that while fantasies are fun in temporary doses, reality will ultimately creep back in and cause the dreamers heartache. It will thread its sickness into their mental fabric, and unable to catch it in time, they’ll wake up one day and realize that those are just as they’d feared—dreams, and that the screen is just a screen, that a canvas is and can only ever be a canvas, whether it’s blank or bragging about the Picasso it holds. A canvas could never change the world, likewise, the screen sits alone, late, after midnight when the house lights are all shut off and the pitch black darkness reminds it of just how lonely it truly is. It has the widest and loudest-heard voice, but cannot speak. It’s looked at in awe and wonder by the youth, the magic-drained, dreamless “average guys” of tomorrow. In the darkness though, it sits alone and wonders, if through all the eyes it’d captivated, there wasn’t one pair that would take what it’d just experienced back home, and keep it sheltered, safe from the overreaching sadness of the outside world? If even when they’d age too, like the rest, wouldn’t they still look back to it with the same awe and respect and pure imaginative stare that they’d once had? Maybe today was it. Maybe it was finally the day where it got through to the one mind it needed to. Not with the story it was forced to show, of course, but with the mere fact that it was showing a story at all. Maybe its dialogue was forced, or its car-chases didn’t make logical sense, or its two lovers were never guaranteed a perfect future together so the ending was filled with ambiguity, but—it’s a story. It’s a beautiful, perfect story, because, it’s ours. It may be a hollow copy with little heart, but even those are based on greater, larger possibilities. Those are our lives up there, on the big, shiny, silver screen.

For the moment, I may not be so easily swayed to believe in them again. I, however, still show up, with varying degrees of consistency, but I still show up and find a seat and wait for the lights to dim and the velour curtains to pull back so that I can see my friend again. Depending on what it’s got for its theater tonight, the screen may or may not get the respect it deserves. Attention, however, is a non- issue. For the next two hours, it owns us, will captivate us and try as hard as it can to make us believe in bigger, brighter futures again. Of greater, larger possibilities. It’ll watch us as we watch it. It’ll notice all the small nothings we’d never look twice at. It’ll speak to couples on the verge of divorce the only way it can—not through its immediate art, but instead, the collectiveness of its art. At some point in their relationship, the screen played a vital role, its only goal tonight is to merely nudge them in reminder of it. So I sit and wait, knowing the feature presentation isn’t far off now. Knowing that everything that’s come before it are previews. Knowing I’m not here for those stories, even if I have to sit through them momentarily. Knowing the story I’m here to see is something completely different, perfectly specific and something I’ve waited an agonizingly long time for. I look up at the screen and though I may or may have never seen this unique screen tell a story before, I know it recognizes me, like it does everyone else in the theater. The screen is all of them at once, showing thousands of different stories at the same time. Alternate realities. I inhale a deep breath and feel strangely comfortable, like I’m at home. I’m just realizing how much I envy the screen’s strength, to know how powerful its canvas can be, yet to never be able to have organic, original thought displayed. I’m just realizing that if it could, it would pick my body up and shake me into the understanding that I have the ability to do what it will never be able to. I’m just realizing how thankful I am to it when the lights begin to dim. Someone coughs a few rows back and a smile stretches across my darkened face. Maybe I’m becoming the screen myself.