#BASHES A MAN’S SKULL IN WITH A ROCK

[cedar-scars]

average white dude comedian, probably mid-30s: “oh yeah! Everything nowadays is about inclusivity !!! people of color right? shoutout to all the purple people!”

my honest reaction:

[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 -  A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity? 

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it. 

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief. 

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it. 

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket. 

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating. 

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

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

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more. 

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!” 

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident. 

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?” 

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them. 

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier). 

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently. 

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm. 

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient. 

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 31 - Asking for Help

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Aragorn hits his head and has no choice but to ask the nearest person for help.

Warnings/Notes: I'M DONE! WHUMPTOBER COMPLETED HELL YEAHHHH

Word Count: 1356

 Aragorn had never been the best at taking care of himself. Ever. It was always ‘make sure everyone else is alright,’ then tend to his own wounds. More often than not this ended up with him in a worse situation than before; see: ignoring injuries until they get infected, nearly bleeding to death, and about 25 other accounts.

  That was the case once more.

  He didn’t remember hitting his head too hard in the skirmish in the woods… but apparently he had. He’d been flanked by orcs unexpectedly and upon realizing there was no way he could kill them all, took the risk and jumped into the river.

  Perhaps it was there that he hit his head. The water was ferocious, fighting to keep him like quick sand and nearly drowning him in the rough rapids. He would’ve likely drowned had he not managed to kick off a rock and float to shore, but he was rather woozy at the time and still couldn’t recall the exact details.

  All he knew was that he woke up, drenched and cold, on the shore of… somewhere he couldn’t quite recognize.

  The rocks beneath his bleeding head were a foul pillow to his aching body. He felt frozen to the bone, limbs jolting with shivers. He tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of dizziness so he lowered himself back onto the ground with a grunt. He must’ve hit his head harder than he thought.

  It took a few moments of contemplation, and a lot of pain, but eventually Aragorn managed to sit up. His world spun even faster and he squeezed his eyes shut, lifting a hand to his forehead. It came away slightly stained with blood.

  Eventually Aragorn managed to stand. He was already not the most precise walker due to various wounds to his ankles and legs over the years, but now every step he took was uncalculated and clumsy. He’d be lucky if he made it a mile from the water before collapsing… but what other choice did he have?

  It was either wander in search of shelter and help, or give in and die. The latter wasn’t the most enticing, so he forced himself to walk despite the pain and dizziness. 

  Beneath him the ground changed from gravel and rocks to rough dirt and roots. He had to step carefully. It was a struggle, though. If it were not for the thick woods he was walking through and the stumps he caught himself on, he would be face down once more.

  After an hour or so of wandering Aragorn began to feel just… worse. The injury on his head was pounding as though someone was hammering a nail into his skull. It stopped bleeding long ago but during his trek he managed to stumble and bash it against a tree, starting the bleeding once more. His whole body felt warm, unnaturally warm against the chill of the coming night. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caught a fever in his weakened state but he tried not to think about it because there was nothing he could do.

  His stomach ached and his limbs felt almost too heavy to move. Every step was a struggle on his trembling legs. 

  Then, something came into view. A house of some sorts… a cabin or a cottage, tucked in a small clearing of the trees. Was he hallucinating? He had to have been. There was no way this sanctuary was so perfectly placed just at the end of his strength. A warm glow emanated from the windows, smoke billowing from the chimney. This had to have been a dream.

  With no other option left Aragorn decided to take the chance.

  You were sitting inside your home, tending the fireplace when there was a strange noise at the door. Some sort of a thumping sound, almost like a knock.

  You’d had quite a few strange visitors during your time in the woods, but nothing could have prepared you for this. When you opened the door, you found a half dead, half conscious man slumped at your feet. For a second you wondered if this was a joke but when you bent beside him, he groaned.

  “Help… please…” Aragorn whispered, voice raspy and hoarse. His eyes were closed and he was just barely hanging on. 

  You stared at him for a moment and in the split second he opened his eyes, he stared at you. And then he was gone, chest softly rising with breaths but whatever strength he had was utterly depleted.

  Aragorn woke up on another hard surface. For a minute he wondered if he dreamt it all and was still lying upon the shore. But it wasn’t rocks under his back… it was solid and flat. He reached a hand to touch it. Wood? 

  His eyes weakly fluttered open, then winced at the light. He felt warm, but no longer excruciatingly warm. It was a comfortable temperature. He was inside, on top of a table.

  There was a cold cloth draped over his forehead and a bandage overtop the deep gash. The smell of herbs was in the air, heavily. Where was he?

  “Hey, easy there.” You watched as he tried to sit up, knowing it was no use to try and keep him down. You planted a hand upon his back and eased him into a sitting position. “You’re okay.”

  Aragorn let out a weak groan as the world faintly spun around him, but it was nothing like before. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness and they fell upon you. He could faintly remember your face. “Who are you?”

  “Y/N.” You replied, taking the cloth from his head and dunking it into a cold bowl of water. Then you laid it across his brow once more, soaking up any escaping droplets with a towel. “Who are you?”

  “I am… Aragorn.” He hesitated on whether to refer to himself as Strider or not, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. 

  “Well, Aragorn, I’ll tell you now that I’ve never seen someone with a concussion fight so hard. You weren’t close to dying or anything, but you’re stubborn.”

  He let out a weak laugh at that. “Stubborn? I suppose that’s right…”

  “You were feverishly fighting me, not that you remember… that’s probably a good thing.” You tilted your head. “What happened to you? How in the world did you end up here?”

  Aragorn told you what he could remember of his story of the orcs and the river. It hadn’t occurred to him that you were only getting him to talk to distract him from the horrible pain of removing the bandage from his head, but he cried out when you pulled it off. He stared at you like a dog who was rejected a treat, wary and uneasy, but then settled back down. “Ow…” He rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t bleeding.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  You made a soft humming sound and stepped back, observing your work. The gash on his head had begun to heal pretty well for something so makeshift.

  “How does it look?” Aragorn asked hesitantly, a little embarrassed he had to rely on the help of a stranger, but thankful either way.

  You smiled. “Much better. You’ll be just fine with a little rest… as your medic, I cannot let you leave in this state, by the way. At least stay the night.” 

  Surprised, but not about to disagree, Aragorn returned your smile with one of his own. “If you wish.”

  He had a hearty bowl of stew and then took some medicine to help ease the dizziness, which was almost gone anyway. Afterwards you settled him down on the couch beneath a blanket and ordered him to sleep, claiming it would help him heal faster.

  Aragorn was in no position to argue, nor did he really want to. He was safe, warm, and had gotten the help he needed. It wasn’t often that he put his trust into strangers but you’d only given him reasons to do so, so he let himself drift off in your care.

[fourswords]

me, pacing erratically: see, the thing is, link from the original legend of zelda did not have a sword before he got one from the old man in the cave and yet he managed to defend impa from the monsters pre-game so skillfully that impa was legitimately impressed with him and pleaded with him to help defeat ganon in the first place. so how did he do it? how did a ten-year-old boy with no weapon manage to singlehandedly drive off a bunch of monsters from terrorizing an old woman? my answer: i think he used rocks. i think that boy was throwing rocks left and right and bashing them into their fucking skulls and whatnot. and just given that the intentions of the original legend of zelda games were ultimately to let the player fill in the blanks as they played the game and as the final battle with ganon was so simplistically done (because, again, much was left up to the players' imaginations) i think from a theoretical standpoint, if we are to imagine the final battle with ganon as it happened in-universe—that is to say, a ten-year-old boy with absolutely no formal weapons training other than "run through monsters with the sharp end" fighting against the monstrous king of darkness who can and does turn invisible during the course of the battle—would it not be a fun idea to assume, then, that at some point ganon could have knocked the sword out of his hands? that at some point during the battle this iteration of link could've just gone "fuck it we ball" and grabbed a rock and managed to wrap himself around ganon's head and just started bashing him with it? like the absolute fucking feral child he is? would it not be a fun idea to assume that instead of eventually shooting ganon with the silver arrow from afar he simply grabs it from his bag in the scuffle (wherein ganon is trying in vain to remove the Screaming Fucking Child from his general head area) and stabs it into one of his eyes while he's up there? would it not be fun? would it not set him apart from the other iterations of link in the way that the games he features in already DO as zelda lore has evolved over the last almost-forty years that more games have been released? we're talking about the version of link who, as the original manual says, mysteriously appears out of nowhere and disappears just as quickly after the events of zelda 1 (though clearly he does eventually return to hyrule as evidenced by the events of zelda 2). would it not suit him to match the general atmosphere of the original legend of zelda game and fight in a manner that speaks more of survival than fight in a way that imitates polished heroics like you would see from some sort of knight? would these hypothetical scenarios as to how the final battle with ganon could have gone down not add an infinite amount of characterization and flavor to an otherwise simplistic fight? does this not interest you?

you, tied to a chair in my basement: ggod pleas,,e,,, jsut let me go i want to see my fuckign family,,,,,,,

[neteyamslovrr]

WRONG TO WANT YOU - PT2

summary: ever since you stepped foot onto the land of his clan he couldn't help but feel drawn to you. everything about you he craved. but he couldn't have you. not while his son called you his.

contents: 1.8k words, fem!sullyreader, swearing, cheating, ooc ao'nung, very mean ao'nung, what a bitch man, cute wari, cute sully family

authors note: part 2!!!! i've been motivated to write so im taking advantage of this. this chap isn't wari heavy but it's JUICY (laughing evilly while typing this)

(reader is 21 and tonowari is around 40. when they came to the clan she was 20 so they've only been there a year!! all characters aged up)

previous / next

The ache in your head was outstanding. It was as if your brain was pounding and bashing against your own skull. The nauseous swirling in your stomach as your eyes slowly adjusted to the light shining through the crack of your marui’s entrance.

Sitting up, your sight was foggy. Rubbing your eyes with your fingers, the surroundings slowly moving into focus.

Wait. This marui…it is different. The space is larger… the decorations are nothing like you’d seen before. A feeling of fear welled in your stomach and sunk to your toes as you tried to remember the events from before.

Though as you turned to your right and noticed a softly snoring giant next to you, you let out a blood-curdling scream. Why were you in the chief’s bed? How drunk had you become. Oh no… nothing happened … did it?

Tonowari shot up in an instance, his heart racing and eyes blown wide in alert. “Are you hurt?” He asked concerned, eyes full of anxiety, then filling with realization… Ah last night.

“Why am I here?! Why am I in your bed? Did we fuck!? Oh great mother!” You were frantic, practically shaking as you’d instinctively held the blanket to your body, almost like a child cowering behind their mother.

“No. No! Let me explain, be calm please.” Tonowari had woken up abruptly, the consequences of his actions last night hitting him in the face, much too early in the morning. Yet, in all of this chaos, he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked when the morning sun bounced off your sapphire skin. How your hair splayed across your shoulders, delicate hands close to your heart, gripping tightly onto the weaved blanket he had made years ago. Years before his mind and thoughts were corrupted by you.

“I shouldn’t be here…” You shake your head trying to rid of the horrific scenarios of your drunken stupidity out of your head. How had you ended up in the bed of your ex-boyfriend’s father. The same man who you had shamelessly dreamt about every night. He was so much older yet, your youth was attracted to him. Like two magnets pulling each other close.

“Y/N. Listen just for a moment.” His pleading eyes stared into yours. Oh how could you deny such a man filled with sweetness. He was like sugar so sweet, so addicting.

A small nod gave Tonowari the clearance to inhale deeply and start to explain the situation. “You were drunk last night…and so was I.” This only made you panic more. Two drunken idiots, that are most definitely attracted to each other?

“Please let me finish.” Tonowari pleaded seeing your eyes filling with anxiety once again. He wanted to caress your cheek, force you to stare into his eyes as he told you it was all going to be okay. But how could he allow himself to give in to that urge? What type of man would that make him?

“I followed you towards some the rocks…I was afraid you would hurt yourself. You started to cry and wail about … my son.” He winced at the mention of the Ao’nung situation that had occurred leading you to this mess. You winced as well, the memory barely fading from your memory. It stung in your heart and scratched your insides…it hurt so much. “I comforted you and took you here to sleep for the night. I did not want you going home alone.”

You nodded still grasping the situation ahead of you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” It was incredibly embarrassing. The thought of him seeing you in such a wreck.

Tonowari frowned, a touch on your shoulder. He told himself it was friendly, but the way his fingers lit up with the feeling of your skin he couldn’t even kid himself. “Do not dare to apologize…the stupidity of my son is not something you should have ever had to endure. Y/N…I am sorry.”

He was so earnest. So honest. His words softly caressing your heart and making it flutter. Tears fought their way to well in your eyes. You refused to cry any more in front of your chief.

“Thankyou. But I should go. My family must be getting worried.” Why was your heart aching to stay, to once again cry in those huge, muscular arms. One last look at Tonowari, giving him a respectful bow as you stood up. His hand sliding off your shoulder, grazing the skin of your arm and waist.

He didn’t want you to go. If he could indulge in his greatest desires he’d keep you in his arm right in his marui, not a single soul interrupting the two of your time together. “Yes…you should. Goodbye Y/N.”

His voice was smooth yet rocky. It made no sense, but with an innocent yet yearning wave you exited the marui. Immediately speed walking towards your family’s marui for breakfast.

While you did have your own marui, you made it habit to go and eat your meals with your family. It was as if you made a heart-warming memory with them every time you sat on your woven mat and laughed with your family.

Walking into your marui your family was staring at you all each a different…an odd look on their faces. “What?” You said confused looking at them, mouth slightly agape as your younger brothers started to let out little chuckles.

“You look like a mess bro!” Lo’ak cackled out, slapping his knee in the process. Neytiri his flicking his shoulder.

“Lo’ak!”

“What?!” He pouted holding his inflicted shoulder, still chuckling every time he looked at you.

Did you look that terrible? Was it obvious you had gone too intense with the drinks? Did Tonowari think you looked terrible. Huh? Do not worry about him! You scolded yourself, refusing to let your shameful thoughts resurface in a time like this

“Sister you look slightly dishevelled that is all.” Kiri said calmly, but even she couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto her face. She tried to cover it up by eating more fruit, but her attempt was pointless.

“Hey! I do not look that bad.” A little stomp as you walked into the room, subconsciously patting down your hair.

“Yeah stop making fun of Y/N…she simply had a fun night” Neteyam giggled, even Lo’ak slapping his arm as they cracked up at the table.

Even Jake couldn’t hide his smile, the way his grown up daughter was now stomping her foot and complaining. It was just like back in the forest. Even Tuk laughed along, not like she understood of what her older siblings were referring to.

“What the- Neteyam!” A gasp left your mouth, what was this skxwang talking about. You were so going to kill him after breakfast.

“Sorry sis!” He snickered holding his hands up innocently. You simply rolled your eyes, and lightly smacked his head as you sat beside him. He gave you a tiny snarl as he continued to eat his food, and so did you. Filling your starving stomach with deliciously cooked breakfast

It was now late afternoon, the sky slowly darkening, as the calming waves rushed up just onto the tops of your feet. The water cold, but only enough to make you want to delve into the water more.

The scurrying of feet on the sand emerged from your side. Turning to investigate the sound…it was the last person you wanted to see.

Ao’nung.

Expression morphing into one of disgust, as he walked closer to you, you started to immediately get up to race away from him.

“Hey! Don’t go. C’mon Y/N! Let’s talk!” Ao’nung dragged his feet across the sand faster as he jogged up to you.

“No. Go away.” The words were cruel and stern, enough to make him rethink his decision to find and talk to you.

“Y/N! Come here for fuck’s sake! Stop being a brat!” Ao’nung had no right to be so cruel, especially when he was so deeply in the wrong.

Seething you turned swiftly marching towards him to lay a loud slap across his face. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” You hissed at him. Hand stinging from the impact.

“Did you just slap me?”

“Do you need another one? You cheating scum.” Ao’nung scoffed as he rested a tight grip on your shoulder. It was nothing like his fathers. No it was harsh and tight, there to inflict pain. Such a strong contrast to the tenderness of Tonowari’s touch.

“Get over it… c’mon Y/N it was just a mistake.” Ao’nung was lying through his teeth. He’d never admit it, but he loved every minute with that girl. Shit, he’d go back for seconds if he didn’t have girlfriend. But he’s a good boyfriend, so he won’t.

“the only mistake was trusting you.” Rage was coursing through your body. How dare he come up to you and speak with you like this as if he had not, disrespected your union and broken apart your heart.

“C’mon Y/N, is this a forest thing? Being such a bitch?” Ao’nung chuckled you, he knew everything to get right and comfortable under your skin. He had his signature smirk on his face, a shit eating grin, begging for another slap.

“Is it a reef thing? To be such a disrespectful, immature, unlovable piece of filth?” Floored. You had floored him with your words.

He had never been hit with such words of disrespect. His mouth hung open, shocked at each syllable that had the nerve to exit your mouth.

“Are you seriously calling me unlovable?” The look in his eye was evil, a glint of pure rage seething through him as his tail lashed and thumped on the ground.

You nodded, trying to not be intimidated by his towering stance.

“You were lucky that I ever gave you a chance. Freak. How could you ever think you were ever worth enough to be worthy to the reef? Even the great mother abandoned you. Nature is not on your side, and nor is love. You are a freak, a demon.”

Your heart shattered. To think he would use such low insults on you. As if you hadn’t spent night crying in his arms about you feeling so out of place, so out of luck. And he had turned your vulnerabilities into daggers back to stab you in the back.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Biting your lip, sucking in the sob that desperately begged to come out.

“did you ever love me?” I ask softly, trying to keep the shakes out of my voice, blinking away the tears.

“Who cares. I don’t now.” And those words were like a slap against your face, lashing you to a harsh reality as you whimpered.

In the long run. You wondered how you ever thought you could be loveable. You weren’t in the forest, and neither were you in the reef. And now as you seethed and tried not to sob. All emotions took over, no logic whatsoever occurring in your mind.

“Your father does.” As soon as it rolled off your tongue you wanted to suck it back in. Shit, Fuck, shit. You should not of uttered a single word.

“what.”

tell me what you think!! what's going to happen next? reblogs and replies super duper appreciated

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[silicon-puppy-pudding]

Danny totally kills the Joker

I have a very specific Eldritch!Danny in my head that, even though I've tried drawing before, I can't really get out of my head if you get what I mean

And as a dead on main shipper and a lover of angst I have him do shit that causes problems

Like kill the Joker in a blind rage after an Arkham break out

So it's like this, after a breakout that obviously requires all hands on deck, everyone is eventually re-cuffed and put back in their cells (including the Joker).

Red Hood and Phantom are doing some clean up in the Narrows and it's hard on them. Seeing some kids whose parents died cuz of the clown nearly broke Hood.

Phantom, now well known as Hood's right hand, picks up some of the burden. Helping more then he normally does with some displaced kids and families cuz he can feel Hood breaking down.

It hurts..

After the night/day/whatever is over, they head back home to their appartment and Jason just breaks. Danny's been helping with the pit rage so without all the extra anger crowding him it just sort of crumbles into pain and hurt.

Danny can't stand it

He can't stand to see Jason like this

Jason was his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his partner in crime. He had always been there for Danny when he had panic attacks and couldn't breathe cuz he saw some guy walking down the street in a white suit. Was always telling him it was going to be okay. Had told him things were gonna be alright. And now the roles had switched. Danny comforted Jason for who knows how long. Held him tight till he calmed down and was able to fall asleep. Once Danny was sure Jason would be okay he slipped out of the appartment...

Phantom would not stand for this.

Phantom flew over to Arkham with the intent to "have a little chat" with the Joker. Just ruf him up a bit. Scare him shitless so he'd rethink ever braking out again.

He didn't mean to bash the guys skull in.

He didn't even realize he'd been beating a flattened pound of meat and skull till Batman showed up and pulled him from his mind.

He looked over to where he'd heard his name and saw Batman and Nightwing standing by the door of the cell. Both were wrapped in bandages, some obviously stained in blood from the damage they endured during the breakout.

Dick covered his mouth and stared in horror at the sight of Danny, who he'd been lovingly calling his future brother-in-law for the past 2 months, covered in the Jokers blood. He looked like a staticky, distorted shadow. Three(3) sets of arm all ending with white clawed hands; one pair around the Jokers barely intact neck, another clutching the inmate uniforms chest, the last frozen mid punch. Bruce, having just the slightest ecto-connection from the pit, fought off the screaming in his chest to run and leave the King be.

Bruce slowly approached Phantom. Phantom on the other hand, slowly realized what he'd just done and was starting to panic.

He'd just killed a man

Sure he fucking deserved it but he just....let himself go. Let himself indulge in his rage, be consumed by it. And now the Batman was here to stop him. Would he send him back to the Realms? Would he lock him up, away from anyone he could hurt? Away from Jason?

Phantom flinches when Bruce touches his shoulder. And continues to try and back away when Bruce calls for someone to get a hold of Jason on the coms. What's he doing? Isn't he going to be thrown into a cell? He's dangerous! He could do this again if he wasn't dealt with! Why is Bruce calling for Jason? Does he want to show him the monster he let into his life? Does he want Jason to be the one to do it?

Bruce is talking.

Not Batman, but Bruce, is saying something to him, his name.

Not Phantom

"Danny? Danny!?"

Phantom disappears and isn't seen for two(2) days

Nightwing is the one to find him. In some warehouse, slamming his head into a support beam, yelling at himself that he can't become Dan.

I don't know how to continue this. It was supposed to have a nice hurt/comfort ending but I'm not a fic writer and I don't know how to do that. So feel free to use this as a prompt or something 👻👉🏾👈🏾

Edit: figured I'd add one of the Danny doodles I did a while back cuz it fits. I already posted it a while ago but it feels appropriate here too.

[bassdaily]

i have a headcanon where the reason Bass is constantly trying to fight and defeat Megaman is because she is actually a tomboy girlfaliure who can't express her emotions in a healthy way.

To be fair, the reason Bass is constantly trying to fight and defeat Mega Man is because "failure who can't express emotions in a healthy way" is actually canon.

He's a pretty typical edgy shounen rival, being a girl would add some interesting flavor and depth. "Angry Kid who keeps bashing their head against the wall in a fight they'll never win because they're a born loser but are too hopelessly stubborn to ever quit" hits a little different when that angry kid is a macho chick trying to prove that she's just as capable as any [mega] man. The daddy issues transcend gender, the personality and character traits work equally well either way, the fact Bass is overpowered (as a playable character) but always loses to Mega Man (as a game boss) same... but the vibe changes when she's the only daughter in the villains' skull-shaped lair, trying to out compete her two hundred brothers.

What motivated Dr. Wily to make his knockoff Mega Man a girl? Is this public knowledge, and if not, does Rock know? Did things go left when she manipulated her way into Light Labs to steal plans for Wily and realized that if Dr. Light tried to do any repairs he'd find out How does Bass herself feel about any of this, or is she oblivious to anything gender identity related, since her only concern is "who is the strongest"?

(I like the idea. But it is of utmost importance to me that any version of girl!Bass- whether she was built that way or transitioned at some point- looks and acts exactly the same. That chest armor works just fine, no sculpted tiddy armor please.)

On a related note, when MMX and MM7 came out in the early '90's, and quite a few people mistook Zero as a lady. Mostly because of the hair, but the boob lights did not help. I always thought Zero would've been a more interesting character that way.

[billycorn]

Patchwork: Chapter 6 - Glorious Combat!

An Explorers of Sky au following the Hero is Darkrai theory, but after the events at Temporal Tower Darkrai returns to Treasure Town in an effort to prevent his inevitable corruption. Read Previous Chapter Here!

//

Buia was gone. While Jasper got his tears under control (which, thankfully, hadn't taken very long), she laid out a blanket and some snacks, and left. She'd said something too, but he couldn't quite hear it.

Jasper was glad she was gone; he couldn't bear to see anyone he knew right now. His mind felt gross, like each thought was wading through a tepid bog. So, he leapt from the cliff, catching the winds and soaring away, leaving the blanket neatly folded, and the snacks untouched.

Gliding high above the ocean, Jasper watched the sunlight dance across the water. A pod of Finizen and Palafin were playing in the waves.

Jasper dropped low, until he was skimming the water, flying alongside them as they leapt from the ocean's embrace.

A Palafin swam closer and burst free of the water. "Hey, buddy!" The Dolphin pokemon fell under, and jumped again. "How's the-" splash, leap -"horizon looking?"

Jasper climbed higher, squinted at the horizon, and dropped low again. "Storm's coming!"

"Thanks, pal!"

The Palafin moved back to the pod, relayed the message, and they gradually sunk deeper beneath the waves.

A small smile on his face, Jasper watched the dark clouds gathering on the horizon and banked, heading back towards the coastline.

It had been storming the night he arrived in Treasure Town. When the Passage of Time exploded, he was thrown into the sea. He had tried to swim to shore, but the waves towered above him and crashed without mercy, tossing him about like a ragdoll and bashing him against the rocks under Sharpedo Bluff.

A nasty blow to the head had knocked the fight from him, and his battered body began sinking beneath the waves. With the rain pressing down, it was like the whole world was determined to see him drown.

That was when she appeared. A shadow in the shallows. Zipping between the rocks, she wrapped her arms around Jasper and pulled him from the surf, onto the beach. Then, carried him to the guild, crying for help. They'd been allowed in, and Chimecho healed his wounds. Two days later, on that same beach, they'd agreed to form an exploration team.

That time was still a blur to Jasper. He hardly remembered it, but he knew he'd been scared. Buia had saved his life. If she had the chance to do things over, would she do it again?

Pushing it from his mind, Jasper took a deep, shaky breath. Thoughts like that don't help anyone, least of all Buia. All he could do was keep trying. Make himself invaluable: Then, he wouldn't have to be alone again.

Gliding back into Sharpedo Bluff, Jasper nibbled on a gummi Buia had left out. It was tasty. Really, bursting with flavour.

Moving to the small pool by the wall, Jasper took a few grateful sips. With a satisfied sigh, he released a breath he didn't realise he was holding. That's when it happened. His wing on the edge of the bath, his feathers slipped in, touching his reflection.

The room went dark, and a splitting headache roared through Jasper's skull. Another Dimensional Scream. This time, when the world fell away, it was replaced by a sprawling city. A young man stood on a grassy hilltop, playing with a dog. Down the hill, suburbs stretched out under the afternoon sun.

Jasper peered closer at the young man, eventually deciding that yes, this was the same boy he'd seen in his last dimensional scream. Though, at least a decade must have passed.

The boy pulled a ball from his pocket and threw it as hard as he could. The dog went tearing down the hill after it. For a moment, the boy smiled at the dog, then the look faded and he pulled a phone from his other pocket.

Opening it, he quickly dialled a number, before he could change his mind, held it to his ear and waited. The phone buzzed a moment, then went silent. His brow furrowing, the boy's fingers danced across the screen. Seconds later, he was dialling another number. Again, no answer.

A look, somewhere between desperation and sadistic humour, crossed the boy's face. He searched again, finding a third number. He called it. No one picked up.

Letting out a weak laugh, the boy sat heavily, setting his phone down and dropping his head into his hands. The phone stayed on, open to a webpage with a list of helplines.

Seeing the name of the helplines, Jasper felt his heart sink in his chest. With wide eyes, he looked at the boy. Jasper wanted to reach out, hold him, tell him it would all be okay, but this vision was of a different time, a different place. No matter how much he wanted to, there was nothing Jasper could do for the boy.

At that moment, the dog came racing back up the hill, panting heavily around the ball in its mouth. The dog crashed into the boy, eagerly nuzzling its head against his chest, and under his chin.

The boy laughed weakly and scratched the dog behind the ear. "Good girl," he whispered, holding her tight.

The vision fell away, and Jasper was back in the bluff. Thankfully, his breathing was steady, and the headache was fading.

Jasper stared at his reflection in the pool. "Who are you?"

Meanwhile, at the beach, Buia was ready to pull her fur out. She and Dusknoir scurried across the sand, trading blows and chatting, but she couldn't seem to land any decisive hits.

Patch stood to the side, arms crossed and watching closely as they sparred.

"I'm still confused." Buia grunted as she blocked Dusknoir's ice punch. "Patch is from the future?"

Patch looked desperately at Dusknoir; they hadn't had time to get their story straight. Though, Dusknoir had learned the situation from Celebi, and he was a practiced liar.

Dusknoir nodded, going on the defensive as Buia swung an onslaught of aqua tails. "Yes. He actually arrived with me when I first came to the past. Though, he wasn't involved in trying to stop Grovyle. I simply wanted him to enjoy some time in the sun."

Buia spun, dropping her aqua tail, instead sending a sonicboom into the sand. As the beach exploded, she raced through with an aqua jet, slamming into Dusknoir's gut and sending him stumbling backwards.

"How kind of you," she drawled.

Dusknoir threw a will'o'wisp, following it up with a barrage of punches. Buia spun cleanly away from the fireballs, countering Dusknoir's punches with her tails.

"I don't expect Jasper or yourself, or anyone in treasure town, to forgive me. My actions were my own, and I shall spend the rest of my life atoning for them."

Dusknoir's punch broke through Buia's defenses and suddenly he was reaching for her. Instantly, she was jumping away, back arched, fangs bared and snarling.

Dusknoir's eye went wide and he quickly retracted his hand, rubbing it subconsciously where Buia’s teeth had once left scars. "Perhaps, that's enough for today."

Scrambling to pull herself together, Buia straightened up and kicked at the sand, her gaze on her feet. "Sorry," she mumbled.

After a brief pause, Dusknoir smiled ruefully. "A conscience is a heavy thing."

"Depends on what you've done."

"I suppose so. It's good then, that I have strong shoulders."

The silence stretched long. Buia didn't have the words. Part of her wanted to console him, reassure him that things could be how they were before. Yet, another part of her felt he deserved this. He should be agonized by this. He should know the pain she felt! That Jasper felt!

Dusknoir glanced at Patch, then at Buia. "If we had met under better circumstances, I think we would have been good friends."

Buia bit her lip, trying to keep it from trembling. Unable to trust her voice, she nodded.

"Buia, it's real this time."

No. Don't lie to her. Not again. Not for me. Why would you- Patch's silent question was cut short as Dusknoir smiled upon him.

Patch clenched his fists, but his clawed fingers only slipped into his shadowy body, so he couldn't even do that properly: Couldn't feel the sting of his nails biting into his flesh. His internal monologue restarted slowly, but quickly escalated, becoming a raging typhoon. Staring at Dusknoir, one thought ran endlessly through his mind.

It wasn't your fault.

[mako-neexu]

I see you're still obsessed with Edguda. I've been checking every once in a while to see new Edguda contents and you always deliver, that french man really got a grip on every one huh. I'm glad

thank you! im glad bc Sakurai sensei appeared out of fucking nowhere with a jagged rock carved with the word "edguda" in it and gruesomely obliterated my skull

March 2024 was honestly insane to me i have never cried so hard about a story until that time tbh. i remember shaking so bad, unable to properly breathe, absolutely sobbing and weak in bed as my tears soaked my pillows and blanket after i finished the chapter. i laid there for what felt like forever trying to process what happened, everything that dantes had done, all that jalter felt, and the things guda went through. in the span of a week (or less?) i read every single event story and main story with dantes in it and studied all of his lines to guda as well as stuff outside fgo. hyperfixation hit me so hard too i joined an edguda circle in jp and their tweets are so fun to read, and ofc edguda bashed my head so hard i wrote like 30+ fics within the span of a year compared to before where i upload at least ONE per year bc i lack motivation and energy.

Now, its no longer March, 2024 is ending and i am NOWHERE NEAR into recovery from this ship and dantes 😂

so "grip" feels like its light but rather "merciless chokehold" feels more appropriate as i feel like suffocating if i think too hard about how much dantes loves guda😂

[mordenheim]

I won't let you down

Dan was Donnie’s most reliable friend.  He always told him “I won’t let you down,” and he very much meant it.  If Donnie needed a few bucks to last him until payday?  Danny was right there, even if it meant he went without.  If Donnie needed someone to cover for him while he headed out to go fishing, Dan was more than willing to pick up the slack.

They often spent the weekends together, riding up and down the country roads, taking turns with one driving while the other drank, though Donnie drank a lot more often than Dan.  They fished, hunted, and had a grand time.

Other weekends, Donnie would invite him over with other friends for poker nights.  Everyone brought one roll of quarters and you played until you were out of coins.  Of course on more than one occasion, Dan provided a roll for Donnie.

It only made sense that the two of them were sitting on the side of the river when the world went to hell.  The two of them were relaxing on the shore of the bay, drinking beers and trading dirty jokes, while they tried to catch a fish or two.

After a few hours and almost a dozen beers, Donnie finally got a bite on his line.  He grabbed the pole and started struggling, trying to pull it in.

“Dan!  Gimme a hand, here!”

Dan jumped to his feet and grabbed the pole near the front so that the springy rod wouldn’t snap.  “I won’t let you down!”

Unable to turn the reel, they just grabbed the rod and slowly pulled back, walking away from the shore.  They moved slowly, trying not to snap the line as the weight on the other end didn’t seem to be fighting or struggling, just heavy.

Once it was pulled ashore, however, it was Donnie that practically shoved his friend out of the way to get a closer look at the seaweed caked bundle.  It shifted and wriggled on the shore like some huge fish that had become tangled.  He didn’t expect to see exposed bone on the bloated human hand that lashed out and grabbed his ankle.  Neither the exposed teeth in the skull that lunged out and latched onto his ankle.

He screamed in pain as Dan grabbed a rock to bash in the skull of the creature.  He tucked himself under the other man’s arm and helped him hobble back to the truck.  “We have to get you to the hospital!”

Donnie shot back, “Are you nuts?  I don’t have any insurance.  I can’t afford that!  Just get me back to your place.  You still have the spare room in the attic, right?  I can rest up for a day or two there while I heal up, right?”

“Yeah yeah..  I won’t let you down.”

A few hours later, they were back at Dan’s house.  They had done their best to doctor the leg, but it was already looking pretty bad.  Dan begged his friend to go to the hospital, but he wouldn’t.

Dan sighed as he set his friend up with a cooler full of beer, a radio and some snacks.  Sighing, he flopped down on the couch and flicked on the television.  

Every channel was locked on the news.  A national emergency was being declared as the dead were rising.  Skeletal remains were clawing their way out of the earth in some places while cemeteries with concrete vaults were filled with the sound of thumps and screams coming from below the earth.

They were attacking and eating the living, and those who weren’t killed immediately died soon after from some sort of blood infection.  They would rise soon after, mindless zombies who were ready to attack the nearest warm body.

Dan winced as he looked up the staircase near where he sat.  He heard Donnie moaning and retching all the way in the living room.  Stepping outside for a moment, he went around to the garage and grabbed an aluminum ladder and carried it inside.

Making his way up the stairs as quietly as he could, he stared at the folding staircase that led up to the finished attic.  Silently, he carefully folded the stairs upwards onto themselves before letting the trap door spring upwards with a loud bang.  He could hear Donnie dragging himself across the floor towards the now closed passage.

Dan shoved the ladder up under the door, kicking the bottom of it to make sure it was tightly jammed into place.  Just in time as he could hear Donnie starting to bang on the folded ladder.

“Dan!  L.. Let me out of here!”

Panting, Dan leaned back against the wall, shaking his head, pale with fear.  “No way, Donnie.  I won’t let you down.”

[monkey-d-ezekiel]

Ranking my favorite One Piece theories:

1. Evil Shanks. There's a very strong case to be made for Shanks being evil, most of which revolve around his acquaintance with the Gorosei and role as the self proclaimed balance-maintainer of the world.

2. Rocks D. Xebec being the Old Generation version of Buggy. I can definitely see it happening, as we know almost nothing of Rocks' strength, not even through repute. All the repute in terms of strength goes to the pirates under him, like Whitebeard, Kaido and Big Mom. You can see the same pattern with modern day Buggy and his Cross Guild.

3. Buggy will be the Pirate King before Luffy. This appeals to me on a lot of fronts, but mostly on the gag front. It would be hilarious and totally in line with Buggy's trend of failing upwards.

4. Usopp's lies eventually all being true. I mean, are there any examples to contradict this? Every single lie this man has told became a truth, from goldfish poop to the Island of Dwarves. What else might be true? 8000 men being under Usopp?

5. Blackbeard has three souls. He has three skulls on the Jolly Roger, something which seems very deliberate. He already has two devil fruits, and I definitely feel like Moria's devil fruit is one that would very neatly complete Blackbeard's devil fruit collection. He also never sleeps, which is very strange.

6. Croco-mom. I mean. Yeah. It's pretty unlikely but Ivankov having the genderbending power makes anything possible. Plus she did specifically say that she can "fix" Crocodile and that she "knows his weakness" so.. maybe? It would be insane and absolutely pointless if it turned out to be true, but why not? Oda has done wackier things before.

7. Luffy breaks the Red Line. It's totally in line with the themes of unity and liberation in the story. Marie Jois is also located there. So is Laboon, who's been bashing his head tryna bring it down. Not to mention Fishman Island, which was prophesied to be destroyed by Luffy someday. Not at all an unlikely occurrence.

8. Shanks will lose to Blackbeard. It's barely even a theory at this point. There's been an indirect tension between Shanks and Blackbeard all throughout the story, as Shanks is the one most wary of Blackbeard. He's been warning people about the dude ever since Water 7. Not to mention, he's the only one known to have scarred Shanks while he was on guard, a feat which we still can't explain.

9. Luffy will travel back in time/Has already traveled back in time/Joyboy traveled to the future and became Luffy. These are all different theories but since they're all about time I put them as one. I genuinely have no basis for any of these and they would kinda ruin the inherited will concept of the story but yeah. It would be cool to see Luffy travel forward/backward in time.

10. Brook and Laboon reuniting is the key to the One Piece. I saw this theory on Merphy's channel, and she discusses it a lot better than I could in this post. Here's a link: https://youtu.be/xfLO4NEvEss

What are some of y'all's favorite theories from OP? I wanna hear any obscure and wacky crackhead theories anybody has to share!

[kemendin]

It's fun to blend canon banter with my own dialogue but man it takes a lot of writing brain energy. I'm not real fluent yet with any of the companions except maybe Gale.

“Well,” says Astarion, into the unsettled silence that follows. “I suppose that could have gone worse.” He eyes the duergar’s backs until they disappear up a flight of pitted stairs, and then he turns towards the rest of the party. “So - are we saving this ‘Nere’ from suffocating or leaving him to die? I’m fine with either, naturally,” he emphasises, with a note of shameless dispassion. “The last thing I want is to ruin these nails by digging through rock.” He makes a brief show of examining his hands, despite how they’re currently hidden by dark gloves. “Whatever our course,” replies Gale, “I don’t advise lingering here for too long.” He casts another careful look at their inhospitable surroundings. “These duergar seem a suspicious lot. The type to bash our brains in first and ask questions later, if you follow me.” Astarion’s mouth pulls into a dry smirk. “Now that would be one way to solve our little tadpole problem,” he suggests glibly. “Just think of the opportunities we’ve missed up till now, when all we had to do was politely ask our enemies to crush the tiny wretches. And our skulls in the process, of course.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that’s quite the solution we’re looking for, Astarion. I prefer to keep my skull in one piece, if it’s all the same to you.”

[kallard]

Old Friends

War buddies don't exist in the meeting room. It's a battle between a lot of different officers. Some continue fighting when they don't realize that they have been shot.

Kallard let loose a mighty yawn as he dropped into the wooden chair. He immediately rocked the chair back onto its hind legs, balancing himself with a single foot. The table in front of him wasn’t dirty, but it was covered in stains and carvings. Some of the carvings were proclamations of love and admiration, while others were simply crude insults.

A server approached Kallard from his right and bowed their head respectfully. She then stood straight and fixed the man with a soft smile, waiting for his order. When it didn’t come the waitress shot him a confused look that asked, “What can I get you?”

“Oh, right, two glasses of whiskey, two fingers each, top shelf,” Kallard said as he offered a small coin purse to the server. “Whatever’s left is yours.”

The girl smiled at him and accepted his coin and slipped it into a pocket on her black apron. She took out a notepad and quickly wrote down his order as she scurried off. Kallard watched her as she left, leaning back in his chair to follow her as she vanished behind the kitchen door. One of the other patrons smirked at the Garlean and called out to him.

“Look all ya want, kid, she ain’t gonna go with a lowlife like you,” the gruffy man said, affixing Kallard with an amused smile.

“Fuck off,” Kallard told the stranger, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Mind your business.”

Before he could offer any kind of retort, Kallard held up his hand and looked away, making it obvious he was done with the drunken fool. He wasn’t here to cause a fight just yet. Instead he kept his eyes on the server as she approached with two whiskey glasses on a small wooden tray. She approached him from the kitchen area with a smile on her lips, setting down one glass in front of Kallard and the other opposite of him.

“Oi,” Kallard said, motioning at the empty chair across from him. “Pop a squat. I got words for you.”

The server looked confused at first but obliged and sat down. She took hold of the glass of whiskey and took a sip, knowing it had been ordered for her and not anyone else. Why was this stranger buying her a drink? He didn’t look like the type of guy to pick up a random girl at work, at least she hoped he wasn’t.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Kallard asked the server before he reached up to his head and pulled back his hair, slicking it back momentarily. “How about now?”

Sky blue eyes went wide as the gears started turning in the woman’s head. She hastily tossed the cup back onto the table, spilling its contents as she shot out of her chair. The server then picked up her chair and smashed it against the ground and broke a leg off. She took hold of the makeshift weapon, holding it like a club and ready to defend herself.

“Whoa, shit,” Kallard said, releasing his hair and leaning forward. “Easy, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone. I just want to talk is all.”

By now several people were staring at the pair, the noise of the chair breaking drawing their eyes towards the two. The server shook her head and kept her defensive pose. She looked at Kallard with fear in her eyes, only to lower her chair leg. Her eyes narrowed as the server squinted at him, the weapon in her hands forgotten for now.

“Decimus,” the server said in a whisper-like tone.

“’Ey, that’s a start,” Kallard said with a cocky smile. “Jeez, you don’t see me for ten years and want to bash my skull in? Damn, thought we had a better relationship than that.”

The server dropped her club and picked a seat closer to Kallard and plopped down into it. She then reached down to her apron and removed the notepad and pencil. After rifling through a series of papers with words already written on them, the server eventually came to a blank page.

“I thought you were dead,” she had written. “The base you were on was destroyed and I assumed you and Seia were dead.”

“Yeah, well, funny story…” Kallard said before looking at the others in the tavern. “How about we move somewhere more private, hmm? Too many prying eyes,” he shouted the last part and whoever was left looking at him turned away, either out of shame or not wanting to piss the man off.

The server got up from her chair and walked over to the main door. She then clapped her hands loudly and waved her arms in the air, getting the attention of everyone inside. Rather than telling them to get out, she simply pointed at the door and stomped a foot, making it clear she wanted everyone out. Several people groaned as they got up, tossing coins onto their tables before sauntering out, hoping to find another watering hole they could waste time at. Once everyone was gone the server smiled, closed and locked the door before walking back over to Kallard’s table and taking her seat once more. She reached out and stole his whiskey and drained the cup of its contents.

“We didn’t die back then,” Kallard said now that the bar was empty. “Obviously.”

“Then what happened?” the server had written on her notepad, showing Kallard when she was finished writing.

“Hold on, why aren’t you talking?” Kallard asked, a little disappointed he didn’t have anything to drink now.

“I’m deaf,” the server simply wrote.

“The fuck? How did that happen? Last I saw you you had no issue hearing things.”

“I got sick and was medically discharged from service,” she had written down.

“Fuck me,” Kallard muttered. “You’re sick too? It’s not cancer, is it?”

“It was,” she had written before shrugging. “But it was a small tumor that I had removed. It just took my hearing with it. Haven’t been able for a while now.”

“I guess that explains why they transferred you out of the unit. Well, shit, I’m sorry you lost your hearing.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learned to live without it. Why are you here, if you’re not here to kill me, Decimus?” she asked with her notepad.

“Well, I came to see if you could help me out. I got a job that needs doing and I can’t do it alone,” Kallard said as he lit a cigarette. The server reached over and stole his pack of cigarettes, like she stole his drink. She took a cigarette out and held it out for Kallard to light, which he did without argument.

“Must be a big job if you came all the way out here to find me,” the server had written down, sliding the pad down to show Kallard. “What’s the job and does it pay well? I’m tired of his job.”

“Hah! Atta girl,” Kallard said with a toothy grin. He opened his mouth to say something else but instead coughed a few times and brought a hand to cover his mouth.

“You’re not contagious are you?”

“Fuck no, it’s cancer and it’s killing me,” he said with a frown and a shake of his head. “And no, there’s nothing I can do about it, not anymore. Doc friend of mine said I got a couple more months left in me, so I’m planning one final mission. I aim to sink a Garlean airship.”

“You want to what?” the server asked Kallard as she shoot him a questioning look. “You want to destroy Garlean property?”

“I’m gonna tell you a story, and I’ll try to keep it brief. Few years ago Seia and I were stationed at some base in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Some cunt, let’s call him Captain Cunt, decided my sister was his property and took things into his own hands, if you catch my drift. Fucked her up real good.

“After that Seia stopped doing everything. She stopped talking, stopped eating and refused to leave her bed. So, I killed the guy. Spread his entrails across the base and mounted his head on a fucking pike. Seeing no other choice but out, Seia and I escaped, destroyed the base and killed everyone on it and left.

“We were on the run for a couple of years before they finally found us. Well, they didn’t find me as I rarely left our apartment. They instead found Seia and stole her from me, whisking her away to a base even I didn’t know about. It took me several months to find her only to have Seia die in my arms.”

The server frowned and reached out to take Kallard’s hand with her own. She mouthed her words of apology, but he had grown tired of other people’s pity. Kallard moved to jerk his hand away but then realized that this was an act of kindness, not pity. This woman had known Seia and had been good friends with both of them before they were transferred away. During their time together Kallard and Seia did their best to impart what they knew about the job onto the server, believing she would make a fine agent.

“Obviously,” Kallard continued after looking away to regain his composure. Talking about Seia’s death always got to him. “I’m angry. And, well, you remember when I broke that dude’s nose for looking at sis wrong? Well, I’m like that except I’m murderin’ everyone even remotely associated with Seia’s death. I’m talking people who ordered folk around, ordered us around, that kinda shit.

“No good people who need putting down. The very same people who drove us to war and made us the enemies of the entire fucking world. So, I’ve been killing them off, one by one. I’ve run out of folk to kill and my path leads me to this, a single Garlean base far north of here housing a single large airship.

“I believe they aim to use this to try and continue the war effort. Too many of us have that hate in our heart still and I want to lower their numbers. Less Garleans causing problems the better.”

“And you want me to help?” the server asked once Kallard was finished telling his tale of woe and revenge.

“Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I need you to fly my ship and ensure my friend does not come to any harm. You’ll have one job, and one job alone: Keep Yuki safe.”

“She must mean a lot to you to come all this way to ask me of all people for help,” the server had written down in her little notebook.

“She does, and it would mean a great deal if you could help me out. Whatever it is you need, I’ll take care of. Place to live? You got it. Clothing, food, other needs? All on me. You were a good friend to me and Seia back in the day and I’m sorry for not keeping in touch after we got transferred. Seia kept asking about you, but we were both busy and obviously fell out of touch. I know I can’t make up for the years apart, but I can try. So, will you help me, Julia?”

“Before I agree, what am I flying?” Julia asked with a soft smile.

“One of the empire’s hyper-sonic assault carriers. I stole one a few months back.”

“Oh fuck yes,” the server wrote with a huge smile. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

“Hah!” Kallard whooped with an equally big smile. “I knew it wouldn’t take much to get you involved. You were the meanest fuckin’ pilot I ever served with.”

“Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. When do we ship out?”

“Well, the mission isn’t for a few more weeks. I got some stuff to iron out and a few more folk to ask for help. Plus, it’ll give you time to fall in love with Yuki.”

“Love?!” Julia had written with shock on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I mean it. You’ll love this girl. She’s sweet as candy and not fake about it either. Probably the kindest soul I ever met. We’ve gotten real close since we met and I’d do anything for her,” Kallard said with a warm smile. It was true, he had a lot of feelings for Yuki and saw her as more as a little sister than a friend at this point. “She’s a good kid. You’ll love her cooking if not her.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Julia retorted, using her notepad to speak. “Coming from a guy who didn’t like anyone.”

“Hey now,” Kallard said with a snort. “I didn’t hate everyone! I liked you, Cass and Seia. Does that count?”

“No,” Julia mouthed, making an X with her arms.

“Aww, come on, you don’t have to do me dirty like that.”

“Too bad, so sad. Cry me a river!” Julia wrote in her notepad, running out of paper by now.

“Alright, as much as I love this lovely bar you found yourself in, I’m getting antsy and want to get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Okay, just let me close up and quit my job,” Julia wrote with a big, shit eating grin.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll meet you outside.”

Kallard got up from his chair and made his way towards the front door. He quickly tossed a look behind him, watching as Julia ran from table to table, giving it a quick wipe down with a stained white rag. With a smile on his face Kallard pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air and took in a deep breath before lighting a fresh cigarette after forgetting about his last one.

“You hear that, Seia,” Kallard said to the sky. “Jules is back in action and she’s ready to kick ass and take names. Don’t worry, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

A hand was then dipped into one of his long coat’s pockets. He dug around for a moment, rifling through wads of paper, cigarette packs and matches. After a moment of fumbling Kallard pulled a small radio out and toggled the on switch. He coughed, cleared his throat and then began the task of ringing up what little friends he had in hope that they would be as willing to help him as Julia was. And so, Kallard set out to assemble his merry band of ne’er-do-wells.

[pointyystick]

so this is an old creative writing thing i did in my notes app like 5 or 6 years ago when i first got into warhammer .

felt like uploading it because it's been a long time since i posted any writing i did . just know i didn't edit it so might be all over the place and might have some errors but hey , was fun to write when i was 14 . also had no proper end because i think i didn't know where to take it at the time .

CW : basically just your usual grimdark stuff

a young fool serving as another , inconsequential cog in the machine of humanities guard . barely old enough to know what proper maturity is , yet already a lasgun was forced into their hands , hands that shouldn't know the decoration of crimson have already known such a shade for a dozen years .

the enemy was xenos, every waking day the vox casters and clergy would preach and yell of their injustices, how humanity were the angels that would purge them .

a lie . one harshly learnt .

a child , aeldari yes, but a child nonetheless. why was a child on the battlefield ? no . this was no battlefield , it was a city in ruins , peoples lives ruined by the innovations of man .

and this xenos warrior that lay bloody , lifeless , beneath the young fools bayonet . the xenos had no armour, the child stared in horror .

the horror of realisation sunk in for the young guardsman .

these were just people, not the evil monsters the imperium preached would be the end of all that is holy and right .

what had they done?

that string of words ran through their head over and over , bashing their skull like a kriegsman shovel . hands shaky and breath difficult and shallow , wide and fearful eyes stared at their own bloody hands .

a memory , a monster over the angel .

mother , mother , mother , mother ; please fight back against the monster , the coward with a fist .

thunder , thunder , thunder . such powerful steps with such hateful purpose filled the young fool's ears . into view came a blue tower of humanity's hope and perseverance. why was the blue angel going for the eldar child , they had done nothing wrong . they were innocent .

no .

the bolter rose slowly .

no .

tears , fear ; how could a child possibly stop this .

no .

a melta charge on the belt of the angel .

NO !

the fool acted , charging forward . none could kill an angel , but this angel was pre-occupied on annihilating something so innocent . the fool's hand clasped the charge from the belt , leaping up and wrapping arms around the mighty neck to hang on .

" RUN ! " the fool called out to the child .

though no language was shared , the child understood such a call for self preservation and ran as fast as those little legs could carry .

the charge was placed on the angel's chest , the red light signifying it's countdown . a mighty hand grabbed the young fool and tossed them against a nearby rock and a breathless yell rapsed out as such force knocked the wind out of them , their chest burning with a pain after the deafening crack .

the viscous and booming explosion of a melta charge ran out , directly on the terrifying angel , creating a noxious cloud of fumes from the massive blast of heat .

the young guardsman tried to breathe , but struggled . their ribs were shattered , there was a cough of blood . shit something got punctured , a crude thought in their head .

though they turn contemplated what they had done . they had committed heresy , slain an angel . they were doomed .

it was for the child though , the child did not deserve death .

those thoughts were cut off however , as a rage filled screen rung out and the roar of a chainsaw that came down on the guardsman's left arm .

a yell of pain from the young fool as the blue angel , armour blasted open and his entire face and chest blasted open to reveal gore and bone in a horrific site .

adrenaline pumped through the fool's veins as their arm was so painfully ripped and cleaved through and then it happened so fast . their remaining hand reached for the knife on their belt and in a moment that was probably more luck than anything else , the measly knife punched through the angel's eye , right into the brain . there was a few moments of struggling and screams , before the angel ceased and slumped down next to the guardsman...

[teecupangel]

What I find really fucking funny is the fact that Bayek literally bashes a guys skull in with the apple. Like, he doesn't even try to use it's power, just went 'im so angry right now and I'm holding something akin to a rock; you better not piss me off' and he infact was pissed off.

But what would Ezio's, Altair's and Connor's reaction be? Like, I think they would be slightly impressed and horrified at the same time.

The scene in question:

(If it starts in the beginning, skip to 3:43 for the start of the cutscene, skip to 4:53 for the start of the Apple bashing)

Bayek was frightened because of the trippy vision the Apple was providing and turned that to rage once he hits Medunamun in that scene and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear the Apple’s temptation at that point.

I think all three of them would be more understanding than horrified, especially if they had an idea of Bayek’s history but their understanding would be different.

Altaïr would be understanding because he knows how hard and durable the Apple is. That man had done so much research with the Apple but he’s also a dumbass so he probably dropped it once or twice when he’s sleep-deprived from a long study ‘session’. Using it to bash someone’s head repeatedly? Yeah, it won’t even dent the damn thing so go wild.

Ezio would be understanding of how it was used and he’d be like “well, if it works, it works.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton would understand that it’s in the heat of the moment although he would be the most cautious of the three simply because he had only seen what the Apple could do, not how to control it.

They’d also be more or less shaking their heads at Medunamun because that idiot focused on terrorizing Bayek instead of, you know, getting the Apple? Like Bayek only managed to grab the Apple because it was nearby, it wasn’t like he was holding it the entire time he was being terrorized by the Apple’s powers.

[timeagainreviews]

The Secret Finality of “Survival”

An admirable quality of Doctor Who has always been its ability to adapt to change. From it’s genesis, it has overcome budget restraints and technical setbacks to the delight of many. Not even the need to replace their main actor could stop Doctor Who. It’s not easy then to try and dissect exactly why Doctor Who could not survive the 1980’s. There are key moments when the show alienated viewers in a major way, but sometimes shows wear out their welcome with general audiences. Even in the First Doctor era people were asking how much longer the show could continue. Had the show become a parade of changing faces? It’s ironic then that it was Patrick Troughton’s fresh face which reignited the mystery of the Doctor. Just when you thought you knew the Doctor, he became someone else entirely. Over the years, Doctor Who’s ability to renew itself proved to be its greatest asset. Sadly, however, the Sylvester McCoy era was to be the last regeneration for the original series of Doctor Who.

When production on season 26 began in 1988, rumours of cancellation were already in the air. Not only had public opinion shifted away from the show in dramatic fashion, but the budget had been gutted forcing more difficult and less controlled location shooting. Before the season had finished airing, the production crew knew there would be no season 27. Producer John Nathan-Turner was forced to scramble for some sort of final episode to cap off 26 years of a BBC family tradition. The season was originally supposed to end with “Ghost Light,” but it was decided that the three-part story “Survival,” would function better as a finale. At first glance, it’s easy to think “What? Why?” But I would argue that the reason is that it was always leading back to the Master, of course.

Doctor Who could probably have continued to battle monsters across space and time going from face to face for years. But even the Troughton era’s new visage could not overcome the rut writers had found themselves in with aimless base-in-peril stories. The Doctor needed a more personal threat. Daleks and Cybermen were of course classic baddies, but they were generally faceless and emotionless. Perhaps the villains should also have a face. Some of the more popular one-off antagonists were individuals who possessed strong wills and personalities. For example- the Toymaker, the Meddling Monk, Mavic Chen, or the ironically faceless Great Intelligence. It wasn’t until the Pertwee Era did the Doctor find his ultimate foe in the Master.

The introduction of the Time Lords sacrificed a bit of the mystery of the Doctor’s character. Suddenly, the cosmic vagabond had a home and a species. It’s only fair that in this sacrifice, we gained the Doctor’s perfect antagonist. The Master is everything the Doctor isn’t, while being exactly what the Doctor is. They both know the secrets of time travel. They both regenerate. They both have TARDISes. But the Master is that twisted reflection of the Doctor. The Twelfth Doctor once said “Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose.” But in the trolley problem that is life, the Master’s choices are self-serving and sadistic. The Master is the man who would have still bashed the caveman’s skull with a rock. This sort of sadism, masculinity, and war are at the forefront of first-time Doctor Who writer Rona Munro’s script.

Having recently explored Ace’s personal history in both “Ghost Light,” and “The Curse of Fenric,” it seems fitting that the Doctor and Ace should end up back in her hometown of Perivale. While the character arc of learning why she burned down the Gabriel Chase mansion as a child seems like a fitting end for her character, I would argue it’s just as interesting to see Ace return home. Rarely in classic Doctor Who were we shown the companions returning home, and usually it was always to say goodbye. Had we seen a season 27, this would have marked the first time a companion returned home only to continue travelling with the Doctor. This is just one of many ways in which Ace was the proto-modern companion. We often see modern Doctor Who companions returning home to check in with family and have a cuppa. These moments give us a glimpse into the way travelling with the Doctor has changed them. Ace’s reaction to Perivale is on par. But it’s not just Ace who has changed while she was away. Things in Perivale don’t exactly add up. Old friends have gone missing. And the local community centre is now populated by macho self-defence classes taught by a paranoid military man named Paterson.

I mentioned earlier that the budget put massive strains on the production crew. Despite this, they make excellent use of story craft. “Survival,” plays out more like an independent film than a serial from a classic BBC series. In some respects, this was Doctor Who back to its roots- a small ragtag crew putting emphasis on writing and creative problem-solving. There is an attempt at atmosphere. Perivale feels gritty and a bit run down, a detail Munro attributed to the town due to her own youth in a grittier Scotland under Margaret Thatcher. She would later reflect that when she actually saw Perivale, she found it charming. Mind you, the real Perivale never acted as a nexus for extraterrestrial kitty cats. And as a cat owner myself, those little fuckers do not respect personal property. They dig up the garden. They claw the sofa. They make nerds washing their cars disappear. 

It would be easy to say that these first couple of episodes are sparse. Their synopses are among the shortest you’ll find on TARDIS Data Core. But that doesn’t mean they’re entirely empty either. The script to David Lynch’s Eraserhead was only 20 pages and it made an 88-minute film that my wife said felt like three hours. I would argue that building tone can be just as effective as narrative. Much of the first episode in particular feels like building a sense of desperation. There is desperation to leave Perivale. Desperation to find the missing youth of the town. Desperation to survive.

Perhaps the most desperate to survive is the Master. We’ve seen him on his last regeneration. We’ve seen him extra crispy. In the Eighth Doctor movie we see him so desperate to escape death that he’ll snake his way down Eric Roberts’ throat. And here we find the Tremas Master, wearing someone else’s face using the minds and bodies of the youth of Perivale to escape a sentient planet where he got himself trapped. For a newer writer and first timer to Doctor Who, I would argue that Munro absolutely nails the Master’s character. The Master will stoop to anything that will ensure his survival. It’s in his name. He must control others. He must control his destiny. He refuses to let death be his master. Even years later when John Simm’s Master chooses death, it is in his defiance of the Doctor. It is his refusal to let the Doctor control him. In the Master’s mind, other people exist only to serve his means.

Meanwhile, the equally astounding eternal god that is the Doctor is having trouble with catfood and the neighbourhood watch. I find no end of enjoyment in watching the Doctor shoo a dog away from cat food, so much so that I made it into a ten-minute loop. He’s escaped a Dalek holding cell, survived a murderous satellite, and avoided ritualistic execution. But at this moment, he just needs this dog to stop eating his cat food long enough to trap a Kitling. Having been spotted hiding away in some old nan’s garden, the neighbourhood watch is called in to see to the Doctor. This brings us back to Paterson, because of course it does. Paterson is exactly the kind of twit to be up in everyone’s business. I don’t blame the old nan though, you do what you gotta do to feel safe, boo.

It’s Ace’s scream that brings the Doctor and Paterson to the playground where Ace is being chased about by a “Cheetah People.” They really dug deep on that name there. Something I found myself enjoying was the way in which Ace used the metal playground structures to evade capture. It made me think about how Ace may have played in this very jungle gym as a child. Would she have made up stories in her head where she pretended to evade invisible enemies? In this way, Ace has a home-team advantage. This advantage is short-lived, however, after she is transported to the Cheetah Planet (another cracker of a name). The Doctor and Paterson also find themselves transported under its red sky as the Master stands by to greet them.

I joke about the name of the Cheetah Planet and the Cheetah People, but I do actually like some of the ambiguity. Sure, it maybe sounds like Charleton Heston is about to find half a Statue of Liberty, but I like that they’re a bit of a mystery. Even though the Doctor has heard of them, he doesn’t really know anything about them. We don’t know what to expect from our feline friends, but the introduction of the Master shows us that they’re probably victims as well. Once again the Master is using others for his own purposes. 

Storywise, I would say episode two is probably the weakest of the three. Most of the episode is Ace avoiding Cheetah People and discovering her missing friends from Perivale, some of whom have been surviving on the Cheetah Planet for weeks. Something about the Cheetah Planet causes people to become feral. First changing their minds and slowly, over time, their bodies as well. This primal source holds the power to transform people into Cheetah People. Now, when Munro had originally written the script, she was thinking something a little more subtle. The Cheetah People were never meant to be in full masks, but rather closer to the facial prosthetics of Star Trek. You would have been able to see the actor’s performance underneath their new catlike features.

I mention this because the look of the Cheetah People is a sticking point for a lot of fans. Not even the cast or crew were happy with their look. Even Rona Munro complained that the masks were distracting from her lesbian subplot between Ace and Karra. Because if you can look beyond the mask, you’ll find a deeper story. While some furry Whovians out there may not have much trouble accepting a story about Cheetah People in bad fursuits, to others it was offputting. Because of that, I think Survival struggled and continues to struggle with being taken seriously. For me, it’s on par with “The Web Planet,” and the Menoptera, a similar story and creature that are often maligned by people who find them embarrassing. And like “The Web Planet,” you’ll find a story about anthropomorphic animals being controlled by a single sadist. They’re like Doctor Who’s Ewoks in that way. And like Ewoks, some people think they’re a mistake. Those people are wrong, by the way.

The Master does his best to look as though the Doctor has fallen into his trap, but what seems like a grand scheme is little more than a last-ditch effort to escape the Cheetah Planet. Due to the Kitlings’ ability to trap people there, the Master’s hope is to use this power to leave. He makes a great effort to look like the supreme overlord of this empire of dirt, but the Doctor sees right through him as always. He sees the Master’s gambit for what it is- the boasts of the most powerful man in prison. And the longer the Master finds himself on this forsaken planet, the less control he feels. Sure, the Master loves a bit of carnage, but it’s this loss of self that frightens him. Losing control of himself to the wild nature of the Cheetah Planet is another form of death, and as we know, the Master possesses a deep seated fear of losing control.

You’ll forgive me if my memory of the events that follow are a bit hazy. I’ve seen Survival several times and even now I struggle to recall key plot points. What’s important is that Ace has formed a bond with one of the Cheetah People, Karra (played by Doctor Who royalty Lisa Bowerman), and their running together has begun to turn Ace feral. It’s implied that running with the Cheetah People hastens the transition into ferality, but even with that consideration, Ace’s change feels abrupt. Some of Ace’s cohorts had been trapped for weeks without so much as a whisker. It’s a minor gripe from a serial plagued with minor gripes. I’m probably being fairer to Survival than I normally would because of the extenuating circumstances surrounding the production. An inexperienced writer, a show on the brink of cancellation, and a budget slashed to hell do this story no favours. In that way, it feels like a mean thing to judge it too harshly. And as we’ve seen from her return with “The Eaters of Light,” Munro can actually write.

Another thing this story does that acts as a sort of pre-cursor to modern Doctor Who (or in the continuity of the show- its very next episode) is the way the Master will take on companions of his own. Much like Chang Lee, Ace’s pal Midge is lied to and manipulated by the Master. The Master uses his feral nature to transport him back to Perivale which is exactly what he wanted. We can hand wave away how the Master knew Ace and the Doctor would ever return to Perivale long enough to notice all of Ace’s mates have gone missing. Like I said, minor gripes. Now in Perivale with kitty cat Midge, the Master literally pilots Midge around looking to recruit more young men into his harem… er… army.

Having escaped a catastrophe with the Cheetah People (with no thanks to the cowardly Paterson) the Doctor and Ace are now back in Perivale ready to square off against the Master and his group of misanthropes who may as well be carrying tiki torches if it wasn’t for the fact that it was broad daylight. The big showdown, however, appears in the form of the Doctor and Midge running motor bikes at one another in a game of chicken. By that description, the scene sounds less clever than it actually is, but when you follow the theme of the story, it says a lot. Initially, it is Ace who volunteers to run down Midge, but the Doctor knows if she were to engage, it would turn her completely feral. Knowing that his own mind is at stake, the Doctor still takes her place, refusing to let her fight his battles for him. The Master, on the other hand, is far more comfortable sending Midge in his stead. At this moment, we are given a visual representation of the fundamental difference between the Doctor and the Master’s ideologies. It is this scene that makes me believe Survival is actually the best choice they could have made for a final Doctor Who story.

Unable to accept defeat and leave well enough alone, the Master pulls the Doctor back to the Cheetah Planet for one final bestial showdown. But even in his increasingly feral state, the Doctor’s compasion overrides the instinct to bash the Master’s brain in with a skull. I referenced the First Doctor’s feeble attempt at bashing a caveman’s skull with a rock, and that wasn’t without reason. In an accidental manner, the show has brought the Doctor around full circle by echoing his first story. Originally it was Ian who had stayed his hand, and now, through years of travelling with human companions, it is the Doctor who stays his own hand. The Doctor refuses to live and die as an animal, and because of this, he is able to walk off into the sunset for future adventures.

Over the years, we learned that the Doctor is a Time Lord from Gallifrey. But even still, the Doctor defies explanation. But through meeting the Master, we learn what the Doctor very easily could have become. We may not know who the Doctor is, but through the Master, we have learned who the Doctor isn’t. In this last story with the Doctor, we don’t learn his name. Very little more information is gained about the Doctor. Instead, it is reiterated what the Doctor believes. Life is sacred. People aren’t pawns. Take responsibility for your problems. We also learn why the Master always loses- he only thinks about himself. Ultimately, it’s community and caring for others that ensures our survival.