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writefightandflightclub · 3 years ago

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I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long.

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.”

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles.

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

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octania · 4 years ago

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Dabi x Reader (HEADCANONS )

Love bites, but so do I

Warning,a whole lot of them...: NSFW, spanking, marking, rough sex, toys, neck grabbing, orgasm prevention, tying up, public oral sex, teasing, over stimulation...

Short description: Are you sure you can handle being Dabi’s chosen one?

___________________________________________________________

Dabi’s interests usually never last longer than for a filthy and kinky one night stand he likes to taste every now and then on the corners of the street, cheap motels, pub bathrooms or anywhere else he wants to spread those soft legs. He wound not mind doing it in the middle of the fast food restaurant, bending you over that squeaky stool, burning a hole in your washed up jeans and eat his desert in front of everyone, not even thanking the s/o for the meal afterwards, just sucking the last drip of icing from that long fingers and doing nothing more than winking at her while he zips his pants and goes away.

Therefore, when Dabi feels his interest clawing inside his chest and attacking the black whole he used to call a heart, be sure that a “no” is not an option. The lion maybe like a few lioness around him, but only one will be the queen, and he will go straight for the neck of any challenger to his territory.

Having a boyfriend, husband, or any kind of hesitations stops right there, in the moment his glowing electric eyes take a bite of your figure, staring you down with a sinister smirk as he approaches, hovering with his broad torso above you. His gaze lowers to your ankles, the parts that will be tied up to the radiator in his room if you ever try to leave, your tights, soft flesh that will be bitten into like it was a Japanese mochi, his sweet personal candy which he planes to nibble on and lick while traveling to your pussy, delicious icing machine where he will part those outer lips to allow the juices to moist the bed, dripping along your slit to your ass, then his tongue decides to sample the sticky liquid, flicking your nerve bud with his thumb to stimulate you more, encourage you to feed him with those sweet drips. Your hips, a place where his rough hand will leave lined up spanking marks day by day. Deeper and more visible ones when he is behind you, feeling the room with the mixed echo of your screams and wet noises of his dick penetrate you sensitive walls, smacking that plump ass with his hand, titling his head in the symphony of your crying out and screaming his name. The other slaps around those ass cheeks would come in the most innocent moment, when he comes behind your or passes by you, landing that wide palm with a harsh hit, to remind you to who you belong to. Your waist, a fragile thing that he uses to control the rhythm of your bounces on his heavy meat, not allowing you to take a break even after your third orgasm is making your velvety walls crumble around his shaft, sinking his fingers in your rib cage, smashing you down on his cock, grabbing your tits while pinching and pulling the nipples, and for the last act, rocking his hips up to meet up with your jumps, so his base hits your clit, making your shake while he grunts in pleasure. Your tits, perfectly shaped stress balls, that he plans to suckle on in most inappropriate moments just so he can get the taste of those delicate nipples on his tongue, pulling you in valleys, pushing your against cars pretending he is fixing the zipper on your jacket when he is actually sucking in your doughy flesh in his greedy mouth, nibbling on that erected nipple, challenging you to stay quiet while people pass by you two. Your neck, which he plans to abuse in various ways, like squeezing it firmly but softly when you make him mad, pulling you closely to him so you hear that husky voice loud and clear, telling you “You better be good doll if you want to be able to sit for the rest of the week.” And to make sure that everyone stays away, the purplish swollen marks stand proudly on your skin no matter how much concealer you put on. That brings his eyes to your face, the one thing he will have a problem with because the beauty of will will cost him greatly, he can sense it, smell it like a wolf smells danger, but still goes forward, facing it head on. How in those intimate moment where the dim light plays with your skin, and his lips trace your jaw line to your earlobe, half a sleep eyes try to resist the cuddly scene in front of them but fail, being a slave for the softness it brings in his chest every time your lips curl in a caring smile. You have a power of an angel to tame the devil even in this brief moments. Oh how he loves your face.. the mind torture it creates from him feels so freeing...escaping the thought of his eternal darkness. And when he is done letting your delicate beauty to shine with innocence, he brings you on your knees, squeezes your cheeks making your lips to part as he pushes his heat in them, fucking your mouth and turning a cute little beauty into a greedy cock whore.

That is all he can gather from just one time he sized you up, seeing the future with you clearly as the day. Saying his name slowly so you remember the moment when you were chosen to be his. “Name is Dabi, doll.”- with even those simple words you already knew more about him that any other women did.

Chosen one you better know, that Dabi likes toys. He likes the perverted kind of pleasure, something fun to takes the stakes higher. Loving to stroke your sensitive pussy while your hands are shackled with the fancy leather cuffs, that bring your wrists behind your back and connect to your ankles, so you are unable to do anything while he presses that vibrator on your erected clit, pumping his knuckles in you while you arch your back, consumed by the tingling feeling of electricity made by your own body, whining and moaning, begging him to let you cum,but just when you are about to, he lifts the vibrating thing, and slows down the pumps of his fingers, leaving you in agony and tears pooling in your eyes from the raging need to cum.

Every time you get agitated like this, driven to your last limits, unable to see straight from how much tension you have inside, he loves to play dumb, pressing gentile kisses around your pussy lips and folds, around your entrance and one soft one on your clit, patting your thighs while asking - “What is wrong doll? What is bothering my little pussy?”- he kisses on it again with such passion like he is actually making out with you not teasing you in this way by irritating your overly stimulated cunt.

Two metal balls get inserted in your tight pussy, but not before he heats them up with his blue flames. Not too much, just enough to make your inner walls crumble. He pushes in one, pinching your clit as the soft surface of the ball slips inside. The thin string that connects the other one with the first one slowly pulls the second ball in. He gives you a merciful spit on your heated whole to lubricate the way, pushing the second ball in. The warm things shift along your velvety walls as you wiggle in his lap while he spanks you. “Are you going to be good for me doll?”- a harsh slap lands on your ass cheek, making you jump up, as the balls sink dipper, making your body shiver under feeling of foreign things inside you. You cry out a “yes”, nodding, but that is not enough. He spanks you again, this time pushing your head on his crotch. “Show me how good my lil whorish doll can me”- he makes sure your little mouth is all over his girth, swallowing his thick meat to the base, gagging you with it so you choke on your screams when he slaps that ass again if he is not satisfied how fast are you sucking his cock. He has no compassion that you are distracted by his spanks, two balls that tease your velvety walls but can’t get you to cum, and his cock sliding down your throat so deep that you barely could breathe. Suck, chosen one, after all you chose this.

If you want to support my work, you can leave me a small tip on Ko-fi 💖 . It is highly appreciated. 🥺 😍

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi smut #my hero acadamy #mha #bhna #leage of villians #toya x reader #toya todoroki #toya todoroki x reader #yandere dabi

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years ago

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Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 11

Brother usually spent hours in the Underground Place tinkering with his books and machines and colourful vials. It made him happy, which made Rebus happy, so for all its too-clean-ness Rebus quite liked the Underground Place.

He didn’t like it much right now. Since they’d come Home Brother hadn’t left the place, fretting and working himself into exhaustion until he fell asleep at his workbench, only to snap awake a few hours later and begin the cycle anew. The air tasted sour with distress.

Rebus didn’t know why his kin was so out of sorts, but the sensation of being pushed aside made him… uneasy. As did watching Brother work himself down to the bone. He tried inviting Brother to play, but his stubborn packmate refused to be distracted. Brother only got up to play when Rebus snatched his little machine for a game of chasey. And even then, after a few laps around the room, Rebus realized that the shouts were of desperation rather than fun.

When Brother finally caught up and wrestled the not-toy from him, he tried to stick Rebus with a needle. Rebus stood still and allowed his blood to be drawn because Brother seemed upset, and maybe compliance would cheer him up where play had failed. Up close, Brother’s eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His breath smelled of hunger, the tang of not-eating that Rebus knew quite well.

…maybe Brother was sick? Sometimes when Rebus was sick he didn’t feel hungry, even if he hadn’t eaten in days! He was pretty sure that eating was supposed to be good for sick people, though he couldn’t recall how he knew that.

If Brother wouldn’t feed himself, Rebus would! Once the blood-drawing was over Rebus shook out his coat and padded upstairs. Brother usually ate food from this – this kitchen, right? He often ate from cans stored in the top of the cupboard. Rebus jumped up on his hind legs to try and paw open the cabinet door. When that failed, he gnawed at the edges to pry it open. Splinters stuck between his teeth but it was working! He finally managed to stick his head in and close his jaws around one of the cans inside.

Rebus tried to be gentle, but the can crushed and burst open when he gripped it. Strong-smelling slop (soup, it’s tomato soup) splattered across the kitchen floor and Rebus’s snout. He snorted at the sudden explosion.

That wasn’t how food was supposed to act, right?

Rude. This stuff was gross and fresh meat was better anyway, so Rebus shouldered through the door. It had been closed but it crunched and didn’t stay closed when he pressed his full weight against it (whoops, Sixer’s gonna need a new lock). Once outside, Rebus went hunting.

There were squirrels around. Rebus decided to leave those alone. You could never trust squirrels.

He tracked a herd of deer. Unfortunately, when he got close, his unusually big paws gave him away and the deer startled. However, Rebus was faster than them. He lunged at a straggler and snapped at its heels to separate it from the herd, and then he was in the perfect position to strike.

He sprang forward to pin it to the ground. Rebus misjudged his strength, however, and ended up dashing its brains out. Whoops. Skulls were more fragile than he remembered. He would have to be careful about wrestling with his pack-brother.

It took ages dragging the deer through the woods. By the time Home came into sight it was nearly dark. He struggled to get his prize through the front door but the thing’s stiff legs wouldn’t fit through the narrow entranceway.

Lucky, Brother found him before Rebus had to figure out how to drag the deer inside. Brother seemed… distressed? He smelled of fear and rushed over when he caught sight of Rebus.

Ah – Rebus had been gone for several hours, maybe Brother had just been worried about him? Since he seemed more worried than angry Rebus let him fret and, when his kin finally calmed down, nudged him towards the deer proudly.

‘Look! I killed this for you! Now you can eat!’

It took several more nudges for Brother to realize that the gift was for him. His eyes got all wet and he clapped a hand over his mouth and – whimpered? Rebus nosed him worriedly. Had he done something wrong?

Then Brother hugged him, which just made Rebus even more confused. The words being said were vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite remember what they meant. Something about ‘miss’ and ‘take-care’ and ‘stubborn’ and ‘come back’. Come back from where? He was right there! He licked Brother’s face to prove it until his packmate gave a watery laugh and pushed him away.

When Brother rose he went to the kitchen (Rebus tucked his ears down in shame at the scolding he received for the mess) and put food in two bowls. Two bowls! Rebus wagged his tail happily and dug into his food when he was sure Brother was eating.

…maybe Brother didn’t like deer. Oh well. He was eating now and that was the important thing!

When Brother was finished he went back down to the Underground Place, but that was okay. Rebus went with him to keep him company.

_____________________________________________________________________

Rebus was awakened from his nap by a crash. He blinked his eyes open sleepily to find the source of the noise. Brother had stormed away from his workbench and sent his seat clattering across the floor. Rebus was glad he’d been napping by the exit rather than near the desk. Being hit by a chair seemed like a rude way to be woken up.

Pack-brother threw a book against the wall and screamed. Rebus glared at the paper thing that had upset his brother. His brother tended to throw a lot of things against the wall these days.

What he didn’t often do was sink to the floor and start sniffling.

It made Rebus disconcerted. He didn’t understand why Brother’s eyes leaked and he curled up on the floor, occasionally hiccupping or whimpering. Rebus curled up next to him and licked salty water off his face, trying to comfort Brother with his closeness. Brother wrapped his arms around Rebus’s neck and buried his face in his fur.

After a while Brother sniffed and sat up. Rebus leaned against him comfortingly. They sat like that for a long time before Brother rose and went back to his workbench.

_______________________________________________________________________

They ate together; Brother still wasn’t very good at remembering to feed himself so Rebus watched him prepare food, just to be sure. Brother laughed at him, usually, the ever-present sadness lifting from his face just a little.

Today, however, laughter wasn’t the only unusual noise to break the quiet.

The grumble of an engine made Rebus stiffen, ears pricked for further sounds. Brother, who was clattering around in the cupboard with the door Rebus had chewed through, called to him curiously. Rebus was sure…

There! The click of a car door and the murmur of a woman’s voice! Did that mean the people were back – Brother’s friends, the ones who smelled of hay and grease and family? Rebus jumped up and rushed through the ajar (still broken) door to greet them. He’d missed them and their smiles!

A car had parked on front of the house, but as Rebus trotted over, the person who stepped out was not a friend.

No, not a friend. Rebus stopped short. He didn’t know the man – with his bulky frame and downturned mouth and sunglasses glinting in the sunlight – but something about him screamed danger. Rebus’s fur stood on end as he regarded the intruder. The man stared back at him and the intensity of that gaze made Rebus prickle.

Brother called out to Rebus but he, too, stopped short when he laid eyes on the strange man. A woman was climbing out of the car too and she was smiling and friendly but it did nothing to divert Rebus’s attention from the threat.

“Ma, Pa.” Brother coughed out. Rebus recognised the words, why did he recognise the words? Why did they send a chill through him?

There was a tang of fear in the air. His brother was nervous of this man – and that was all the confirmation Rebus needed to label this person a threat. How dare he – how dare he walk into Rebus’s territory, stare at Rebus with that gaze, go near Rebus’s brother.

A chest-deep snarl rumbled through him. He peeled his lips back, fangs on display as he slunk in between Brother and the interloper.

#werewolf stan au #werewolf!stan #gravity falls #my writing #my fic #chapter 11

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pigeontheoneandonly · 5 years ago

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Waiting Room

I haven’t written anything for Ben in forever, so here’s a ficlet. Prompted by @pushingsian.

The flock of doctors and nurses dispersed as quickly as it came, streaming out the door with specimens and datapads clutched tight in their hands, and left behind a silence punctuated only by the whirring of machines. The mechanical clink of the respirator set every nerve on edge. Compared to when they first arrived, he might as well visit a tomb.

Ben Shepard tightened his arms, crossed over his chest, rejecting that analogy before it fully formed. It was revolting. This was a hospital room. Not a grave.

Kaidan lay still and bloodless on the bed. His only color the bruising about his head and shoulders, where that fucking Cerberus machine drove him into the shuttle like pounding meat.

Ben couldn’t breathe. He didn’t dare. Just stirring the air could create a catastrophe, Kaidan looked that fragile.

One of the machines beeped. Ben nearly jumped out of his skin. The nurse caught it as she came through the door, and offered a comforting smile as she went to silence the alarm. “Nothing to worry about. He has a small fever. It’s expected after the transfusion.”

He bled slowly into his chest for the entire flight to the Citadel. By the time they arrived, his blood pressure was so low Ben couldn’t find his pulse. EDI could, via sensor clipped to his finger, but that was poor reassurance.

When Ben didn’t respond, the nurse bit her lip, the inquiry tentative. “How long have you been together?”

That startled him out of the memory. “We’re… we’re not…” He cleared his throat. Straightened. “He’s an old friend.”

Old friend. Because that was a shade less embarrassing than unrequited crush of nearly four years. Even if it slid off his tongue with a bitter taste.

“You’ve been here for hours.”

He’d climbed into the ambulance when it met them at the dock. Ben learned long ago, back when he still called himself a Red, that if you acted like you belonged people rarely questioned it. Nobody had objected.

The nurse pursed her mouth. “You should consider getting some rest yourself. He won’t be awake for… We can contact you when he wakes up.”

His fingers dug into his elbows, leaving white spots where they cut off blood to the skin. But his voice remained level. Calm as ever, like giving orders in the middle of a battle. “That’s okay. I’ll stay here.”

Another smile, this one tight and fleeting, and she left.

Ben glanced around. Glass walled off the room, lending it the feel of a fishbowl. No privacy to be found. But at least nobody could hear them. He perched awkwardly on a stool at Kaidan’s bedside, left there by one of the physicians. An actual chair wouldn’t fit here, with its lack of rollers and arms getting in the way of movement and equipment. “Hey, Kaidan.”

Feeling stupid as the words left his mouth. Talking to unconscious people never failed to put him ill at ease. He’d been in this situation a few dozen times, for marines under his command, for wounded friends.

A burst of desperate laughter escaped his mouth. He buried his face in his hands. He’d never been here before. Not like this. Not with him.

But he couldn’t break down. Soon, Liara would call, and it would be time to talk to the Council and try to negotiate a way out for Earth. So he tried to move his mind onto something happier. “Remember the last time we were here?”

After the Battle of the Citadel, after the med check— because nobody could believe an entire reaper leg fell on his head, and he crawled out completely intact— after the initial chaos, the best thing the Normandy crew could do was get out of the way. They went down to the wards and found a few hundred other survivors packed into a club. Dancing like they’d seen the end of the world, and lived. Even the bar had opened up its full stocks free of charge.

They spent six months hunting Saren and the geth. The party was exactly what they needed. Remembering it brought a grin to his face, despite the circumstances. “You are the worst dancer in the galaxy.”

Kaidan had no sense of the beat, and as sure as his movements were in combat, he grew another elbow or two on the dance floor. Ben never saw anyone so clumsy. So he tried to teach him.

Ben wasn’t a master, but he could at least move like he understood music. They wound up in a dark corner of the club when the DJ VI swapped songs. Slower and more melodic, it should’ve been a hint to take a breather. But instead, Kaidan had moved closer to him. He was a little taller, a quality that never failed to push Ben’s buttons, and revolving slowly in the shadows, close enough to feel the warmth through his shirt and smell the musk of his skin… well, it had put to rest the question of whether Kaidan was interested in men. Or even in him particularly. But Ben was his commanding officer, and that boundary was as hard and fast as they came.

Still, there was a moment, between the song ending and the next starting up, when their eyes had met, and for a wild second it seemed anything could happen. Then Joker yelled for him, because no one had seen him in minutes and party missed him, and it burst like a pricked soap bubble. Kaidan slipped away.

Now he lay unmoving apart from the mechanical rise and fall of his chest. Eyes shut and waiting. A mute receiver.

Ben cleared his throat again. Blinked twice to clear his eyes, and groped for his hand, needing to feel the warm blood flowing through his skin, any proof of life. “I… I’m sorry. For everything.”

For dying, for letting him walk away on Horizon, for not being fast enough on Mars. For not doing anything in that endless second when they stared into each other at the end of the song.

“I wish…” What? Anderson had a phrase, one he’d picked up from his London upbringing— what’s done is done and cannot be undone. There was no point in wishing otherwise. “I just… I miss talking to you. I miss seeing you every day.”

He swallowed. “I miss fighting side-by-side. It might be wrong, considering, but pushing back Cerberus down there on Mars… I haven’t felt that right since I woke up.”

The comatose body offered no reply. It was and wasn’t Kaidan. So much him that Ben found it hard to look away, but at the same time, uninhabited, lacking any of Kaidan’s vitality or presence. Ben took a final shaking breath. “Hang in there. Because the next time I’m back here, you and me, we’re going to settle this. We’re going to fix this. And then we’re going to go out there, and win this thing. Okay?”

Not a twitch. Ben slipped his hand free, stood, patted his shoulder, and answered for him. “Okay.”

Then he departed, straightening as he walked through the door, for another meeting, another day, another war of being Commander Shepard, and left Ben’s heart back in that room.

#mass effect #ben shepard #kaidan alenko #shenko #mshenko #fanfiction

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anearthstruckalien · 4 years ago

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[[ So I decided to try writing from the perspective of a standard Psion to give a small glimpse into how they perceive things--via using a very specific (and common) situation--since Giegue is very unlike one in many obvious ways, and this is the result.

[ It is what many planets would consider to be ‘dusk’ now. A mixture of bright oranges and reds characterize the skies and filter through the (appropriately) dying light of the seemingly (they knew better than that) lowering planetary star across the ragged landscape of pointed rocks and barren grounds as far as the eye can see. The airs are thick with a heavy silence in the aftermath of the initial point of contact made with the planet. An initial point which had involved seizing control of a suitable storage (the planet itself) of resources (that which is useful on it) so that the associated resources may then be repurposed for Psion usage. Like any other resource collection mission. The only remaining task is to collect all remaining organic resources that have inadvertently been scattered about in the aftermath of success.

And indeed they have located one such resource. It was the very reason for which the heavy silence would be broken. A natural and ordered stillness punctuated by chaotic blubbering noises. Words—desperate and with every intent of attempting to bargain away the inevitable—with deeper meaning that they cannot parse and thus falls on deaf ears. The leaking of fluid out of visual receptors coupled with an increase in the irregularity of oxygen intake patterns. ‘Crying’. A strange gesture involving the tight clasping of two limbs together for purposes… they can only assume to be associated with increasing the likelihood of succeeding in emphasizing the deeper meaning to such words or perhaps an involuntary physical tick that has been initiated through what it is experiencing. Nonsensical words breathed out beyond the resource’s inherent and organic limitations. The Psion—a pale and slender creature towering over the soon-to-be resource convert at a dignified height of 11 feet and dark voids for eyes; unsettling and otherworldly—soldier merely offers an empty stare in return.

Things that hold no inherent meaning. Many lesser life-forms like to believe otherwise, but the objective truth is that such a thing does not exist in any meaningful way—it is merely a construct through which such creatures clumsily navigate the world and further throw the universe into chaos—for it is not dictated by the very forces that exist, regardless of personalized viewpoints. And so, they merely reach out, the faintest sparks of violet jutting up at ghostly pale fingertips the only indication of what is about to occur (to merely render the resource unconscious so as to preserve as pristine a condition as is possible for optimal Psion usage) before abruptly coming to a stop, like a remote-controlled machine being forced to a pause. One that comes into being only once the blubbering shifts tone to something far more piercing and laden with… –errors. Deficiencies in the rational thought processes of many creatures. A sound that further undoes the stillness of the airs and in an instant, truly captures a fragment more of the pale alien’s attention than what bare minimum had existed before.

When one tactic fails, another replaces it they suppose… albeit with one that was no better than the first. Such are the natural behaviour patterns of meat with tiny minds encased in that excessive and fragile tissue. A thing so common (like any other organic resource) that it is all the Psion sees; not the distinct features which make the creature what it is or its personal characteristics, but nondescript meat that can be utilized for greater purposes. The creature’s limbs ball together into tense little circles and with an alteration in the overall meekness of the stance, the transformation is complete and though it’s ultimately ineffective, it’s enough to have the Psion entertain what they have to say for a little while. Even as the elevated volume blasts through sensitive ears at full force:

The concept of death. A lack of a desire for it to elapse to themself. They do not want to depart from the entity that they are and transcend into something else entirely.

What does the organic resource mean by that? What point do they mean to convey with those words? How is it meant to serve as the mechanism through which the outcome will change?

What the resource perceives as ‘death’ is merely a means through which one may be converted from one format to another; in this case, without allowing for the resource to spoil entirely. And if that is not what is optimal, by a rare miscalculation of the Psion species, then a resource can always be replaced. One needs only the correct tools and base material. In fact, life-forms with reproductive capabilities do it all the time. With every few that spoil beyond their means to utilize… several others take their place and in optimal cases, there is a sustainable balance in place.

And suddenly… –it is all cut off with an abrupt break, the violet sparks rising in intensity before something invisible seems to hit, in their temporary pause to finish the process of rendering the resource unconscious as indicated by the light thud to the barren ground and the subsequent cessation in the meaningless noise and buzzing through the airs; through overwhelming the resource’s mind with power beyond the comprehension of that particular creature, but perfectly clear to Psions. Evidently, the Psion’s slight increase in attentiveness to the creature in question had evaporated like water, and thus leaving nothing to stop them from resuming their intended action. There is little reason to listen any further. To do anything beyond their primary reason for arriving at this planet at all.

It all—the resource’s words and actions—is simply as incoherent as the initial complaints that started this. Little more than the by-product of the inherent limitations that befalls such life-forms. That is why they are here along with other members of this military division. To take what is so faulty, ensure that it is improved upon, and in the process of doing so, further the progress of the Psions through supporting their overarching goal. ]

#.writingPost #.random psion #It's SO weird writing for a 'proper' Psion because Giegue--despite the coldness to him at times--is actually emotional #or at least that's how he is in the narrative SO even actions that seem cold have more to them emotionally

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hugs-not-anonymous · 5 years ago

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LFC - Jasculs Freemoon

The Basics --- -

Full name: Jasculs Freemoon. Nickname(s): Jackie, Jas, Jasc, stubborn oaf, big ol’ pumpkin, Mat, Mattie, dreamboy, moony. Title(s): Self-proclaimed bodyguard-dad. Former Slayer and Commander. Champion and Hero, though he usually doesn’t respond to them. Alias(es): Mateth/Mateus Dawndream. Age: About 12.000 years. Birthday: February 9th. Race: Green/Emerald Dragon. Disguises himself as a half-dragon-like kaldorei or sin’dorei. If necessary, he can disguise himself fully as either, too. He prefers his kaldorei form. Gender & pronouns: Male, he/him. Sexuality: Homoromantic, bisexual. Marital Status: Married.

Physical Appearance --- -

Hair: Purple so dark it appears black. Long, soft, and incredibly curly, though it's kept in a braid most of the time to keep it from becoming too much of a ridiculous, unruly mess. Jasculs also adorns a full, neatly kept and trimmed beard. Eyes: Unlike most demon hunters, Jasculs still has his eyes, although they're blind and tinted deeply with fel, both of the eyeballs sickeningly green. Height: 262 cm/8'7" in kaldorei form, 210.8 cm/6′11″ in sin’dorei form and too tall for my brain to comprehend in dragon form. Weight: 160 kg/353 lbs in kaldorei form, 128.6 kg/283.51 lbs in sin’dorei form and yet again too heavy in dragon form for my feeble human brain to make realistic. Build: Muscular mountain with slight pudge around the stomach area. Scars:

A small, y-shaped, faded scar between his eyebrows.

Scars from Naroua's teeth just above his left elbow.

One in the shape of the North star on his abdomen. It has one long line up the torso, another long one down, and two smaller ones to the left and right of the center. There is a tear in his wing on the other side of the scar.

His palms, soles of his feet, and back are littered with faint scars from burn marks

Several faded marks and slashes from older fights.

A jagged, disconcertingly huge line on his chest from being impaled by a pitlord’s polearm. Don’t think about the fact it’s directly above his heart.

His back is a nightmare of whip scars. Before them, there were other scars, but they cover up any and all flesh and skin of Jasculs’ back. If it weren’t for them he’d walk around shirtless.

Claw marks above, below, and in his eyes.

Tattoos:

The arcane tattoos of the Illidari, Emerald Nightmare-red variant. They’re mostly centered around his chest and shoulder-blades, though they run down his arms as well. They’re slightly faded and need a touch-up.

One that goes from his ankle and up his shin, picturing several rose-bush branches with thorns and flowers.

A pitch-black tattoo of a world-tree starting just above the tail bone and swiveling up the length of his back.

Piercings: He used to have many but now all the holes except for one in each earlobe has grown together. Jasculs rarely ever actually wears piercings, though. Distinguished Traits: His resting bitch face, awkward stuttering and babbling, and small, unthreatening, stubby horns. Common Accessories:

A small leather pouch at his hip, containing various personally valuable items as well as a needle, thread, and a small bottle of disinfectant

Clean bandages around his forearms. Cliché but incredibly handy.

A blindfold made out of said bandages.

Two enchanted bracelets. They're made out of a simple, black leather, rolled up to create firm but strong threads. In the middle of each thread is a single, purple-ish pearl. When tapping them twice with two fingers or speaking the keyword - “Rakeesh”, butcher in Eredun - they transform back into their original form: one-handed swords.

A simple ring with engraved runes. In elven form it's on his left hand ring finger and in dragon form it's on one of his horns.

Personal --- -

Profession(s): Professional squishy dumbass. Dad of the year. Butting into every fight where someone seems/might be overwhelmed. Sells leather, meat, fish, and other wares he compiles from skinning and fishing as well as doing various odd-jobs. Once upon a time he was a war-machine/tank for the Illidari, and you can probably still get him to be your bodyguard if for the right cause. Occasional adventurer/champion, if the cause is worth it. Hobbie(s): Cooking, gardening, napping, and reading. He’s trying to pick of knitting but, uh. It’s not going that well. Language(s): Fluent in Draconic, Thalassian, and Darnassian; almost fluent but heavily accented Common, Dwarven, Taur-ahe, and Zandali; can speak and somewhat read Orcish, Pandaren, and Draenei; can understand and speak (although with broken grammar) Eredun, Kalimag, and Nathrezim but not write or read any of them; can read, write, and somewhat brokenly understand Shath’Yar and Nazjar but pronunciation is beyond him. Skill(s): Cooking, skinning, fishing, and leatherworking; wielding glaives, one-handed swords, one-handed axes, and polearms; using bows for hunting; enhancing his own body with traits from his bound demon and various offensive, defensive, and supportive Fel spells; disguising his own form and other people's forms by use of various Fel spells. Once upon a time he could do it with nature and arcane magic as well but now it gets turned into Fel; being a bit of a dumbass; emotional socialising and creating safe spaces for people. Residence: An unmapped mountainside in Stormheim. Birthplace: The Emerald Dream. Religion: Elune. Patron Deity: Elune, Ysera. Fears:

His most intense fear is no doubt his claustrophobia, as it is so bad it can and will cause panic attacks if he cannot move freely at all times.

Losing and failing to protect his family.

Losing himself to the Nightmare or the Eredar Conqueror he's bound with.

Being forced away from his family.

Being captured by the Alliance or the Horde. Honestly, just being captured in general.

Facing the Illidari and their leaders.

Jasculs also has a never-ending paranoia that he's being watched and in danger.

Waking up a different place than where he went to sleep.

Relationships --- -

Spouse: Sol'alore Firewing Freemoon aka Solastrasz, belonging to @frostwyrmsfury. Children:

Kinagosa (adopted, alive), belonging to @frostwyrmsfury.

Egg (adopted, unhatched, and fragile), co-owned with @frostwyrmsfury.

Parents:

Werythra Dawndream (mom, alive).

Inazeus (father, deceased).

O'Thelo Dawndream (step-dad, deceased).

Siblings:

Andiais Dawndream (step-sister, alive but it’s complicated), belonging to @frostwyrmsfury.

Phene Dawndream (step-sibling, alive. It’s less complicated).

Livatus Dawndream (half-sibling on his mom's side, deceased).

A few half-siblings on his father's side.

Other Relatives:

Quite a few aunts, uncles and cousins, though he has managed to keep in contact with exactly zero of them.

Feenris Duskblade (not blood related. Considers her an aunt).

Pets:

A manawyrm named Boomlio, proudly named by Kina.

A felsaber named Sæunn. She’s named after a Thorignir whose help during the 3rd Legion invasion Jasculs will always be eternally grateful for and was a gift from Illidan.

An injured hippogryph named Thyri.

Traits --- -

Extroverted / Introverted / In between /: Jasculs is not introverted, per se, he simply mostly keeps to his own devices. He is honestly quite extroverted, just reserved due to paranoia.

Disorganised / Organised / In between /: He's a bit of a neat freak and loves when things are organised well and are in order, yet still manages to misplace everything and accidentally make a mess. Besides, having been out in the wild for most of his life, his general idea of "organised" is… cluttered.

Close Minded / Open Minded / In between /: No comment here.

Calm / Anxious / In between /: In crowds and populated areas, the back of Jasculs' mind is in a constant state of paranoia. However, he's gotten exceptionally good at handling it, and now he's usually the mildly anxious but level-headed and clear thinking one.

Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between /: Jasculs does his best to avoid conflict and will often agree just to avoid arguing.

Cautious / Reckless / In between /: Well, until his intelligence fails him. Jasculs is a dumbass and often gets himself into trouble on accident. He's also surrounded with troublemakers and people of varying degree of reckless, and he has to do equally or more reckless things to keep them out of danger.

Patient / Impatient / In between /: No comment.

Outspoken / Reserved / In between /: This entirely depends on who he's with and how comfortable he is with them.

Leader / Follower / In between /: Weird for a Slayer, yes, but, well, he never lead anyone. He never had a say in anything and most definitely did not have a choice; he just did as he was told.

Empathetic / Apathetic / In between /: Jasculs is super emotionally charged. His emotions don't control him or make him vulnerable at all, it's simply how he lives, how he likes to live. It makes him feel fulfilled and alive and not monstrous. He's very understanding of emotions, both his own and other's, and overall have an emotionally freeing feeling about him.

Optimistic / Pessimistic / In between /: Jasculs in neither an optimist or a pessimist, honestly. He's a realist.

Traditional / Modern / In between /: He likes family traditions but is overall very adaptive to his surroundings and the times. There are traditional things he misses but just as many modern things he's happy have replaced traditional things.

Hard-working / Lazy / In between /: Though Jasculs loves relaxing, he's in no way lazy. He doesn't really believe in lazy.

Cultured / Uncultured / In between /: Over the years, Jasculs has accumulated many cultural influences, but he's never quite gotten properly cultured with any civilization. Even cultural things from the green dragons or the kaldorei tend to elude him.

Loyal / Disloyal / In between /: No comment.

Faithful / Unfaithful / In between /: Faith is a very conflicting topic to Jasculs. He still prays to and believes in Elune but not like he used to. There's a seething doubt in his mind about whether Elune really cares or not, and if praying to her even matters, but he tries not to listen to it. Having faith in humanity, elven kind, and all other races of Azeroth is also becoming difficult. He says he's sure they'll see their mistakes of their ways and come together to save Azeroth but he doesn't really believe it anymore.

Assertive / Timid / In between /: Though he's not scared to assert dominance and scare away anyone who attempts to hurt himself or anyone he cares about, Jasculs is all around a rather timid and soft person. It often makes him sad that many find him scary, to which he'll whine like a hurt puppy.

Additional Information --- -

Smoking: Doesn't keep cigarettes on him but won't decline if he's offered one. Alcohol: Rarely, if ever. Drugs: He's quite too old for that. Triggers:

Not being able to move freely and wherever he pleases is the one trigger that will always, without fail, make Jasculs crushingly uncomfortable and hyperventilate. More often that not, it causes a panic attack.

Being told to "suck it up" about an emotional issue of his, being policed and lectured about his "purpose", and people amounting his worth to how much he has done for them trigger a severe moodswing where he's incredibly irritable, sassy, and easily snaps, and then later a depressive episode of varying intensity.

Face claim: Idris Elba. Voice claim: Jasculs laughs like Mark Fishbach aka Markiplier but otherwise he has no voice claim. Theme songs: It Will Be Me by Melissa Etheridge & Want You Here by Plumb. Alignment: Chaotic / lawful good. In-game classes he takes the most after: Vengeance demon hunter, with a bit of druid, hunter, and warrior inspiration here and there.

Alt Verses --- -

All of these can be mix-and-matched as you please!

Corrupted: The Nightmare corrupts Jasculs in Val’sharah. During a night terror, around when G’Hunn breaks out, he accidentally kills Kinagosa, Mo’hir, and Sol’alore during a night terror. It’s the last straw and Jasculs loses his mind; he reverts back to calling himself Mateus Dawndream and only finds joy in causing endless bounds of chaos.

Garden: Sol’alore dies during an attack on Dalaran. Kina and Jasculs bury him in Val’sharah and a wild, beautiful garden sprouts from his grave. They live there, and the garden is the only thing keeping Jasculs afloat in his depression.

Jassalarian: Miraculously, Malassarian survives the burning of Teldrassil, and him and J’aaris proceed to join Jasculs’ little group of found-family.

Rometh: Grand Magister Rommath joins the Illidari and, after being freed, Mateth takes extremely well to him. Rommath overthrows Orian and Kayn, and Mateth gets to go on with his life without all the main verse struggles.

RP Hooks --- -

Demon hunter / the Illidari: Before he left was banished from the Fel Hammer, Jasculs held the title of Slayer. He was the right-hand-man of the Commander / Illidan replacement, though he had no say in much on anything. Pre-Warden imprisonment, Jasculs was more of an intimidating shadow than a person; the demon binding ritual put him in a state of emotional and mental paralysation, meaning he did nothing but follow orders. Jasculs had no say in anything and was more of a husk of a tank and war-machine rather than an actual person, but being woken up from his imprisonment and losing his siblings shook him out of that state. Your character has most likely fought against him in Outland, or heard of him if they’re a demon hunter.

Bounty: Not only was Jasculs banished from the Fel Hammer, he was also accused of being a traitor of the Alliance and a war criminal and thus had a bounty placed on his head. The Horde, wanting to have any lavage at all against the Alliance, did so as well. From the end of Legion up until a week or two into the Nazjatar and Mechagon campaign, he has been travelling the world in an attempt to keep his head out of bounty hunter’s hands. Your muse can have either helped or endangered Jasculs and his family before they settled in Stormheim. Or, y’know. Tracked him down in his new home.

Actual old but quite emotionally clever fart: Jasculs has been through many phases in his life and has met a lot of different people and has fought against and with a lot of different people. Does your muse perhaps remember him from any of the Great Wars, or even the War of the Ancients? Possibly even before the Sundering? Maybe your muse needs emotional comfort/guidance; his age has brought Jasculs an immense amount of emotional knowledge, and his general presence tends to have a calming effect on people.

Militaries: There’s not a military on the face of Azeroth Jasculs hasn’t been a part of prior to the whole Outland ordeal.

Legion: Jasculs was involved in all of the Legion campaigns and played quite a role as tank and general adventurer. He is especially remembered in Suramar, Val’sharah, Stormheim, and Argus.

Dragon: Being a green dragon, Jasculs has a natural connection with nature and thus gets along quite well with hunters and druids. On the other hand, though, his demonic energies have animals freak out and attack him in his presence, which never fails to hurt his feelings. Your muse can help him be less threatening or teach him herbalism (he’s bad at it. Like, immensely. It’s embarrassing). Is your muse a dragon or dragonsworn or maybe even a dragon hunter? Maybe they sought him and his family out, but why? Did something with the Emerald Nightmare happen?

Self-proclaimed bodyguard: Not only does Jasculs attract trouble like a magnet attracts metal, he also has quite the habit of being in the area when other people attract it. He’s paranoid and devoted to keeping other people safe, even if they’re strangers; if your muse gets in trouble, Jasculs will more than happily jump in, whether his help is asked for or not, and even if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

OOC INFORMATION --- -

where i roleplay: discord and tumblr. jasculs can be found at @hugs-not-anonymous while follows and likes come from @foxfictioncentral. what im looking for:

action & adventure rp

connections of all sorts (business, friends, enemies, familial, what have you)

slice of life

emotionally charged rp

mostly long-term connections

pre-established relationships

angst

what i wont do: explicit sexual content, self-harm, suicide, torture, and addiction, as well as excessive gore (as in all the former things are okay if not explicit, but excessive gore is just. yuck).

i mainly write multi-paragraphs style as i have a tendency to vomit words, but i won't say no to rping with different styles. my writing is very emotion heavy, and my favorite thing to write is emotionally challenging stuff. give me all the angst, tho i write p much anything

useful links: about || relationships || verses || promo || starter call

other muse blogs: @conflictedenergies @once-upon-a-memoir

mun blogs: @foxfictioncentral @jcfoxington @arcticartings

#world of warcraft rp #looking for rp #looking for contact #pokemon rp #good omens rp #neutral faction rp #green dragon #kaldorei #night elf #sin'dorei #blood elf #.beyond the scales.about #.lfc

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edogawatranslations · 6 years ago

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999: Alterna (2) - Part 6, Chapters 4-5

Table of Contents | Previous: Part 6, Chapter 3

Chapter 4

After returning to [C-Deck], Akane and I met back up with Lotus and headed back the way we came towards the large hospital room.

Back in the hospital room, Ace, Clover, and Seven had returned safely and joined up with Santa.

Yet something about them felt off. Seven had a grim expression on his face, while Ace’s face had been completely drained of color. Clover looked so frail that she appeared to be on the verge of fading away.

Santa, with the same apathetic expression as always, turned to look at us.

“Did something happen?” I asked with bated breath.

“...Snake’s dead,” Santa muttered, staring upwards with his arms crossed.

“W-” A shiver shot through my body. I felt heart palpitations, rendering me unable to breathe properly. Cold sweat gushed out of my forehead and the back of my neck.

Akane and Lotus seemed to have the same reaction. Neither of them moved an inch, as despair crawled across their faces.

“Y-You’re kidding, right?”

“If that’s whatcha think, then why don’tcha see for yourself?” Seven said. He was shivering, with both hands curled into tight fists.

“But we’d have to go through a numbered door...”

“No need to worry about that,” Ace responded. He pointed to the numberless door. “We stuck a pillow in the door’s gap. The lock isn’t engaged, so you can go through there.”

“And then?”

“The x-ray room will be to your left. We opened that door by solving the question on the monitor, so you can open it quite easily.”

In other words, we could enter the x-ray room without having to pass through a numbered door.

Ace continued, “You’ll find the corpse inside where the seven creepy dolls are standing.”

“Got it. I’ll go and check.”

Lotus, Akane, and I nodded at each other before heading for the numberless door.

Upon entering the hallway, a iron door came into view on our left. We couldn’t pry it open earlier, but as Seven had said, the door now opened with ease.

Steeling myself, I leapt through the door.

“...Ugh.” Akane immediately grimaced and brought her hands over her mouth as she entered the room behind me.

“Where’s this foul odor coming from?” Lotus followed, pinching her nose.

An unnatural stench filled the room. The stench of blood, the stench of rotting flesh, the stench of human waste, the stench of something burning - all of that and more assaulted my nostrils.

I too soon became unable to withstand the odor, having no choice but to cover my mouth with my palm. While suppressing the nausea welling up inside me, I looked around the room.

“What’s that?”

I couldn’t help but tremble at the eerie sight before me.

Seven anatomical models stood basking in the red light emitting from the ceiling, all staring in the same direction. Photographs of each one of our faces were pasted on their heads.

When were these photos taken? I bit my lip in anger. The model with Akane’s face displayed a radiant smile.

Lotus with her pursed lips, Seven with a fierce look in his eyes, Santa with his snarky smile, Ace with his eyes closed, and Clover with a cutesy expression - Snake and the man with the [9] bracelet weren’t present.

I turned to look where the seven figures directed their gazes. There was a cloth partition dividing the room. The wall behind it was dotted with fresh blood. Based on where the splatters were more pronounced, it became obvious where Snake’s body was.

“June, wait here,” I turned around to address Akane.

“But...”

“Please, just keep quiet and do as I say.”

While keeping Akane back with my palm, I stepped cautiously toward the partition. Lotus followed, clinging to my back.

I grabbed the partition with both hands. Hesitantly, I peeked behind it.

My heart stopped. My body froze. It felt like time had frozen as well.

A nightmarish sight lay beyond the partition, one that would make anyone flinch in terror. The entire area was a sea of red. Chunks of meat and flesh were strewn about in pools of blood.

A head. Both arms. Both legs. A torso.

One section of the torso had completely burst open, pink intestines splaying out from the inside.

Gobs of meat covered the surrounding walls. Yellow mucus trickled down from everywhere, as if slugs had run rampant across the room.

“W-What the fuck is this? No...!!!”

Unable to stomach the grotesque scene, Lotus fled from the room. Immediately afterwards, I heard the sound of vomiting echo through the halls. That was the natural reaction. It was strange that I could remain as calm as I was.

“Lotus, are you okay?” June left the room to look after Lotus. For the time being, I wouldn’t have to worry about her coming back.

I turned to examine the corpse once more. Parts of it had been scorched black. The head seemed to have it the worst - as if it had been encapsulated by red-hot flames, it resembled a fully burnt match head.

Next to the head was the corpse’s left wrist. It must have gotten flung there from shock of the explosion. A stark white bone jutted out from the cross-section where it had been torn off.

I gazed at the corpse as a whole. The mass of meat was covered in burnt, tattered clothes. A wine-red colored necktie, a bloodied dress shirt, a navy blue jacket with yellow lines, and grey trousers. I had seen it all before. There was no question the corpse belonged to Snake.

“Why... Why did this have to happen...”

I clasped my hands together for Snake and looked up.

What appeared to be numbers were scribbled all over the blood-splattered wall.

5... 2...

The rest had been covered by the blood.

What did these numbers mean?

Intrigue filled my mind, but I had almost reached my limit. I couldn’t bear to stay in the room for much longer.

“Damn, this is horrible.”

Santa’s voice came from behind me. I turned around, and saw him gazing at the gruesome corpse with the same cool and calm countenance as always.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Thought I’d check it out for myself.” With no hesitation, Santa stepped into a puddle of blood.

“What happened to not wanting to get your shoes dirty?”

“That’s not important anymore. Everyone’s gonna get murdered at this rate. I gotta do some investigating if I want to survive, with or without anyone else.”

As he said that, he kicked Snake’s corpse. The torso twisted into a grotesque shape as something within was crushed with a resounding “splat.”

My stomach growled like a dog. Something sour churned up my insides. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Leaving Santa behind, I flew out of the x-ray room.

The stench of blood that had filled my nostrils wouldn’t go away.

Each time that metallic smell reached my lungs, the scene inside the x-ray room flashed into my mind. How many times would I have to endure this nausea?

Chapter 5

After returning to the large hospital room with Akane and Lotus, my gaze turned first and foremost to Clover.

She was sitting on the edge of a bed, her head hanging low. Her dull, hollow eyes stared aimlessly at the floor. Other than her rhythmic machine-like breathing, she displayed no reactions whatsoever. Her body looked so fragile that even a single touch may have been enough to break her.

Soon enough, Santa returned. His shoes were completely soaked red with blood. Just seeing them made me nauseous.

The seven of us had once again reunited in the hospital room.

“You get it now? It’s true,” Seven said as he approached me. Out of consideration for Clover, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Snake was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“You think he died some other way? You need at least three people to open a numbered door. Whoever did Snake in used the <RED> with him and opened the [3] door. And then they pushed him in.”

“That’s terrible...” Akane covered her face.

The door would have closed after nine seconds. By himself, Snake would have no way out. No, he likely wouldn’t have given up. Even if he realized the futility of his actions, he would have entered the x-ray room to seek out the <DEAD>.

To disarm the bracelet’s time bomb, everyone who authenticated on the <RED> must also touch the <DEAD>. Snake wouldn’t have been able to do anything in his situation. So after 81 seconds...

As the gruesome image of the x-ray room crept back into my mind, I vigorously shook my head.

“Who would do such a thing...?” Lotus murmured.

“At least three people including Snake would be needed to open the numbered door. One culprit plus Snake wouldn’t be enough to open the door,” Seven responded brusquely. “This was the work of multiple people.”

I crossed my arms. “There’s something I want to confirm first.”

“What?”

“When exactly was Snake killed?”

“Must’ve been when everyone split up to look for the <RED> circuit boards. We couldn’t find Snake after that.”

“So everyone was off on their own searching for the circuit boards in different areas. That means no one has an alibi, right?”

“Yeah. Any one of us could be guilty.”

“W-Wait just a moment!” Akane cried out in a fluster. “What’s wrong with you two? You’re talking about this like it’s obvious, but you’re saying there’s a murderer among us, right?”

“Yep. And not just one—there must be at least two among us,” Seven replied.

“Seven, that’s enough,” Ace chided. “What is there to gain from sowing the seeds of suspicion around? Aren’t we playing right into Zero’s hands?”

Seven couldn’t help but show embarassment in response to Ace’s sharp rebuke.

“What do you mean, ‘playing right into Zero’s hands?’” Lotus asked, leaning forward in curiosity.

“I’m saying that this is just another part of Zero’s plan,” Ace continued with a scowl. “We must not forget that we are still playing Zero’s game. And since this is a game, there will surely be winners and losers. Those who escape through the [9] door become winners; those who fail become losers. Zero is trying to force us to compete for victory.”

“In other words, you’re saying that Zero is intentionally trying to stir up dissent among us...” Akane summarized.

“Exactly. That is why we must avoid falling into the trap of suspecting one another. If we do not trust each other and fail to come together, we will fall right into Zero’s trap.”

“So Snake’s death...?” Lotus asked.

Ace nodded. “Right. That was most likely Zero’s handiwork as well.”

“That has to be it. Ace is right!” Akane said in agreement.

“Above anyone else, we must suspect the gamemaster himself. After all, he’s the one who abducted us all in the first place.”

Ace and Akane had a point. However, now more than ever, I couldn’t help but suspect those around me.

Thoughtlessly, I blurted out, “What if Zero is one of us?”

Next: Part 6, Chapters 6-9

#999 alterna #9 hours 9 persons 9 doors #nine hours nine persons nine doors #zero escape

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mirrorwalledcubicle · 6 years ago

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A ranting - Detroit: Sarcasm to Apple

I thought for a while and... onec I have mentioned DARPA, right? BTW there`s a saying like this; "If DARPA judges the project fail and throw it away, then it is put to practical use in 10 years." Yeah, clearly seems like DARPA rejected or aborted to support Elijah.

If I was high place in DARPA I would not support Cyberlife because Elijah`s goal was totally different from Russia(sturdy and weather-resistant workers/soldiers) or China(Efficiency). What the fucking national agency dump money for android “dies” by river water of -0.6C(30.8F). I muttered WTF when Luther and Kara were afraid of getting in cold water and Kara really “died”. Cyberlife androids are NOT WATERPROOF? Oh really? It`s hard to believe it. Even silicon sex dolls are waterprood. Then Kara died by HYPOTHERMIA? Great. Then Montana and Alaska must be an android free zone. Because all androids would be eliminated by deadly winter and grizzly bears. Can we really believe Cyberlife androids military model?

Will you buy Cars, guns, phones, computers, lights, fridges, and any other machine / electronics shuts down in that temperature? It because they have synthetic organs called bio Fucking Great components and blue blood? Then Cyberlife have sold literally fucking lame fragile plastic trashes as MASS PRODUCTIVE GOODS(I wonder that they even have update firmware properly) and American consumers have dumped money for it and change it like smartphones.

Well, perhaps military androids could stand environment a bit better than civilian model. If USA reduced military strength and bought androids as meat shield plastic shields, it could be not so bad choice when they decided to do that. They might think android is cheaper than training/supplying human soldiers(for example average cost for one RoK soldier is about 4000$/a year) and it doesn`t make troubles not like human soldiers. But since November 2038, it revealed that 80% of American military force have possibility to be deviant. Yeah, Fucked up.

Anyway. This bio fucking great component could be better than natural organs, not as electric components though. Not like metal, some semiconductors get more resistance in low temperature environment. That`s why sometimes your computer doesn`t turn on immediately at a too cold morning. Your room has been -5~-10C for all night so enough to freeze your computer. (so electronics for such countries have heater) And that fucking great thirium fluid. It`s power source and must be filled with nano grade circuit as information carrier blahblah great but it seems that never help to survive them with function like temperature control or aiding damaged biocomponents. Rather than, it seems like just add one more cause of "death" on death by list.

Wait, haven`t you heard a thing like this? While I said about androids` death by hypothermia I confused “Am I saying about iPhone Battery Scandal?" OMG What a great sarcasm. Smartphone sellers, especially Apple and Cyberlife, Both of them sell fucking fragile expensive expendables fully crammed with SENSIBILITY in sleek look, annual model changes, being fucked up by cold water. If sarcasm to industrial products of nowaday was Mr. Cage`s true goal, I really should apologize to him.

And I thought for a while why there are no imported androids and I realized that I was a idiot. it would be hard to allow import androids, because it`s definitive that another countries, especially China, can plant backdoor/chips for hacking in android lolzz. That all hacking chips and backdoors in electronics made in China. They planted hacking instruments in everywhere, even iron and kettles, remember? I was really moron sorry Dave XDD I laughed but this is very serious, terrible problem. (deadly serious face) And USA also prohibited Samsung androids for battery explosion It`s not important how imported androids are cheap and have good cost performance, regardlessly it`s a grave danger. Magazines in the game worried invasion of privacy by androids, I should have thought it also.

And one more thing; needless to say about American civil war, even until WW2 US military didn`t wanted to give guns to black soldiers. Well, black soldiers could fight as combat infantry in army. However navy put black soldiers to non-battle parts like cook in navy as possible as. And blacks to marine corps? NO WAY. This is racism in American history. Meanwhile in mainland, Asians were sent to detention camp or got attacked their places :P Seems like world of DBH really really beautifully fucked up, birth rate is hit the bottom and young ppl are all junkies and trashes, so they gave guns to Androids.

#ranting #rant #sorry #but cyberlife androids are to fragile to be practical #they were really cellphones #replicants or augmentees would be much stronger than them #detroit become human

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writeanapocalae · 6 years ago

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The Stable Field Emitter was a large and obvious thing, in the middle of a room as if it were on display. Sebastian raced to it, had to turn it on, keep Union from shattering around him for just a little bit longer. He was almost upon it when he heard the telltale signs of the photographer behind him. Grabbing his gun, he spun, ready to fire.

Then the lights behind him went off in a cascade, and a photograph was taken, and he was still. He could still think, and his thoughts were moving fast, trying to think of what he could do, how to escape, how to stop a man who could just step out of the way of anything that came at him and could freeze time with a flash.

He lowered his camera and strolled into the room, a smile playing on his thin lips. “You’ve been searching for me for so long; so, I have come.”

He walked behind Sebastian, fiddling with his camera. Sebastian couldn’t see him, not for the angle nor for the fact that the man had his face hidden by his hair once more.

“But wait, it’s not me you seek, is it? No. It’s the girl.” Something about the way he said ‘the girl’ made Sebastian internally shiver. It was almost a purr. He made his way to the Stable Field Emitter. “I should be offended. But how can I be? You’re not the only person who wants her power.”

He was right there, right behind Sebastian. If he weren’t frozen he could kill him, so easily, just shoot him point blank. Just be done with it. Screw that doctor. Right now, though, through the fit of rage that was making him feel more and more like a dam about to burst, he was the vulnerable one. The photographer really enjoyed that knife of his and he could slip it through Sebastian’s throat without even a millimeter of resistance.

Sebastian couldn’t see him, but he could see a man wandering towards them, from down the hall. The photographer wasn’t paying attention to the man in the military fatigues, the doctor who had been looking for Lily as well. The man said nothing, just stood down the hall, before turning into sand and vanishing once more. He wanted to see Sebastian complete his side of the deal.

The photographer walked back the way he came, to stand before Sebastian. “There is another, someone far more deserving. One who can offer rewards you could never imagine.” He traveled to Sebastian’s open side, the camera in one hand, the knife in the other, “So sorry, but you’ve been outbid.”

He brought the knife down, a light huff coming from his mouth. It should have been over, it should have all gone dark. Sebastian couldn’t allow that. His anger was a living thing, writhing inside of him, and it would not be killed, not like this.

The photographer had stopped with less than an inch between the knife and Sebastian’s eye. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away, but he was starting to be able to twitch.

“Fear…” the photographer crooned, “radiates from you.”

The knife came down, not into his eye, but through the spiderwebs of Sebastian’s temple, curving slightly. It was a light touch, just enough to reach the meat under his skin, but the cut felt like ice and fire battling for dominance over his nerves.

He took the knife away, seeing the blood on the very tip. “It’s beautiful... But not quite finished.” He sounded like he was admiring one of his macabre photographs, not Sebastian himself. He waved the knife around, almost like it was an extension of his hand. He knew how to use weaponry, more than a photographer had ought to, Sebastian could tell that. Only someone who was used to wielding a knife like that could so elegantly, with it appearing so organic.

“I am Stefano,” he finally introduced. It wasn’t a name that Sebastian was willing to forget. He was going to survive this, and he was going to ask Kidman about it. He was going to know everything he needed in order to take this man down.

A smile spread across his intricately textured face. “And now you are my art…”

He started to walk off, just as Sebastian’s body started to break through the freezing frame. He was groaning, his muscles spasming, the finger on the trigger ready to plunge. Stefano was looking over his shoulder as Sebastian but didn’t seem worried.

Sebastian continued his momentum, both hands on his pistol, and aimed true. “Son of a bitch!” he growled and found that he was alone. No, not alone. There was a horrible moaning above him. He turned, looked at the grotesque amalgam, human and spider and camera, all made of flesh and flash, crawling upside down on the ceiling.

“Meet my beautiful Obscura.” Stefano mused, his voice coming from everywhere.

The headache cracked and shoved itself through, forward, as if he were stepping through the world, as if he were a piece of glass on the edge of a shelf, fragile, beautiful, and prone to falling. He felt as if he had allowed himself to jump.

The man, how stubborn, had such an effect on him, and he couldn’t help himself but to dance around him, to look at each of those features, frozen in place, just for him. The prey was too late, would always be too late, and Stefano wondered if it was a crushing guilt that he saw in the man’s eye. There was no fear, not here.

He glanced at the machine. He did not care for it, one way or another. The prey though, he did. Stefano had no reason not to allow him access to it, but there was no reason to allow him any success. It was far more interesting to see a man fail, watch as that hope fell from him as the glass that he’d found himself as, than it was to see any hint of satisfaction. Well, there was his own satisfaction, and he would not deny himself that.

The prey was trying to keep an eye on him, not that Stefano could blame him, but it was no use. He could hardly move and what movement he had was slowed down tremendously. Still, he didn’t notice Obscura returning, oddly quiet as she moved through the room. She seemed far more interested in the machine than Stefano was.

She was bored, she hadn’t been able to destroy anything in a while. Even the girl, she had had nothing to do, but watch and hum oddly. Stefano didn’t understand it, she had never hummed like that before. He hadn’t hurt the girl, either, when he should have. He had so many ideas, and her fear was such an inspiration.

He was still prattling on, but his mind was going everywhere, searching through himself, finding such beautiful rivulets of ideas. A bouquet of flesh and blood, an audience that was the art itself, turning the concept around on itself. Yes, he would make this, her fear in watching him work turned into an entire canvas of concepts.

And fear, radiated through his prey now, onto his knife in red proof. He hardly flinched, but he couldn’t, not trapped as he was. Stefano smiled, dragging his knife down to the preys cheek. He wasn’t ready, as much as Stefano wanted him to be. He was a resilient one. Not ready, not art, not what he wanted.

He’d let Obscura have her fun. She may not succeed, but it didn’t matter, one way or another. It would give him time to get to Lily. He had to create, he had to make something, get his hands on that perfect medium of flesh, right then.

He took a step forward and left the prey behind.

#the evil within 2 #Stefano Valentini #Sebastian Castellanos #obscura #my writing #fanfiction #i know no one on here actually cares about this #but i cant write original work right now #this is faster and easier #and i can get things done in the few hours I have free this week

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hvmanmachine · 7 years ago

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Lots of partly important headcanons under the cut

Shaun’s loyalty to the Institute is near cult-like. He sees The Institute as some kind of living entity. Like a God in a way. “To serve the Institute” “To better the Institute” “The Institute knows best” etc. So any change can only come naturally from within. Like if you insult the religion of a person they will just cling tighter to it and see anyone from outside more and more as an offender against it and them. It’s the same with Shaun, he needs to start doubting by himself, not have others try to push him because then he just becomes more and more stubborn.

He isn’t truly feeling human himself. He doesn’t understand why anyone would not want to live for their purpose because he never thought about freedom. One of the reasons he fails to understand Synths or have empathy with them.

If he hates someone, he truly hates them, to the core. He is cruel and could in theory torture someone or watch them be tortured without caring. This is so in all verses. Yes even fluffy BoS Shaun. He threatened people that annoyed him more than once with things that horrified them into being decent ID

He is a daydreamer, he imagines perfect scenarios and gets kind of upset and offended if people do not follow the script he had never told them about lol

His left arm can ridiculous easily break after it got broken as a baby. He never really knew how that happened until he learned about where he came from. The way the institute worker grabbed him and pulled on the still fragile child’s body was the reason.

His shoulder was also injured, and it actually gives him quite often trouble, rolling his shoulders or when there were storms on the surface made it ache.

When on his trips into the Wasteland his blood is flooded with Rad-X and a lot of other medication to prevent any illness or radiation festering at all. He is immune to any of such dangers as long as he keeps taking the especially for him made medicine, but it really isn’t that much better. It makes him dizzy, sick, especially if he waits too long between any shots and every time he returns to the Institute he suffers for a bunch of days from withdrawal and also his body just trying to clean all of it out again.

It might keep him pure, but he doesn’t always know if it really was worth it.

Shaun is actually jealous of the synth version of him. Because the moment he sees his parent and him he knows that what they truly wanted was not him. Reason he doesn’t show up for quite a while anymore. So he either brings him back when the Institute is destroyed or he gives his Parent the Leading role of the Institute. As a farewell present or as thank you gift. (and the hope to have that childhood that was taken from him in a different way, in a different form and different life)

Some people wonder why the Institute only got Shaun but no one else and killed everyone besides the SoleSurvisor.The first answer is easy:Children are easy to control, easy to form. A toddler like him could be molded into what they needed. They didn’t need a freethinking adult, they needed a Father, someone that would live only for the Institute, by the Institute rules. No old world morals, no feelings in the way of reaching the Institute’s goal. Shaun was supposed and is as much a creature of the Institute as the Synths are.

Shaun was supposed and is as much a creature of the Institute as the Synths are.

The Sole Survivor is the backup, but not supposed to be in the same way as Shaun. They are an adult, they can’t be controlled. What they are a backup of is as living, frozen tissue. So that when/if Shaun dies the scientists can use their DNA instead to keep working on the Synths etc.

The whole family is simply experiment samples for The Institute.

Shaun doesn’t eat meat of domestic animals, or harmless ones. He doesn’t understand why’d you hunt and eat the few harmless beings in the wastes.

This is of course only in a verse where the Institute was destroyed and he is forced to live on the surface. As long as he lives in the Institute he will mainly live from the Institute food (I headcanon that they are able to create synthetic steaks etc... but only for the high ranking members )

Could Shaun ever see a Synth as a person?

Probably yes. At least my version. But that’d need time and distance. Tbh Valentine would probably the one that most likely could inspire him to realize that Synths are more than just machines.

Parents see their children as children sometimes for their child’s whole life. It often needs to have extreme changes or situations for a parent to realize ‘gosh dang my baby is an adult I can’t order around anymore’. Shaun is surrounded by Synths, by those that are more machine-like and some that are not. He is caught in the worldview of being a creator. As a creator, you can’t see your creation as equal.

Of course, this would be a slow and gradual shift, but could probably not be done by anyone extremely hostile towards the Institute and him or someone that is part of the Institute.

Shaun loves building those tiny robot models… he also has a few he rebuilt so they are fully functioning tiny robots, they are usually turned off, no one needs to know how high his nerd level actually is… he keeps the models hidden in general.

Shaun gets drunk after two glasses of wine. And when he is… he becomes mainly tired, tired and clingy and very needy.

He never drinks more than one glass.

In his Fallout verses, Shaun HATES the cold, and even more: he hates ice. He hates snow. He hates it with a burning passion. He gets grumpy in the winter months and just might not want to move at all if there is snow, unless he is in the Institute where seasons etc don’t matter.

He might get actual nightmares if he is too cold, and most of his bad dreams involve him wandering through endless snow landscapes.

#•●[ headcanon ]●•#ᶜʳᵃʷˡ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃˡˡᵒᵘᵗ •●[ main ~ headcanon ]●•

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undergroundsky · 8 years ago

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Birds in cages, stray dogs, and a god’s doves.

Children having fun at a playground would evoke a comparatively more lighthearted ambience than the usual, if that’s all that there is to it.

The “dog” stands beside the “bird,” together opposing the “dove.” Beneath the veneer of a simple role-playing game is an illustration of the profound absurdity of a war that continues to entangle even the most innocent.

Touka seeks Akira out not solely for a semblance of resolution, but for the understanding that she knows only Akira can provide as a human on the other end of the bridge, whose father she had killed in a way reminiscent of how, in her mind, her own was killed at the hands of CCG investigators. The loss of the family they loved to monsters left them with indelible scars, as vessels of hatred and willpower that did not inherently belong to them — a painfully familiar motif. The juxtaposition of the children beginning to crack and the adults that are long broken is jarring. Akira, Touka, and Hinami were small and vulnerable once, exactly like the children in front of them here.

Children start as pure, unwritten, not yet able to fully grasp the phenomenally dismal world around them. They’re blank slates waiting to be stained through to the core with fresh blood, enslaved by the machinations of the hypocritically self-serving and self-destructive. Unfortunate victims on all sides undergo a systemic brainwashing as shown with the newly introduced Oggai, as well as the other Quinx, Garden children, and orphans like Amon, Juuzou, and the Yasuhisa twins. There is no safety anywhere for anyone.

A mother struggles in vain to protect her child as the reapers close in jeering and cackling, and the two are sliced apart in an instant. No mercy, no remorse, no thought. The blindfolds are there to emphasize their place as corrupted parodies of knights of justice, eyes shut to the death and destruction they mechanically spread. To see in shades of grey is an act that demands clarity, but their saviors were demons who stole their souls in exchange for one purpose — and this was it.

Dogs on the hunt, dogs on the run, dogs to the slaughter. The wheel keeps turning wherein one is pinned under and crushed, and another rises to the top. Is the past always fated to be the future?

Most of the characters are vessels regardless of whom they fight for, thoroughly reliant on trapping another’s will within their own transient bodies to mask their fear of losing something they cherish or getting lost again, to move in any direction at all even it ruins them, to stay alive. They’re amalgams of doubt and distortion and no one knows what they want for themselves; they’ve never had to think about it.

In the original series, Kanou spoke of a perfect world as he envisions it, one free of the twisted birdcage. He is relentless in his pursuit of artificial ghouls that can fly higher and faster than the rest of the crippled birds, because he sees them as a metaphorical transcendence of their stagnated world, and ultimately as extensions of himself, a man ascended.

I have already let go of any desire to carry on in the human world. (TG, ch. 99)

The series can be interpreted from an alternative perspective as an abstract religious parable. Kanou is the didactic hand of god, deceitfully giving and taking life in accordance to his whims and greater plans, with Furuta as his false prophet. The doves move by their commands, pitifully playing into the belief that they are the rightful arbiters of peace, that only their way is true and just, so they fail to comprehend beyond that which is dictated to them by their progenitors.

Spend too long hopelessly believing, and you lose the ability to think.

Two keyholes sit as the barrier between oppression and deliverance, one above and one below. The cage can't be dismantled without two groups uniting against a common enemy such that future generations would never again have to serve as instruments of a chaotic cycle. Kaneki can’t save anyone if he can’t save himself first, and to do so he needs to forsake his refuge of misguided attachments. What he assumes to be his responsibility due to Eto and Arima’s influence was actually never meant to be one man’s task, king or not; there is no Messiah bearing the single solution to their world’s ills.

Unlocking their rotting prison is the monumental undertaking of two entire warring factions, together, as they attempt to reach mutual understanding one person at a time. That’s why the recent chapters have been focused on these isolated conversations. For unlikely people to be given each their chance for closure, even though it’s still quite the far way off.

The answers to these questions rest on ambiguous, subjective factors. Should they hate themselves for, as Rize once put it, the inability to make the correct choices, thereby creating their own disadvantages? What would the correct choices have been for their circumstances? How would they have arrived at those conclusions on their own?

In essence, to hate unilaterally is to lay blame and misdirect anger, unable to realize the weight of one’s own role in the disaster. Hatred, while a potent motivator, is not a necessary means to an end. Even with the CCG out of the picture, the problem concerning coexistence would still persist. (Unless synthetic human meat and/or ghoul reversal become feasible, but that’s a tangent for another time.)

Steady steps. Eradicating the CCG means removing a large cog in the wheel, and with it the linear transference of will that has long overwhelmed the fragile vessels with torment that they should never have contained.

#tokyo ghoul:re #tokyo ghoul re #tg:re #tg meta #kanou akihiro #meta: mine

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maximabdullahhorki-blog · 7 years ago

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If this was a movie I would be alright. I would be walking around with a couple of scars on my body. Instead I've had over 9 surgeries in the past six months, I don't have a spleen anymore and I lost both my legs ; let's not forget to mention half my colon was removed. If this was a movie I would be fine. But this isn't a movie and I was lucky enough to not get not 1 other chance but 3 more chances. I lost my life 3 times in these past 6 months. Once one the way to the hospital, once more 20 minutes after they saved my life and once more 2 months later while my mother was sitting in the other room. Now I don't know why I of all people would get this many chances. I was a criminal. I hurt people in many different ways. From hurting them physically, to emotionally hurting them and even to psychologically pain. I ask myself this at least 100 times a day, "why was I given this chance to live again". Well first let me tell you what has happened to me and then maybe we can figure it out together. December 2nd 2016, around 8 am in the morning I get a call from my friend and I won't mention names so we'll just call him Jay. Jay was having a problem with another friend of mine who we'll call Ray. Now, Jay and Ray were arguing about some nonsense and I really do mean nonsense. I decided that I'll talk to Ray to calm things down, the complete opposite happened. Me and Ray started fighting and while we were on the phone arguing Jay was on his way to pick me up. Things got heated between me and Ray. Threats got thrown, disrespect was shoved down throats and worst of all, a beautiful friendship was about to be torn. Jay picked me up from my house and we started to go towards Rays' house. Now bare with me because I don't remember everything due to my injuries but this is what I was told. We got to his house and I was ready to talk to him to figure out what the issue was and Jay was angry. Things got said on the phone again, "fuck you"s got thrown, "you're a bitch", "I'm gonna fuck you up", and worst of all "I'm going to kill you". Finally we were face to face and now at this point as you can imagine tensions were high. Ray pulls a gun out and aims it at my face. I thought I was going to die, so being the idiot I was I embraced it. He shot the gun 2-3 times and nothing came out. Turns out he was shooting blanks. Now if you don't know what blanks are they're bullets that just make the sound used for hunting to scare bears off. Once I realized that he would have really just killed me then and there I got heated. I ran to the car and grabbed a small axe because I saw Ray pull out a knife. I swung the axe not to hit him but to make him back off. We got into a scuffle and before I knew it i felt blood dripping down my pants. I then felt the warmth of the blood come down my stomach and again I felt the warmth on my arm. Before I knew it i had be stabbed 3 times. I remember looking at him and saying you were my brother. I turn to see where Jay is and he's fighting ray's friend. Jay sees me hurt going to the car, so he turns to Ray and starting fighting him. I wish he would have just gotten in the car when he saw me bleeding to death. Instead he gets stabbed as well. Once in the heart, once in his lungs, once in his liver and one more in his belly. But even though that happened to him he still managed to throw me in the car and start driving me to the hospital. I remember him telling me were going to be alright but really I felt no pain. I was tired and I thought maybe I should take a nap until we get to the hospital. That was the first time I died. Jay safely got us to the hospital before he collapsed. That's the first time he lost his life. Oh silly me I forgot to mention. He got those second chances too. They brought me back but my hearts stopped again. They saved me once more before transferring me and Jay to Royal Columbian Hospital. Once we arrived there they were able to identify both of us and called our families. Jay was in the clear after his surgeries. For me it was different. Once my parents arrived to the hospital they told them that I have about 10mins to live, so they should go say their goodbyes. They did and the way my mother explained to me was, "you weren't my little Hamo anymore, you looked like a pile of bloody meat". They waited in the waiting room and they saw the surgeons approach them, my mother broke down for she thought he was about to say he's gone. Instead he came out shocked not believing it himself and started saying "He's surviving". They took me into an OR and started doing what they had to do for me to survive. That went well and all the bleed came to a stop. But this was what was wrong with me now. My liver had completely shut down, so did my kidney and they took out a part of my colon and my whole spleen. They were telling my parents if I make it thru the healing and rehab that I would need to be hooked up to a dialysis machine for 17 hours a day. That meant no more social like at all, couldn't go do the things I loved to do ; like workout, swimming, hiking, or just going to dinner with my beautiful girlfriend but her part hasn't come up yet. Fast forward 9 days. December 11th 2016 was the day they gave up on my legs. They tried everything and nothing worked. They amputated both my legs. Keep in mind the hospital thought it would be best for everyone if they put me under into a coma. They didn't want me to suffer through the pain but what they didn't know was that I could hear them speaking. I heard them say it's time to amputat the legs and no matter how hard I tried to scream no.. my words were not heard. Let's fast forward to December 25th 2016 also known as Christmas. That was the day that I woke up for the first time and I had no idea what had happened. I see my family around me and for that bliss moment nothing mattered but them. Everything was still fragile in my body. This is the 3rd time now. My heart just randomly started to drop and the nurse was scream to tell me to stay awake but i reallt felt like this was my time to go. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I was expecting to see god and him telling me youre going to hell but no..it was just .. dark. I felt so alone and i thought that this is bullshit. I want to come back and be alive again. Next thing i knew i saw a light. That light was from my room in ICU, again they saved me. Now let's skip to new years eve, that was the day they took me out of ICU and I was feeling good. Well as good as I could at the time. This also meant I'm going to a new unit which means I can have people come see me. Some time passed by and Jay finally came to see me. I cried when I saw him because in my mind even thought he started the problem and I did nothing but make it worse he was my guardian angel. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here and I'll always have love for him. We talked a bit, then he asked me if I wanted to talk to my gf and I was so excited and nervous to talk to her because I didn't know if she was going to leave me because of the fact that I don't have any legs. I called her of Jay's phone and she thought it was him but right when I said "hi" it was over, she started crying telling me how much she was worried about me and how she misses and how she loves me. Me going into this conversation I thought she was going to leave me but she didn't, she's another guardian angel that I have in my life. Days n night my mother would not leave my side and if that meant sleeping on a chair just to get rest she's all for it. I went thru hell they once again wanted to do surgery on both my stumps. So they did. A week later they had to stick a tube thru my ribs and into my lungs because there was fluid built up. Then they put a catheter in my piss hole that went down to my bladder because I couldn't pee. I was going through hell but momma never left my side. Fast forward to February 6th 2017, this was the day that I went to rehab, so this meant I'm a step closer to home. This didn't last long for the fact that the people there knew I would be better off healing at home and they were right. So we came up with a plan. They were going to teach me everything that essential and then they were going to set me free. And that's exactly what happened. I got home thing finally I'm going to stay at home but guess what, life wasn't done fucking with me. My stump on the left side had a cut on it. It wasn't just a cut. My bone was slowly ripping thru my skin. By night four it had already doubled in size times 3. So had to go through another surgery again and while all this is happening I'm still sitting there thinking "why am I here"? Recovery took three week and guess what, the right side started to do the same thing. Two week recovery. All these surgeries had one thing in common. Every doctor,surgeon , nurse said the same thing. You're a miracle. You shouldn't be alive right now. You are going against science in every way. We thought your kidneys and liver had failed but they fixed themselves up within 2 weeks. All of this that happened to you, you should be dead. And I agree with them I should be dead but I'm not. Now back to the question "why am i here" ? To tell my story so that no one does anything stupid like I did. It's not worth doing all this shit. What did we get out of this except for a broken friendship that will never be repaired, me going through all that, Jay had to get heart surgery. All over nonsense. Now I know why I'm here. It's to save someone before they do something that will change lives for the worst, forever. Just remember this isn't a movie. One stab wound can kill you, one gun shot could end it all. Fuck all this fight. What happened to the peace and love. We need to change as a community. We need to stop this violence. Please learn from my mistakes. You won't see it coming but when it does come it'll be too late

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the19thblog · 8 years ago

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Ghost in the Hell?

WARNING: Some spoilers for the film contained below. Please run away screaming if you do not want to see any. The live-action reboot of Ghost in the Shell was always going to become an interesting movie. Attempting to bring life back into what is commonly referred to as one of the most note-worthy and influential anime films was bound to spark debate amongst audiences. With the high regard for the original, along with the ever-optimistic lens of nostalgia, Ghost in the Shell (2017) has a difficult job to leave audiences happy. My own history with the original is somewhat awkward. I watched it at around the age of sixteen and haven’t returned to it since, for one simple reason; it is very slow. The subject matter is interesting, the art- beautiful, yet the pacing was too plodding. It also suffered from the anime trope of being somewhat awkward to view with family or people you care about present. Does the protagonist have to be essentially naked to carry out her duties within law enforcement? Due to all of this I went into viewing the current version of the film with not as much nostalgia as others may have for the franchise, yet still with interest within the central premise of the movie. For those unaware; Ghost in the Shell is The Matrix before The Matrix was even a thing. Set within the near-future in Shanghai, cybernetics has developed to a point whereby nearly every human has some sort of robotic augmentation or enhancement. People could have robotic eyes to give themselves night-vision, people can enhance their limbs to make them more powerful, robots are the norm in many businesses and residences. A pioneering new project is taking place with the intention of saving people who have suffered what would be fatal accidents. Their mind, (or ghost), is recovered from the dying body and is implanted into a completely robotic body, (a shell). Through exposition one learns that this has never been done before, up until now. This is where Scarlett Johansson’s character, Major, steps in. Major is recovered from a ship-wreck and would have otherwise died if not for this treatment. Her body, being a medical and scientific marvel is soon put to task within the police force within Shanghai, Major being able to perform actions and take risks that humans simply would not be able to do. Major simply requires repairing, rather than healing, and needs the odd check-up with the psychiatrist to make sure her mind is adjusted to her body. Herein lies the real meat of the movie, and this meat is flavoured like Marmite. You will either enjoy it, or want to puke. Ghost in the Shell, (2017), has some very interesting ideas to discuss on human psychiatry, as well as where the lines between humanity and machine lie, alongside the nature of consent. All of these are huge issues, and whilst not always addressed appropriately or considerately, the film certainly explores them and leaves the audience thinking, which is the mark of an interesting film. When considering the genre of the movie, it would be easy to classify it as sci-fi. The futuristic setting and technology presented certainly hint and almost desire to be classed as that, but for me, it is closer to a horror, and this is partly due to the handling of the themes mentioned above. Regarding psychiatry, one of the key plot points involves memory; wiping human memories from the brain and replacing them with new, crafted ones. In one case, this is not performed quite as successfully as intended and the character’s memories seep back in, creating “glitches”, where the character sees things from their past that aren’t actually there. Whilst only touched on lightly, the idea presented that someone could be in a situation where they are unsure of the reality of anything presented before them is terrifying to consider, mirroring life for those dealing with mental health issues perhaps, yet it is an idea that is treated as almost throwaway. It is presented to the viewer, and then barely mentioned again, only serving a plot-point later in the film.

Another character has their memories replaced with new ones. They are meant to believe for various reasons that they have a wife and child and that they are happy. The reality is quite the opposite, they live alone in a small apartment. When their created memory of their life shatters and they are confronted with reality, they hang themselves, quite graphically, onscreen. Less subtle than the previous topic but equally, if not more horrific. This horror isn’t necessarily bad, and in this case it serves to provide an exclamation mark to the statement that this almost utopian world where every human flaw could feasibly be fixed, comes with its own risks and dangers. It demonstrates how exploitative the world it portrays can be. Exploitation is something that is touched upon time and time again, if only lightly at each point. Obviously the characters referred to above are exploited in terms of their memories, but the world itself, whilst beautifully presented, is exploitative too. Gangs control parts of the city and the availability of robotic enhancements to all leads to what appears to be a thriving sex trade. Not that sex trade in itself is always bad, however at several points it is questionable how consensual the arrangements presented are. Additionally, Major has to consent to any treatments performed to her body either psychologically or physically. As a twist towards the end of the film it is revealed that in fact she has never had to consent to these treatments and it is all an act to get her on-side. Again, an interesting topic worth exploring: how much control or consent should Major have for a body that was crafted and paid for by somebody else? However these potential and otherwise consent failings are over and done with so quickly, they are purely there to add to the message of ‘these are bad people’. This is not to say that it isn’t a topic worth exploring, quite the opposite, but when dealt with so lightly and quickly it almost disrespects the discussion as a whole. It is almost making the statement that these issues aren’t important enough to be a major part of the movie so we can just use them as set-dressing, or minor points.

It is interesting that exploitation is a recurring subject within a film that has been considered exploitative in and of itself by many. Leading up to the release of the film many criticised the choice of Scarlett Johansson to play Major. Within the original, Major is of Asian descent, Johansson, is of course not. This led many to critique the film for white-washing the original, a recurring sin within Hollywood today. Interestingly this is almost explained within the movie, however it is hard to believe that it simply wasn’t possible to find an actor of Asian heritage who was able to play Major. This isn’t a criticism of Johansson, her portrayal of Major is what it needs to be; cold, stern and delicately fragile at times. This is a criticism of the casting and overall production however. Leaving the cinema I wasn’t sure what I felt about Ghost in the Shell, (2017). One or two friends asked if the film was good. I am still unsure. I certainly enjoyed it. The film is thought-provoking, the action is well choreographed and the acting itself is fairly solid, with a few high-points of genuine emotion. Additionally, the futuristic Shanghai is beautifully realised, making full use of CGI to present a vivid technological dreamland, where bright, vivid advertisements bring life to the dull and dirty streets. Technicolour, holographic fish swim through the streets, whilst giant smiling figures try to sell home conveniences next to the skyscrapers. It is almost worth going to the cinema for the visual spectacle itself. The movie solves a lot of the pacing issues of the original too. Whilst some may not agree, the Hollywood style fast-pace to action is a lot more forgiving for viewers perhaps unused to non-western cinema. Not to everyone’s tastes certainly but it worked for me. That being said, it is not easy viewing at times. The subject-matter it deals with is rough, and not always handled as carefully as one would hope at times. If, however, you can make peace with that, there is a lot of enjoyment to be gained from the film, and I do recommend seeing it. You will like what you see, but you will feel dirty for it.

#ghost in the shell #movie #review #scarlett johansson #the19thblog

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