#I don't think i'd trade those memories out but i did see and hear about some fuckin weird stuff

[carbonatedjem]

Cannot describe the whiplash I just received and I choose to not elaborate

[marshmallowprotection]

Please tell me you’re writing something for the new Unknown CG….(I’m politely asking if you could) 🩷🤞

What a curious man your former boss was.

Even after all this time, there were moments when you couldn't tell what was going on in that head of his. It wasn't always a bad thing, though. In the past, it kept you on your toes, it made you think twice before you tried anything. Anybody in your position would have been vigilant of him after what he did, but you didn’t hesitate because you were afraid of a man who could’ve been blown over by a strong gust of wind. 

You hesitated because every word out of his mouth didn't match the look on his face. The domineering laugh, the twisted cackle, and his cagey hands were nothing compared to the dead look in his eyes that had no hope left to spare. It wasn't hope you needed, rather, that was what he desperately wanted. 

For a man who prided himself on apathy, it was a surprise to see the truth behind his eyes, covered only by years of lies that kept him alive in Mint Eye. But, seeing him for who he was gave you chance to know him as he was today. Snarky, sullen, resourceful, sweet, and devoted. You wouldn't trade anything in the world for him, even if you two had a strange way of showing your affection toward one another.

"Look at me," he grumbled.

"I'm looking at you," you replied. The water rippled against the fabric of your dress as he settled his head against your lap. "I don't think I'd want to look anywhere else, boss-man."

"You don't have to keep calling me that," he said. There was a notable roll of his eyes as he sighed. "I haven't been your boss for a while now. I told you to call me by my name, [Y/N]."

"I don't know about that. Sometimes your eyes crinkle when I call you that name and it's the cutest thing. I don't know if I can't help myself anymore if that's what I get to win every time I call you my boss-man, boss-man." Your smile grew as his eyebrow twitched.

Even if you didn't have to call him that after you left Mint Eye, it was a special nickname. He had plenty of those for you, too. Though, there was something just as special as hearing him use your real name for a change. Names weren't something you shared back then, opting to use titles and comebacks instead to poke at each other while all you could do was push against the walls like caged animals.

It might've be dehumanizing at first.

But, it settled into a new normal at some point. It felt like a part of who you were and who he was. His hand found yours after that pause separated your thoughts from his.

"I'm yours?" The amused smirk spread across his face. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before."

"I'll say it again if you want that moment captured on camera as well," you said. Your thumb was pressed firmly against the trigger beneath his head, after all. "It's your birthday. I'll make sure you have as many memories captured on film as I can give you."

He squeezed your hand. "I never want to forget that I'm yours."

You smiled. "You won't"

[dolfinsatdawn]

Questions 6, 20 and 30 for the RoP Ask Game. :-)

Omg thank you for the ask!!

6. Where would you most like to live in RoP and why?

I am going to say Eregion because I can't help myself and I know that means I'm doomed but at least I'd get to see Celebrimbor for several hundred years. (And I’m not quite as doomed as if I said Numenor.) Eregion would be such a beautiful place to live. Imagine going riding along the river, imagine seeing all the beautiful artists work in the city, walking to Khazad Dûm when you're bored. Also I desperately want to see what the statue of Fëanor looks like from the front. Celebrimbor is obviously the main reason I picked Eregion, but let me pine okay. It helps.

20. Name three of your favourite scenes (or lines, or scenes and lines).

The pure Shakespearean quality of the scene where Celebrimbor is talking to the metals. I wish I had a direct quote of it but, the level of feeling is insane. I shushed my family in my second watch through just to hear his delivery. Charles Edwards is a fantastic actor. (in the same vein "I go to the shores of morning ere long..." I cried)

The balrog scene had me kicking and screaming. The balrog was so COOL and they were so careful to honor the original design. I love the way they blended special effects with practical effects in RoP. I just rewatched the Hobbit and I was a bit saddened by how much of those films were vfx (vfx are cool!! But I like a certain balance) and I feel like you could really feel the way the showrunners at RoP understood balance. The scene with Balrog and the king is one of the most cinematic shots in the entire show. I want that as a painting.

“Captivating.”

Annatar’s facial expressions overall were a highlight of the season. (Again the ACTING in this show is insane). But this scene specifically where you can see The Sauron Agenda is being delayed by this Elf who Is Supposed To Be Working. And instead is pointing out Sauron’s mistakes to his FACe. I’ve never seen so much unbridled rage in one little word. You can see his eyes go a little insane. Vickers is extremely talented and I love him as a villain.

40. Choose three characters (not necessarily your favourite ones). Say three positive things about each of them.

Celebrimbor:

1. The brightest smile I’ve seen in ages. I would trust this elf with my life. Let me learn metal smithing from him he’d be such a gentle teacher.

2. So much good was done by this guy. He made an entire city, made a trade route with dwarves, made a specific choice to denounce his own father for the sake of morality (Silm content but listen he’s such a good guy and I love him in both RoP and the Silm). I know he blames himself for Annatar’s deception but he needs to be remembered for all the good he did (I think Elrond will do this, Elrond will defend Celebrimbor’s memory)

3. Stronger than he looks. Listen, no one (not even Sauron) expected Celebrimbor to throw the lying Maia bastard (affectionate) against a pillar. He's a Smith. He's got upper body strength for days. I for one appreciate that.

Durin:

1. The most mentally stable guy. He has it together man. He stands up for himself, defends his wife, says sorry when he needs to, expresses healthy feelings to Elrond when he's mad (after a little bit), mistrusts the magic bastard blonde baby girl (affectionate) hanging around Narvi's best buddy. He is a mental health king.

2. Best Tolkien Wife Guy. Listen we know that Tolkien writes tons of wife guys. Okay. But Durin is the winner of RoP. Elendil would be a close second (and we all know about Tom Bombadil) but we don't get to see him with his original wife and we don't have QUITE enough scenes of him and Miriel. Durin is 100% wife guy.

3. Not above pranking the elves. I mean seriously he finagled a new table out of the HIGH KING. Valar-tier move. He can be serious when it counts but we have to appreciate a man who is down for a shenanigan or two.

Arondir:

1. Feral king. Look at him. All the other elves we see are these controlled dressed up with fancy armor..and here he is running around the woods like a feral cat. I love him. I don't remember if the show explicitly states that he's Sinarin, but he perfectly encapsulates the Sindar vibe and putting him in battles with Galadriel and soldiers of Eregion just perfectly shows the difference between the Noldo stuffiness and Sindar wild woods energy (and they respect each other!!!!) He has the same feral energy that I love about Legolas. (I secretly hope if they add Celeborn that he and Arondir have a good vibe together and have similar energy!)

2. The movement quality of this man is insane. I've known a lot of dancers and let me just tell you when someone knows how to control their body they can make walking or even just turning their head seem ethereal. Arondir has this. Every movement is purposeful. Everything is fluid. He has the grace we wish we had even when stabbing an orc in the throat.

3. Another wife guy TM. And also ready to be a Dad guy. It hurt my heart to watch him lose his little human family so quickly. He is so devoted. He yearns. He YEARNS.

[fangirlstorycreator]

Hey lovely can you write something about we are Terry's wife and we are pregnant and for the past few days we have been having contractions and just him comforting us and one night when we are lying In bed we have a really bad one and he just helps us through it like rubbing are back or stomach and holding are hand something just really fluff please and I'd you can could it be kk3 and ck terry

Absolutely I can do that for you anon, it's always a pleasure writing about Terry 😊💚 I apologise for the delay, I've only just been able to get internet back on my phone 💚

KK3 Terry:

This was your first pregnancy, and you had heard many stories from your friends or other women about their own experiences throughout pregnancy. Many said the labour was the worst part, others say the stretch marks and back pain, in my experience those pains were something you could cope with, but when it came to braxton hicks! That was another story. You were one week away from your due date, and you were starting to experience braxton hicks, they were terrible to go through. At first it wasn't so bad, but the pains gradually got stronger and stronger, and you thought you were going to possible go into labour.

Of course you told your husband Terry, but he reacted in the way you knew he would, he panicked. He looked worried yet energetic, it was like he was a tight ball of nervousness. This was his wife and baby's health hear, and throughout the entire pregnancy, Terry had done anything and everything for you both. So when you told him you were feeling what you thought were labour pains, Terry went into over drive. He got you in the car, along with the hospital bag and all the essentials you needed for the birth within minutes. But when you arrived and got checked out, it was only braxton hicks. So you were sent home and told what the signs would be if it was labour, and to watch out for that before coming back, unless there was an emergency. So this went on for what felt like a very long time, and they were little intervals of hicks, uncomfortable and stoped you from doing anything, so there wasn't much you could do. Towards the end of the second day, it was night time when you have had enough. The doctor recommended walking to ease the pains, but it wasn't working anymore, and you were lead down in bed feeling stuck. Terry walked in from his kang su do work out, and he looked heartbroken for you, he hated not knowing how to help you. He walked up to the bed and knelt down beside you, he held your hand and looked into your eyes with such worry and concern. "Can I do anything for you baby girl?" "I don't think so Terry" "Oh Y/N, I hate to see you like this. You don't deserve to go through this, your putting your body through the works to carry our baby" "It's one of the many things I knew I was getting into when we decided to be parents babe" "If I could trade places with you, I would in a blink of an eye. You look like your falling apart, I'm so sorry"

"Its all going to be worth it in the end Terry, when our little baby is finaly hear, he or she will just smile, and all of this pain will feel like a distant memory" "That's just one of the many things I love about you baby girl, your positivity in situations" "It's all I can do, because f#ck knows what else I'm going to do about it" You both share a giggle, just before you hold your lower belly and feel yet another hick. "Hhhsss!" "Another one?" "Yep...yet again" Terry rested his hand against your cheek and gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Did you tell me to go and work out earlier because you didn't want me to see you like this?" ".....Partially....I just thought you might want a little time where your not worrying about me" "I worry about you no matter where I am or what I'm doing Y/N. Your carrying our baby, and your body is working over time. I just wish-wait! I have an idea! I'll back in a few moments baby, I promise" He smiles with his boyish charm and gives you a cheeky kiss before he jumps up and runs to the bathroom. You secretly think in your head "I wish I could jump up and run with that speed" Terry returned about 20 minutes later, looking like an excited boy who'd just been given a new toy.

"I have a suprise for you baby, let me help you up and I can show you" "Oh Terry, your not going to try and distract me with your ideas for multiply cobra kai dojo's again are you?" "No no baby, don't worry. I wouldn't put you through that again. I promise you'll enjoy it, come on" He helps you stand up nice and gently and holds your hand and his other arm supports your back as he leads you through to the bathroom. He has only gone and made a relaxing bubble bath for you with vanilla bath oils. He had lit coconuts scented candles, and sprinkled rose pettles in the bubbly warm water of the very large circular bath. He even put on some lovely background music, it was so inviting. After Terry helped you undress, he carried you into the bath and gently set you into the water so you were nice and comfortable. "This is wonderful babe, thank you" "I thought this would be nice for you baby girl, I'll be in with you, just a second..." Terry started undressing to get into the bath with you, but you couldn't help but watch. "Oh....you like what you see?" "Absolutely...why don't you undress a little slower for me?" He smirked as he did what he was asked, he pulled his white GI away from his chest, slowly revealing more and more of his muscular body. His broad chest, his strong biceps, and those muscles towards his groin.....it was definitely a great distraction.

Once he climbed in, he sat infront of you at first, giving you time to adjust to the temperature with out his body heat against you. "How are you feeling Y/N?" "The water is definitely helping, this was a great idea Terry. Thank you" "Anything for you baby girl"

His beautiful smile after he said that melted your heart, he always knew how to make you feel warm. Inside and out. "Now, let's get us both more comfortable shall we?" He slid over to you and maneuvered himself behind you, so your back was pressed against his chest. He held you in his arms as you feel so relaxed and pain free. His hands both move under the water and he gently strokes the area underneath your belly where the pains are coming from, it's like he is giving you a miniature massage in just that area. Your eyes flutter shut, and you rest your head against his chest and neck. You can feel his chuckle vibrate through you from where your lead on him. "Is that nice?" "Oooh you have no idea babe" He kisses your neck as he continues his little massage. "I have all the time in the world to make you feel better baby girl, and I will do this as much as you need until the big day when our little baby silver is finaly hear. I promise you that. I love you baby" "I love you too Terry"

CK Terry:

Regardless of weather you had tired feet, a headache or just simply didn't want to do something during your pregnancy, your husband Terry was always there to support and help you. Yes, Terry was older than you, and this was your first child for both of you. And Terry has wanted nothing more than his own family. He had married his bestfriend, and he loved you with all his heart. And now, with the baby on the way, everything was going to be perfect for both of you. Terry couldn't be more excited. The pregnancy had been quite normal, there weren't many issues apart from the morning sickness at the start. But once you started getting bigger, it was harder for you to do things. Terry would notice you struggling and he would instinctively take over to help you out. And once you were in the last 2 months, Terry wouldn't let you lift a finger. And to be honest, you were secretly glad. Just getting up off the sofa felt like hurdle. In your last month, you thought you were in the beginnings of labour when these uncomfortable pains started occurring, and Terry called in his doctor to the house straight away. He was a man who had connections pretty much everywhere, and he did of course have his own personal doctor and midwife waiting for when any issues were to occur.

So when he called the doctor, she came to the house and checked you, only to tell you that you weren't in labour, but were experiencing what felt like labour, and that was braxton hicks. She gave you tips on how to go through them, but you weren't in labour yet. That evening, Terry had of course made dinner, washed up, tidied the house and helped you with any issues you had. Including helping you take your shoes on and off, but to be honest, it was just slippers you could use now as they were much more comfortable. As you were sat up in bed reading your antenatal book, the uncomfortable pains kick in again, causing you to wince and squeeze your eyes shut. Terry walked in from having his shower, seeing you in discomfort. "Is it happening again sweetheart?" "Unfortunately yes....I've had enough of these pains Terry. I think I'd just prefer to go straight into labour. At least that's something that will lead somewhere, these braxton hicks are just annoying and uncomfortable" Terry removes his towel and changes into just a pair or pyjama trousers, leaving him shirtless with his towel over his shoulders.

He has sympathy in his eyes as he comes to sit next to you on the side of the bed, holding your hand in his.

"Would you like me to do something to help you sweetheart?" "To be honest, I don't know what you could do to help me with these" He gives you one of his warm smiles and strokes your hand with his thumb. "I have an idea, you stay there and I'll be right back" he says before leaning in and giving you a warm and sweet kiss. He leaves the bedroom and heads downstairs, you don't know what he's planning, but your praying that whatever he thinks might work, does work. These braxton hicks are really p#ssing you off now. When Terry comes back in, he has brought an array of things with him. A safe temperature hot water bottle, a mug of your favourite mint flavoured hot chocolate, some ibuprofen, some chocolate chip cookies and strangely, a bottle of massage oil? "Hear you go sweetheart, this medicine will help with the pains, and the hot water bottle is hear for you to put under your belly on the tender areas" "Terry you are the absolute best husband I could ask for" "Well, yes" This makes him chuckle, and he places the hot chocolate and cookies down beside you as you place the water bottle under your belly. "So Terry, I do have a question" "Yes?" "I understand the things you've brought to me, but not that massage oil. You know being intimate at this stage of pregnancy is difficult for me"

"Oh yes, I know I sometimes bring this into the bedroom before s#x, but that's not why I have it. I was going to give you a massage to help relax you instead. You've been so tense and pent up with these braxton hicks, I wanted to help you unwind" You don't answer, you just smile before pulling him in gently and kissing him to show him what all this means to you. "I love you Terry" "I love you too sweetheart" You repositioned in the bed as Terry puts his hair up in his classic pony tail and puts on his silk dressing gown.

You were now leaning against Terry's back when he sat down behind you and he was propped up against the bed with a pillow. Once you removed just your shirt, leaving your bra on, you took a sip of your hot chocolate as he rubbed the oil into his hands, warming it up. And once his big, strong and muscular hands touched your shoulders, he applied just the right amount of pressure to make you feel like you were melting in his hands. You let out a little moan of release and pleasure as he works on your shoulders and back, and he loves hearing that. "Is my beautiful queen enjoying that?" "Ohh you have no idea Terry" Once again he chuckles, and you could feel it as it vibrates through his chest into your back.

This whole moment was pure bliss, and the pains had stopped too, thanks to the bottle and medicine. After about half an hour, you were practically lifeless in his arms as your body was that relaxed, Terry just smiles and plants a kiss on your cheek as you rest against him and holds you in his arms. "You have magic hands Terry....of course I've always known that, but this is next level" "I can always see what you and your body need sweetheart, and yes....my hand have always known that too....maybe some time after the baby's born, I can take you out for a date night. And I can bring this oil with us....." "Now that, sounds like an offer I simply can't refuse"

[luimagines]

*walks on in casually, this time much more put together and wearing a soaked raincoat, offers you tea, sips coffee, leaves this without elaborating and walks off into a storm*

{Granite Imagine/Origin Short}

----------------------------

"(Lustrous)?"

"Mhm?", Hummed the being, turning to Sky, sitting down behind Wild, the being with glittering, (Gemstone Type) hair so bright that it could scare away a Redead pointedly giving the wild man a look and sitting him back down when he tried to get up, drawing a soft snort from the other members of the Chain, they were determined to put a brush through his hair and properly neaten it up before the next shift or get shattered trying it seems, though the look on the Hero of Sky's face brought them pause, a shine of recognition passing through their mismatched eyes, "Ah, this is about what I said to Hyrule, isn't it? About Legend not being wrong but not being right either?"

"You did promise you'd clarify once we were fully still you know?" Pointed Legend out, arms crossed and giving them a narrow eyed look, "As generous as what you did was, I'd rather not suddenly know that we basically sold human hair, or that the Smithy basically used your hair and flesh to finally make something Wild doesn't break in one hit."

A small look of discomfort passed Wild's face, pointedly masking a wince and twitch as golden and pale hands passed through his hair, removing tangles and twigs slowly, "... Granted it wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've seen or did and it's still one of the best gifts I've ever got, but it wouldn't make us any better than those people you said hunt your kin right?"

"You're all being dramatic." Sighs their companion, giving Wild an unimpressed look and locking a leg around his back when he shifted away, silently daring him to try and move the gold encrusted stone limb or break it to escape and help Twilight with the food, "It's not like it was a leg or that you all held me at sword point and threathened to shatter me or anything. I did it out of my own free will because I wanted to help and will not hear otherwise- Wild stay still for the love of Adamant or I'll have Wolfie sit on you!" They ground out, a sound vaguely like something cracking ringing out, before they move on, unimpressed, "Honestly! Even Aquamarine was more agreeable on a good day. On top of that it doesn't work like that, losing a bit of gold is nothing to me, and it's not like the hair holds inclusions so no memories lost either."

"Still!"

"Settle down now." Time cut in, "We're getting out of track, clearly they're not going to budge on this."

"Thank you Time, in any case, this is what I know, Kunzite was the one who really researched this stuff with the Admirabillis, but, well..." They trail off, a bit distant, "She's not around anymore, and I haven't been to the sea of slugs in a while..." They shake their head, moving on, "According to their legends, six great calamities once struck the earth one after another, apparently the humans, those who came before that is, had a mean of foreseeing or preventing them but it failed, and so the world ended. You can see the many cities and homes on the ocean floor as evidence to that, to survive, the remains of humanity split and evolved into three, the Admirabillis, the flesh of humanity, went to the sea, they're similar to your Zora's albeit not quite, they're mortal and grown and reproduce, us-", they point to themselves, "The Lustrous, gems, are said to come from the Bone, we've made a contract and rose from the sea, shedding our mortality. To wander eternal in the single isle left, we do not age, but if we break we lose our memories if we don't have all our pieces. It's... A questionable trade off, if you ask me." They laugh slightly, smiling a bit, "It's probably silly, but I think I envy the fact you all don't have to deal with that, gems aren't nearly as kind or adaptable as you all are due to our circumstances. And for the last one..." They trail off, looking up at the moon, for a moment, they saw the same look Time would get on his face looking up at it, conflicted, angry, grieving, "... The Lunarians are the restless rage, remains who couldn't accept the end. The malice of humanity left behind, eternal as us gems but discontent, they hunt the bone and the flesh indiscriminately to bring about a so called revival." They purse their lips, if you look closely, you can spot a crack above their face, "... The things that happen on the moon to the Admirabillis is a fate worse than death, and they use the broken and ground pieces of my kin as decorations, smiling and dancing over our corpses, so if you ask me that's wildly innacurate..." They shake their head, moving on, "Personally, I think there's something they want. They looked within the Admirabillis and didn't find it, so they went for us gems instead. Their king came down personally for both Aquamarine, Kunzite, Labradorite and Citrine now, I wouldn't call that a coincidence. And he certainly was furious when I got in his way, the rest is story." They shrug nonchantly, "Again, Legend isn't wrong, it's not human hair, or flesh, just mineral, but if you want to get technical, it once was. Don't worry about it, again it's not as if it's an eye or anything. I can always find a way to replace the hair, maybe I'll mold the gold into it, wouldn't be the first time." They make a face, clearly exasperated, "Bortz could get... Too rough, it drove Aquamarine up the wall when they'd get too near me or Kunzite, I guess he would at least comfort himself with the fact I'm not as easy to break anymore were he here, so I'm used to it really."

----------------------

Not pictured:

Lustrous Reader, meeting the blind child, gently picks them up and weaves gold in their hair from their arms: I've only had this little pebble for a day and a half, but if anything happened to them I'd murder everyone in the room and then shatter myself.

Also not pictured: Lustrous Reader being casual about the technical body horror on one end, while Citrine is anything but casual about it back home and following in their siblings footsteps (saving that for another ask).

-Signed, Just an Anon on A Stroll.

WELL GOOD MORNING ONE AND ALL

WE HAVE LORE AND STORY

HOLY COW

I totally forgot I had this. It got burried DX

But here it is! A start!

My goodness, I love it. This is phenominal. Fantastic work.

[sunboki]

firstly, i'd like to address the other anon. i'm glad that my words gave you one of those warm and fuzzy feelings. always nice to hear someone take kindly to what i say, so i thank you back for letting me know. i hope your days take kindly to you from now on as well.

as for august, if you say that we might have been lovers in our past lives, you'll make me desire the same status with you now. and in the case where what you say is true, then perhaps i did not love you enough when we were who we were before. perhaps that's why i'm here again now: to love you again, to love you more. (laugh) that might explain why i've been waxing poetry to you in your inbox. a modern take to love letters, maybe? maybe.

but the more you reply to me, love, the more i want. and i do absolutely want. but how do i talk about loving you without making it weird? for i am but stranger over the internet, and (to be frank) you are too. we know too little of each other, but why do you feel right? i am urged to whisper back the words i love you to you over and over again as thought they were a prayer to keep you whole. teaching me how to bake? lemonade on a picnic? yes, yes, yes. yes for as long as you'll have me. i'll hold your hand even with batter caked beneath our fingernails, and i'll kiss the tanginess of the lemonade from your lips. if, that is, if and only if you will have me.

you are my favorite song. i don't know why that makes you somber, so, please, if it is not too much to ask of you, let me know why. if you are a butterfly unable to see how beautiful your wings are, i will place you gently in my palms and hold you up to a mirror. then, maybe you will see yourself as how i see you: beautiful, kind, deserving of tender happiness. to know that my heart is safe with you, i am beyond grateful. and i confess that i, too, am not wholly here. i myself have pieces missing, lodged somewhere in the past, and to hear that you admire me is unbelievable in its own feat. but i am willing to try just as you are willing to try for me. just the fact that you will try (and for me nonetheless), i love you. (and i say that like it is a prayer here, yes, i do.) perhaps we may fill our own gaps with pieces of each other until we are ready to trade them with one another for the ones that were originally ours.

i leave with you one of my favorite poems, called "to kiss a forehead is to erase worry" or "a kiss on the forehead" by marina tsvetaeva. there are varying translations, but i love the first one done by ilya kaminsky:

to kiss a forehead is to erase worry. i kiss your forehead. to kiss the eyes is to lift sleeplessness. i kiss your eyes. to kiss the lips is to drink water. i kiss your lips. to kiss a forehead is to erase memory. i kiss your forehead.

i kiss your forehead,

🍋 anon

i don’t think strangers over the internet can speak like this so easily and wholly, so i’m pretty certain we must’ve been past lovers — but then again, not doubtful, but almost worried

why me? why did you take the time to reply to that ask game i reblogged, to put so much effort into it and connect so deeply with someone you don’t know, but have learned to know.

i do have self respect yes, but i don’t understand how someone like yourself wound up speaking to me, comforting me and giving me air to breath . . . i feel sort of lost of how i should go about this, but i feel as if i don’t deserve you, i really don’t. like i can’t reciprocate your love in a way that would please you, like i’m not enough. maybe that’s my insecurity talking, i can’t figure it out. please don’t let me take up your time honey :)

[un-named-dumbfuckers]

Dior and Hevann lore, Diots side.

^ ^ This is the house where Diot grew up and Hevann was born. It is located on Dalna in the swamp lands.

Not long after the fall of the empire, Diot goes to Dalna to see if it is still standing, not really expecting it to still be there since it's been abandoned for around 25 years. But it still stands through earthquakes and rainstorms. it is mostly decrepit and a few rodent families living there but he is determined to have this place livable again. All their stuff is still there from when they left; Hevann's baby clothes, Diot's toys, unopened mail, and even some of their mother's jewelry stayed put. But the one thing that breaks Diot is finding the kalikori half broken on the floor. they didn't leave in a hurry, they were going to visit some of Mum's friends on Ryloth when the salvers took them.

Diot isn't in slavery as long as Hevann. he makes it out mostly because he wasn't much of an asset in any area the trade put him in because he was a drug addict and half-human. He wasn't worth much compared to Hevann. He told himself that Hevann was sold to a nice family and no longer needed him. but hearing a couple of slave wranglers on Ord-Mentell years back, when he first joined the rebellion, made the logical truth hit him like a freit ship.

"Sir, this one's a bit small don't ya think?" he hears from the slavers, a sigh of momentary relief before his blood ran cold "It'll grow."

those two words made his stomach drop out his ass hole and shoot back up into his throat. (yes he did find a way to get that kid away from the slavers)

how they got into the trade

The day the slavers came was the scariest day of either of their lives, for obvious reasons, but the Karazak are a ruthless bunch. their reputation for enslaving entire villages is infamous, and that's exactly what happened that day.

Thinking back is hard for Diot, as life starts to slow down after the fall of the empire he thinks about the years he wasted on booze and drugs, he'd had times of sobriety where things were nice but there were gaps in his memory where his addiction took center stage. unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol never erased the memory of that night. Eme'tes finally asked one day while they sat on the dock.

"We'd been on Ryloth for a few days, staying with Momma's friend Aunti A'la and her wife. we went out playing with our cousins in the dunes, we weren't allowed to be out there but we went anyway. by the time we were coming back through the valley, there was so much smoke, we all ran back to see what was happening thinking it was just a house fire praying it wasn't anyone we knew." Eme'tes holds her husband's hand seeing the pain in his eyes as he tells this story. "everything was destroyed, a pile of bodies in the town center burning, all 5 of us were snatched and they put lek bands on us, we stood in a group till their ship came. I just stared at Momma's gold bracelet sticking out of that pile, melting off her wrist. Hevann tugged on my leku winning to get me up, he didn't talk for 3 years. I thanked the gods every day they let us stay together, I don't think I'd be here otherwise." Azreen jumped into his lap, wet from swimming was a welcome interruption.

The best parts of his life that he can remember being sober are with Hevann, the day He told Diot about their gender, the day they got matching tattoos, and the last time they saw each other crying in the dirty alleyway on the streets of Coruscant underbelly.

[donnerpartyofone]

the first time i can remember being frustrated with my appearance, i was probably about five or six years old. i was totally obsessed with superman, for some inexplicable reason--after this point in time i never felt the slightest interest in him again, i was much more of a batman or catwoman type of person, but i guess i was just primed to love comics, and superman was the first superhero i'd ever seen. plus those old rotoscoped cartoons were absolutely gorgeous, but i guess that was the thing: i saw these images of superman's gloriously sculpted cheekbones and jawline, and i was desperately jealous. i remember stomping around the house, yanking fistfuls of baby fat back from my skull in hopes that i could somehow get them to stay there, wondering why i had to be such a rolypoly little piece of shit and not realizing that the answer was simply, "because i'm 5."

that episode is just kind of funny and delusional, but later as i got more into comics, the art seemed to exacerbate problems i was having with my perception of my body. i was growing up in an era where superhero comics had a heavy pin-up focus; any attention to the fantasy elements or environment or atmosphere or even a sense of movement fell before the dominance of cookie cutter hyper-idealized bodies that were frozen in flashy, often kind of sleazy poses. i totally drank the koolaid on how, er, cool this was, and all the art i made during my early years was slavishly patterned on this stuff. i was developing a lot of delusions about how bodies even worked--like i thought that if you got into really great shape athletically, then you would just naturally wind up with these porn star looks. (of course this type of fallacy about a health-attractiveness connection is used to justify all kinds of shitty attitudes about appearance now, by actual adults who have no excuse for their ignorance, but ANYWAY i was 8 or 9 in this story so i digress) my parents came up with different ways of trying to help me out with what was going on. my dad tried a creative approach, suggesting ideas for characters that counteracted what i was picking up: what about, for instance, a homely, nerdy-looking heroine with irresistible psychic seduction powers? or a fat guy with unequaled strength? (sure, it's been tried, but it's usually reserved for disgusting villains ala the blob) my mom's approach was more in the way of punishing rejection. i have an indelible memory of asking her what she thought of this specific white queen trading card i was trying to replicate. (dumbest character ever btw) i was honestly attracted to its busy linework, i still love that kind of visual stimulus, but i should have known that she would take one look at it and spit at me "I THINK IT'S BORDERLINE PORNOGRAPHY" before storming off without another word.

that's where i could have used a little more discussion. like...what's so wrong with pornography? what do you think it does to people? you grew up during the '60s, what kinds of things did you learn then about the female experience, that would be useful for me to hear while I'M about to turn into a woman? what do you think would be a helpful alternative to the kind of culture i'm consuming, if you think my interests are so harmful? but i didn't get any of that; she was just mad at her young child for having bad taste, as usual, and rejected any form of conversation with someone as tacky as me. and like, i am NOT now saying that i think material like this needs to be erased and replaced. i think people should be allowed to fantasize however they want, on the whole. but i also think it's really important to learn some critical thinking skills. we only have to "cancel" things under the assumption that nobody has the ability to understand what they see and what could motivate it. if my mother had deigned to have a conversation with me about the oppressiveness of certain beauty standards, for instance, then i would have had a much better understanding of where this kind of art was coming from, and THAT might have compelled me to seek out a wider variety of inspiration. or it might not have, but at least i would have taken a broader view of things, and then she might not have had to be so mad at me for being a burgeoning pornographer. i still consume all kinds of material that many or even most people consider pornography, borderline or otherwise, but i take a great interest in its sources and uses and varying interpretations, because i took it upon myself to learn how to think about this stuff. there's no need to be afraid of what you're able to understand. i don't know where i was going with this. "just saying", i guess!

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes : RELOADED

Abducted in a decent hotel room. That's the summary.

Table of Contents

Previous Chapter : Lurking in the Shadows

Chapter 19 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

forgive the piccrew ;-;

Vlad the Janitor

Samantha Coleman

Happy Traveler Inn - Room 240

Moscow, Russia

"Room Service!" Someone knocked at the door and something in Russian followed. Samantha assumed it's the same thing but in Russian. She carefully eyed the three men whom she knew were secretly armed. They were members of Shepherd's secret force, the one he calls "Shadow Company".

She's tired of being held hostage, she just wanted to live a normal life. And if Alex was correct, she can't believe that she chose to forget him just to get another shot at a normal life. She felt stupid. And she actually missed him. Even with all the jumbled and altered memories, her heart reacted to his presence.

The three abductors looked at her threateningly as the janitors entered. She knew she wasn't supposed to act suspicious or she's dead.

"We don't need cleaning!" One exclaimed as he shoved the janitor to the door, out of surprise the two janitors immediately grabbed mops and brooms and began fighting the abductors.

Samantha described it as a scene straight out of the movies, the trio worked together, hitting enemies until they were knocked down by severe hits in the head. They quickly disarmed and bound the abductors.

The tall janitor approached her, his eyes felt familiar but Samantha was reluctant to accept help. She eyed his name tag which said "Hello I'm VLAD"

"Thanks, Vlad?" She guessed, Vlad quickly removed his hat and face mask.

"Aw come on, Samantha. It's me!" Alex smiled, behind him, Roach and Soap stood and looked happy to see her.

Samantha's heart skipped a beat. She was right. He did go to the ends of the world for her multiple times. That meant that whatever they shared back on her memory lapses were far too significant for him. She hugged him tight and he reciprocated it quickly. She wanted to kiss him already but in their situation, it was better to keep it for later.

"Here you go, Alex." Soap tossed him the abductor's uniform as they quickly changed from janitors to bodyguards as they escorted her back to safety.

"Ghost this is Alex. The package is secure. Prepare for exfil."

"Roger that, pal." He replied as they effortlessly exited the hotel, leaving a message to Shepherd that he should not mess with them.

The elevator ride was the most awkward place for Samantha. The tension between her and Alex were reaching new heights. Their eye contacts felt more intense and small grazes from their hands felt like small jolts of electricity. Her heart raced so fast that she bit her lip.

"Thanks for saving me guys. For a second I thought you were never going to find me." She breathed as Alex slowly locked his hand on hers. She felt her cheeks warm up as his touch sent her on an ecstatic feeling. Was he really like this to her?

"You're still our priority, Samantha. Disbanded or not." Roach grinned as the elevator dinged upon reaching the Parking lot. In front of them was Price, driving the van and Ghost slowly sliding the door open.

"Welcome back, Samantha." The masked man greeted them as they entered the vehicle.

~

Safe House 110197

Brazil

Alex somewhat expected familiarity or nostalgia from Samantha, but all she remembered was the name of the safehouse. The number combination was somewhat familiar. She felt guilty and frustrated once she stepped foot on the house, as none of the items rang something from her memory while Alex took effort in recalling everything they did during their stay there, things that Samantha didn't expect she'd do but wanted to feel all over again.

Amidst the stress of the things happening around them, Maxine and Francine were getting along as they prepared a little feast once they heard that Samantha's on the way here. Maxine cried as she hugged her best friend and Samantha couldn't help but also shed tears.

"I missed you. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" She asked, those same words also came out of Alex's mouth earlier, guess she was that important to the two of them?

"I'm fine, Max. They didn't hurt me or anything. Shepherd was actually out to use me as a bargaining chip so that my Dad would help him." The room fell silent. This was what they needed to hear. Intel.

Before lunch was even served, they already gathered around the dinner table. Alex finally sat beside Samantha, and that meant Ghost was the only one without a partner.

Samantha discussed the case at hand. How Shepherd would give Nero an IP Address in exchange for blueprints of an EMP Nuke. He'll then use such machinery to combat Nero's assault as well as avenge 30,000 of his defeated troops in Afghanistan. He also has his own elite troop called Shadow Company, which were trained the same way as the 141, but they had strength in numbers.

The rest of the evening was devastating. Now that they had information on Shepherd, Price and Jack started to call in some favors and prepared for the best window to fight back. Ghost got a text from Agent Ryder of interpol that she was too late to stop the trade of funds and now Shepherd has put the remaining 141 as most wanted people. Laswell also called Price that the initial plan of creating a task force was not going to work considering they're already fugitives and they should be more careful outdoors. Everyone else looked like they saw this one coming, they already knew the risks of the things they've done and proceeded to live their lives.

Samantha caught a glimpse of Max and Roach sprinkling each other water while washing the dishes, Soap and France arguing about how the word 'whimsy' was supposed to be used in a sentence and Ghost was always on his command center. She felt that she was never gone.

"How are you holding up, Love?" Alex plopped beside her, giving her a glass of water. Samantha smiled and raised her eyebrows.

"I don't remember you calling me that." She questioned, as she noticed the faint smell of Alex that she began to admire.

"Of course you don't. That's why I'm helping you." he grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. She giggled and inhaled once more.

"You smell good today… Are you still trying to win my heart? I thought you already did." She mused, blushing as she ran a hand across his strong inked arms. She was always scared of heavily tattooed men, but this guy was an exception to the rule.

"Well, I wore clothes from two different people today… so… but nevermind that reason. Is it working? To you…? Are you… smitten?" He wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to be seductive and Samantha just laughed. Was it possible to fall in love with a guy whom you already love? If so, then she's all for it.

"I can't say for sure, Vlad." She teased as he quickly fished his wallet, revealing a letter inside a small ziploc container. He gave it to Samantha as she uncrumpled it and started to read the contents.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at her own writing, she started to feel scared and nervous about the letter.

"You left that note to me before you forgot me… I tried to keep it for as long as I could, to the point that I almost wanted to throw it away." he held her hand while she held the letter.

"My Dearest Alex…" She spoke softly. Her hands began to tremble as he gently tightened his grip on her, making her feel more at ease.

"...In a span of three weeks, you managed to make me feel love once again. You allowed me to realize that even after a horrible loss, I could still open my heart and feel the joy of falling in love." This was clearly her creation, she slowly turned to Alex as he smiled and nodded his head to continue.

"...I always told myself that no matter how painful it is, I'll never forget your face, your smile, your eyes and all those memories we shared together. I actually convinced myself that we were a happily married couple back in that safehouse, an illusion I made because my heart felt like it. It was a good feeling, and I want to thank you for it." She leaned on his shoulders, looked at him once more and mouthed "Sorry".

"It looked like I forgot…" tears started to well on her eyes and Alex smiled. He wasn't the crying type but his eyes were already starting to get wet.

"I can't help but think about a lot of things, one being that if we were destined to meet and not end up together, it would be better if I don't meet you at all. I'm sorry to say this but I do love you so much and I know I promised, but I think my heart couldn't carry the idea of you existing and not within my grasp. It's utterly heartbreaking." she sobbed, hot tears fell from her cheek and Alex immediately wiped them off with his thumbs as she continued reading, her voice was shaky.

"So, your office offered me a chance to alter my memories of meeting you, along with the memory that made Nero look for me. You were on a briefing and I wanted to talk to you personally, maybe feel your warmth one last time. I'd want to kiss you too, but I guess the world didn't want that to happen." She looked at Alex one more time, then their lips met, it was a small peck, their lips immediately parted upon contact. She looked back at her letter"

"So I took the offer, and by the time you read this, I'm already on my way home to resume the life I've lost. I'm sure Maxine misses me right now...

I know you'll agree to this because I feel you always want what's best for me. If our paths would cross again, I hope you'll remember me the way I remembered you before I take this operation, A good memory that's supposed to last forever.

Apologizing in advance if I don't remember you anymore.

Don't you dare forget about me,

- Samantha" Teardrops splattered across the paper as she folded it and reached for Alex's mouth, this time they went all out. Like teenagers who shared their first french kiss, sloppy, needy yet satisfying. They didn't care about their surroundings. All they both cares about was that they were within each other's grasp after a very long time.

"I guess you kept my word. You never forgot me…" She exhaled as they broke the kiss.

"It's because I can't… and I told myself that I won't." Alex replied as they kissed once again. This time, they could hear Maxine and Roach cheering in the background.

"Geez! Get a room you two!" A loud Scottish yell was heard from the distance. But despite all the noise, the two of them didn't mind.

~

Samantha was brushing her teeth when Alex snuck up from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She remembered how she admitted to the letter that they acted like a married couple, maybe this was always their thing for weeks. She was happy as they both swayed harmoniously, looking at the most handsome man in the world, hugging her.

"Do hmm haa hoo heemmmi hoo?" She mumbled while her hands brushed her teeth.

"We don't. But if we had one what would you think it'd be?" Alex mused, turning to her. He already knew what she meant despite it being inaudible. She spat the contents of her mouth and finished brushing her teeth before turning to him, all while still under his warm embrace.

"Have you heard of Way Back into Love?" she asked, Alex's reaction was a very wholesome smile.

"Like from that movie? Yeah." he chuckled, minty breath traveled to her nostrils.

"All I want to do is find a way back into love…" she sang softly, her singing voice made Alex smile.

"I can't make it through without a way back into love…" Alex sang or more specifically, said the words near the tune. Samantha giggled as they swayed to their little song.

"And if I open my heart again

I guess I'm hoping you'll be there for me in the end" They sang together, Samantha doing it in tune while Alex sounded like he's narrating the song. They both were spinning around on the small area in front of the sink, enjoying the moments that they were together once again. Samantha wishing that she'll never get separated from Alex ever again.

Next Chapter : Undying Admiration

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @ricinbach

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

[synthient]

Could you elaborate on what you mean about Death T re stanning and fairness? It sounds interesting and I'd love to hear about it if you don't mind sharing.

ajhfakj hoo boy. Okay.

So some time around the summer before last (judging by the point where the first baffled and frustrated readmores start showing up on this blog), I read Death-T. It made me feel…some kind of way. An…unpleasant kind of way.

Here’s the thing about me: I can’t just let myself have an emotional reaction to a piece of fiction. I have to, first, pick apart my own emotions to figure out why I had that reaction, and second, pick apart the story to figure out how it works and how it made me feel that way.

On the Feelings Front, I’ve isolated two main causes:

1. I have a brain that Needs Things To Be Fair. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle unfairness in a piece of fiction. Unfairness creates conflict, and conflict is what makes for good storytelling. But it does mean that I need the story to be aware of its own unfairness. I need the unfairness to be the point. Otherwise I start vibrating at high speeds and shaking my fist at clouds.

2. I’m a Kaiba stan. I accidentally got emotionally attached to the Funny Card Game Boy from the Funny Card Game Show. 

There’s the feelings part. That leaves the “picking apart the story” side of the equation. And I’ve been trying to do that in nice punchy little one-or-two-paragraph text posts for the past year or so, but I don’t think I’ve ever really done the argument justice that way. So I guess that leaves only one option: writing a giant wordvomit essay on Yugioh (1996-2004).

Why This Is A Death-T Hateblog: The Masterpost

An important note: I like being able to back up my thoughts with Evidence From The Text, but I’m specifically working off the (Viz translated) manga. You can read Cards with Teeth here, Capumon here, and Death-T starting here if you want to check any of my facts or draw your own conclusions. Keep in mind that the Toei anime made pretty huge changes to the s0 Kaiba storyline, and the DM anime skipped most of it entirely–if you’re more familiar with those continuities, there’re some major differences in the manga.

(Also this thing probably reads better on desktop. I think the formatting got screwed up on mobile)

How We Got Here

Before we can actually dig into Death-T, we need to start at the very beginning (♫a very good place to start♫). So that means taking a look at “The Cards with Teeth (Part 1)” and “The Cards with Teeth (Part 2).”

For its first 8 chapters, the Yugioh manga chugs blissfully (if repetitively) along with an episodic, conflict-of-the-week formula. No overarching plot. Next to no sense of continuity. No trading cards in sight.

Then this asshole shows up. 

His name is Seto Kaiba (or “Kaiba,” at least–not sure if this is just a Viz thing, but my copy of CwT never mentions his given name). Not that he bears a whole lot of resemblance to the Seto Kaiba we later come to know and love (and/or love to hate).

Almost none of his most defining traits are there yet. There’s no mention of Mokuba, no mention of Kaibacorp, no indicationthat he’s especially rich (besides the fact that he’s carrying around a wholebriefcase of trading cards), no reason to believe he has a specific obsession with Blue Eyes (he just thinks it’s a strong card and it’d help him win tournaments), and no sign of any special hacking/strategy/hand-to-hand-combat/etc. skills (the kid is hilariously incompetent). 

This dude was never supposed to be a recurring character, and it shows.

But anyway, let’s run through the basic series of events:

- Kaiba wanders into the game shop looking forbooster packs. Yugi recognizes him as an acquaintance from school (not as a famous kid CEO, and not as a recent transfer student)

- Kaiba happens to notice the Blue Eyes card lying out onGrandpa’s counter (in this version of events, he hasn’t been stealing rare cards for months before this, he didn’t creep on Yugi’s conversation and followhim home, he had no idea going in that the Blue Eyes was there, and he didn’t already have the other three)

- He offers to trade all the cards in his briefcasefor the Blue Eyes (although he doesn’t tell Grandpa to name his price—again,the millionaire CEO element isn’t a thing yet)

- Grandpa refuses, so the next day Kaiba comes up with alaughably badly thought-out plan to steal the card

- Shockingly, Yugi notices that the “color copy from the catalog” isn’t the real deal. He gently tries to confront Kaiba about it in private

- Kaiba (without showing an ounce of the cool head you’d think you’d need to take over and run a company) panics, starts stammering and unconvincingly denying it, and then smacks Yugi with his briefcase

Annnd then Part 2 plays out like a standard s0 chapter.

“Yami Yugi” takes over. They play a shadow game. Kaiba cheats by slipping the stolen Blue Eyes out of his sleeve (Atem’s like “That’s my Grandpa’s card!” and Kaiba straight up goes “Whaaat, nooo, that’s my card that I, uh, found on the street just now.” A teen genius criminal mastermind, everybody). The shadow magic gives him a spritz from its metaphorical Karmic Cat-Training Spray Bottle and makes his Blue Eyes dissolve (I’d like to think that was Kisara going “I’m not mad, just disappointed,” and Memory World tries to retroactively make that connection, but it’s pretty abundantly clear that nothing about this series was planned that far ahead). He loses. Yadda yadda yadda.

And then Atem goes in for the penalty game.

To recap: 

Some random 10th grader from Yugi’s school stole a trading card, hit someone, and was generally kind of a jerk. As punishment, he was trapped in a hyper-realistic illusion of being ripped apart and slaughtered by half a dozen monsters at once.

Y…ay…?

Let’s Stop and Reflect for a Sec

In theory, I shouldn’t be that much more upset about Cards with Teeth than I am about any other part of s0, right? It’s not like the manga framed it as horrific and wrong when Atem set off an explosion in some teenage bully’s face a couple chapters ago. Giving us the vicarious pleasure of punishing our bullies in over-the-top, Carrie-style ways without actually exploring any of the consequences is, like, the early manga’s whole thing.

But even taking into account the fact that I already had an attachment to this Nasty Bowl Cut Boy thanks to the anime, I do actually think that there are at least two factors that set CwT apart.

The first is that Atem’s karmic punishments are usually…well, karmic. If he inflicts physical harm on someone, it’s because they already inflicted or tried to inflict roughly the same amount of harm on Yugi & co. If the crime was relatively minor, then he only gives out a minor punishment–like, say, when the homeroom teacher was Just Kinda Mean, all he did was allow the class to see her without her makeup on (…setting aside the Let’s Get Into Gender Politics-ness of that chapter).

There’s even a few cases where you could argue that the punishment is too light to fit the crime. Ushio beat Jonouchi and Honda half to death and tried to murder Yugi with a knife, and all he got was this lousy t-shirt an illusion that made the trash on the ground look like money.

In another chapter, the villain of the week tried to rape Anzu, and the only punishment he faced was having his side business exposed as a scam (Let’s Get Into Gender Politics).

Yet in CwT, we see one of the most harmless villains in all of s0 (no prolonged beatings or attempted murder? unheard of!) receive what’s arguably the most horrifying penalty game in the whole manga. At least when that guy got set on fire, it was over fast.

And that brings us to factor number two: Kaiba is the first penalty game victim in s0 who comes back. 

Capumon: Gotta Catch ‘em All!

Well, technically he doesn’t come back in person, at first. Someone else shows up to fight in his name.

Oh hey Mokie. How’s it going?

Rather understandably (imo), Mokuba wants the guy who tortured his brother last week to face some actual consequences for it.

Now here’s an interesting opportunity that the manga has set up for itself. Is it going to dig deep into the balance between defending yourself vs lashing out and causing undue harm? Is it going to remind us that most of the penalty game victims so far, whatever their crimes,have been children? Is it going to demonstrate that when you take out your anger on someone, you don’t just hurt your immediate target, but their loved ones as well?

Nah, who am I kidding.  

Hurting or inconveniencing the Good Guys in any way is Bad. Anything the Good Guys do is Good and Justified. Using magic to stick an already-hurting eleven-year-old in his own personalized hell? Good and Justified.

Before he’s shoved screaming into the Giant Vending Machine Capsule Where Bad And Naughty Elementary Schoolers Go To Atone For Their Crimes, Mokuba mentions that the other penalty game he heard about “made my brother go crazy!”

He also drops a hint of things to come with all the subtlety of an anvil. So I guess by this point, the numbers had come in and the card game chapter had proved unexpectedly popular enough that a sequel was in the works.

Death-Twink? Death-Tastic?Death-Two: Electric Boogaloo?

I’ve been pretty hard on Cards with Teeth and Capsule Monsters Chess so far. But you want to know the truth?

On their own, they aren’t necessarily that bad.

What really matters in a story isn’t the literal events: it’s how those events are framed. At the moment, we’re only midway through an incomplete storyline. Maybe we’re supposed to be horrified. Maybe we’re supposed to be questioning whether or not the hero is really in the right. It all hangs on what these chapters are building to.

As it turns out–as Mokuba just helpfully clued us in on–they were building to Death-T.

And that’s where the shit hits the fan.

Over a dozen chapters after we first met Kaiba, a whole bunch of completely-unforeshadowed facts about him are suddenly dumped on us all at once. He’s rich! The kind of rich that allows for limo rides, a giant mansion, and flouncing around in a fur-lined cape like feudal European nobility! And he’s the president of a company, even though “Whaa?!! But he’s still in high school!” Speaking of which, apparently Kaiba “hasn’t been at school recently.”

The Death-T arc opens with Yugi and Jonouchi attending the world’s most awkward sleepover–the host never shows up, and they don’t even get to paint each others’ nails or watch movies. Also Mokuba tries to murder them in the night, but you know what? If someone tortured my brother, “made him go crazy,” and left him huddled in the house feverishly working on a bizarre project and refusing to go to school for the next few weeks, I’d probably poison them too.

The morning after the sleepover, we learn another new Kaiba Fact…

Ever since the Experience of Death happened, he’s been having horrible recurring PTSD nightmares about it. As you do. When you get tortured.

(This is why, even though I know intellectually that it’s Not That Deep and people arejust having fun, I still get a little skeeved out when I see jokes about howDeath-T happened “just” because Kaiba was that mad about losing a card game or “just”because he had a crush on Yugi and he didn’t know how to deal with it. I’malways internally like “Nnno, I’m pretty sure it was the torture?”)

So far we’ve been shown in pretty brutal detail that our “hero” psychologically broke a fifteen-year-old for no good reason. The manga’s going to have its work cut out for it if it really wants to do a convincing redemption arc for its protagonist. And there’s no way it could possibly try to spin that random act of torture as an acceptable thing, right?

…right?

Crime and Punishment

That’s one of my first big problems with Death-T: to me, it reads as a way of trying to retroactively justify the Experience of Death.

That seems to be the purpose of suddenly giving Kaiba all this wealth and power that was never hinted at in Cards with Teeth. See, he wasn’t just some random high school kid who had the bad luck of crossing someone with magic powers; he was (however improbable that is, as the story lampshades) a high school-aged CEO. He’s so ludicrously powerful that he can torture an old man in front of a live audience and get away with it. Punching up looks a lot better than punching down, doesn’t it?

And you can’t really fault the hero for torturing someone evil, can you? Kaiba used Grandpa’s sanity as a blackmail chip! He ran experiments on human test subjects! He wants to kill Yugi and everyone he loves! Surely a little torture is no worse than he deserved.

There’s only one one problem with that: the Experience of Death happened before Death-T. There’s no way Atem could have known any of this was coming. The audience couldn’t have known it was coming. Takahashi didn’t know. Chronologically speaking, the Experience of Death wasn’t revenge for Death-T. It’s the other way around.

Best Served Cold

So Death-T is a form of eye-for-an-eye vengeance: “Yugi” beat Kaiba at Duel Monsters and tortured him, so now Kaiba’s gonna beat Yugi and torture him, using his own perfect virtual recreation of “Yugi’s” penalty game (oh yeah, that whole “the average person goes insane in about 10 minutes” thing? Kaiba was able to program that detail from personal experience).

But wait! This isn’t really eye-for-an-eye! Kaiba’s going after Yugi’s loved ones, not just Yugi, and that’s worse than what Yugi did to him! And even if it was proportionate, revenge is bad and wrong. That’s how you get endless back-and-forth chains of vengeance and generational blood feuds and stuff. Two wrongs don’t make a right!

And those could all be reasonable points, except…

This entire story is about how great and badass eye-for-an-eye justice is.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you could take everyone who ever hurt you and make them suffer even worse” is practically the thesis of Season 0. You can’t make something look awesome when the protagonist does it and then turn around and make it seem evil and inexcusable coming from anyone else.

And while Kaiba does wind up targeting Yugi’s friends, that wasn’t part of his original plan. He’s surprised when random people start jumping out of the bleachers/the Kaibacorp employee roster and insisting that they won’t let Yugi do this alone. The writing uses his surprise as proof that he just doesn’t understand The Power of Friendship, but it’s also evidence that his original target was just Yugi.

“If you’re gonna side with my torturer, then you can have the same fate as him, I guess.” It’s not even that far outside the logic Atem’s been using all this time. Just because there’s only one main gang member who personally hurt his friend, that doesn’t mean that Atem won’t rope every random mook who gets in his way into the death game too. (Granted, this doesn’t really apply to Kaiba’s treatment of Grandpa. Or the offscreen experimentation/blackmailing. Or Mokuba, but…we’ll get to that).

…But like I said before, the big issue isn’t the events. It’s the framing. Maybe the point will ultimately be that if penalty games are wrong when the bad guy does them, then they’re wrong when the hero does them too. Maybe this is all leading up to a big reexamination of Atem’s moral code and some much-needed character development.

Maybe. Let’s keep going and see.

*Great Gatsby comic voice* Baby? What Baby

Death-T runs for 14 chapters, but Kaiba isn’t actually there for, like…half of them.

I mean, he’s technically there? Occasionally? He’ll show up long enough to dramatically play chess for a panel or so, or to stick his head on a TV monitor and provide some Helpful Death Game Hints. But for all practical purposes, he’s pretty much absent for the entire middle section of the story arc.

And, uh…let’s just say I 100% understand and respect the DM anime’s decisionto go straight from Grandpa’s heart attack to the final duel and skipeverything in between.

If Kaiba’s real goal is to beat Yugi at Duel Monsters, then all the death games leading up to that one are basically filler. And they manage to be just as contrived and nonsensical as any anime filler arc, without a fraction of the fun.

It’s largely a tonal issue. The writing swings wildly between grimdark dramatics, sentimental conversations about friendship where everyone hugs and cries (tbh that’s one of the few redeeming qualities of the arc), and “comic relief” where the “““comedy””” is all either bodily function jokes or sexual assault jokes (L̠̤̯͍̦e̮̪͎̞t's̞̮̳̱̰̦̲ ̲G͖͉̹̻̯͉͖e̜̝̗͓̟͚t̖͚ ͚̰̞̮̝̫͎I͓̜̦̳̭͚͎n̪̪͈t͍̥̰̼o͚͎͇̣̘̝ ̪̼̜̣̳G͈̠̫e̳̝̗̪ṋ͚̞͎ͅd͔̙͓̯̹e̯̺̯̩r͔̣̲͔̳̗ ̘͙P̖̦o̩̺͖͎̞̬l͎̺͕̹i͇̣̼̦t̰i̬̰̝͙̗̝c̜̼̺̪̲̞s).

Honestly, in terms of the “stanning and fairness” argument, there’s not much to talk about here. It just adds insult to injury that not only does Death-T throw my fave under the bus, but it’s really badly written.

The Mokuba Thing

Okay, let’s fast-forward through the filler zone and stoppp…here. 

In the context of the anime, where we know (and see multiple flashbacks demonstrating) that their whole life has been an “us against the world” story, this scene is tragic. Seto’s trust in people has been eroded so much that he even thinks Mokuba is conspiring against him? Their love and support for each other, which has survived through so much hardship, has finally cracked under the weight of this latest trauma? There’s a lot of dramatic and tearjerking potential there.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that most of us bring our baggage from the anime with us when we read the manga. The vast majority of the western Yugioh fandom did start with DM. 

But if we look at this purely in the context of the manga–if we can pretend, for a second, that none of us have ever heard of the anime–this is the first time we see the two of them interacting onscreen. And none of those touching flashbacks of Seto comforting Mokuba and defending him from bullies and promising to be his father exist here. All we ever really learn about their relationship before this point is “They used to be a little closer when they were younger. Source: one (1) photo of them playing chess.”

So instead of serving as the tragic lowpoint of their relationship, this scene sets the baseline for it: Mokuba desperately wants to make his brother happy and earn his approval, while Seto responds with dismissal and cruelty.

In the anime (and to a certain extent in the later manga), Mokuba’s purpose in the narrative is to humanize Seto. But in Death-T, he serves the opposite function. Every interaction they have is an opportunity for Seto to kick the dog and prove what a monster he is.

And it’s all downhill from here.

………………

…So.

I have…mixed feelings about this.

On one level–a meta level–I think this scene serves the same purpose as taking that random high schooler from CwT and suddenly giving him ridiculous amounts of money and power and mustache-twirling levels of villainy. It’s a way of making the Experience of Death seem retroactively justified (and also a way of making the upcoming penalty game look fair).

On the other hand. It’s. 

Horrific.

This scene is supposed to make us hate Kaiba, and it does it’s job really really well.

Personally speaking? I’m of the opinion that trying to hurt the child under your care as badly as you conceivably can is a “don’t pass go, don’t collect $100″ kind of deal. There’s no coming back from that. There’s no fixing or salvaging this relationship.  

(God, this whole thing is wrapped in so many layers of fantasy that I’m not even sure what the real-world equivalent would be. Trying to beat your child not quite to death?)

Mokuba should not have had to continue living with his brother after this, any more than the Ishtars should have had to stay with their dad or Seto should have had to stay with Gozaburo. Mokuba forgiving Seto for this isn’t touching to me, it’s gut-wrenching. Every “heartwarming” brotherly moment in the later manga (all, like…2 and a half of them) feels hollow and sad.

As far as I’m concerned, this scene doesn’t “complicate” their relationship in any interesting or meaningful way. Their anime relationship already has plenty of complications–their sometimes unhealthy co-dependence, the fact that Seto is still a kid himself and he’s not really equipped to be a parent,Mokuba’s difficulty understanding that Seto can’t just “go back to who he was” before his trauma, the times when Seto is too caught up in his own pain to really be there for Mokuba, the manipulation involved in Seto’s takeover plan, etc. This just makes their relationship outright child abuse.

But hey, they hugged that one time in Duelist Kingdom, so it’s fine, right?

ExODiA iiiIIIIT’s not pAHsible

The final duel happens. The big Blue Eyes vs Exodia showdown.

*Bill Wurtz voice* So that’s pretty nifty, I would say.

It’s..? A genuinely cool and dramatic duel. There’s a reason it’s one of the, like, three Death-T elements the DM anime actually bothered to keep. Not much to say about it.

Sure was a whole lot of buildup just to end things with one (1) deus ex machina instawin card, tho.

The Tragic Backstory

So if all this happened because of a penalty game, what do you think the solution could be?

Did you say “another, even harsher penalty game”?

Ding ding ding!

This time, instead of torturing the fifteen-year-old, our hero puts the fifteen-year-old in a vegetative state as he begs for mercy.

Yaaaayy! 

Some fun facts about the Mind Crush that we don’t actually learn until Duelist Kingdom:

1. It lasted for 6 months

2. Mokuba spent that entire time alone, in the big empty mansion, with no parental guidance or adult supervision except the butlers and maids, caring for his brother’s comatose body 24/7

3. When Atem put Kaiba in that coma, he had absolutely no idea if he’d ever be able to wake up or not. He thought he could, maybe–Kaiba’s pretty strong, right? But he also finds the idea that Kaiba died in his coma and came back to haunt him perfectly believable. “Fixed,” dead…eh, it was kind of a coin toss.

But wait, the story’s not over yet! First we have to find out Why Kaiba Is The Way He Is (“Because your buddy tortured him last month” isn’t enough of an answer, apparently).

This is communicated in the most natural way possible: Mokuba just starts monologuing about all his brother’s deepest darkest traumas to a bunch of strangers his brother hates.

The claim that Kaiba’s backstory is “more complex” in the manga than it is in the anime has always confused me, because this is…it. These three pages are the whole backstory. I mean, in Battle City we do get one more passing line of dialog about how Kaibacorp used to be a weapons manufacturer and Gozaburo “sold Seto’s soul to the military industrial complex,” but other than that… The anime took these bare bones and fleshed them out significantly, but from a pure manga canon standpoint, it’s not a whole lot to work with.

But there’s still enough here to rub me the wrong way.

For one thing, this sequence is almost an exact parallel to two later moments in the manga: Pegasus’s backstory dump at the end of Duelist Kingdom, and Malik’s backstory dump mid-Battle City. In both of those cases, the purpose of the scene is to take a villain whose motives seemed cruel and inexplicable and finally reveal the reasons behind his actions. We’re supposed to be seeing these characters in a sympathetic light for the very first time.

But Kaiba’s motives in Death-T, uh, weren’t exactly a mystery. He already made it pretty explicitly clear that this was about the torture. So as a narrative tool, Mokuba’s monologue:

1. seems a little superfluous

2. seems like a way of taking any responsibility out of the protagonist’s hands. Kaiba didn’t snap because of anything Atem did, he just had a bunch of fucked up baggage that Atem couldn’t possibly have known about or accounted for. Who knew some people take it badly when you torture them??

3. seems to suggest that we weren’t supposed to be sympathizing with Kaiba before this point. If this is the big “oh, now that I know why he did it, I guess I feel a little bad for him :(” moment, then that means the part where he got tortured…wasn’t?

And, as always, there’s the issue of the framing.

The grace note of the monologue–the thought it leaves us with, the intended takeaway–isn’t “If only he hadn’t gone through years of abuse, in circumstances he had no real control over because he was a child.” It’s “If only he hadn’t brought all this upon himself by cheating.”

Even if we ignore the fact that it’s physically impossible to cheat at chess (which seems like kind of a big oversight for a gaming manga, but oh well, That’s Yugioh Babe)…

How can you possibly present a ten-year-old cheating at a board game in a desperate gambit to get himself and his brother out of an orphanage as his start of darkness?

Yet that’s exactly what the writing does. This is a story about how games “reveal the true hearts” of their players and bring karmic retribution down on anyone who doesn’t respect the game and follow the rules. The implication is that the child abuse Seto suffered was karma. He rightfully earned it by cheating at chess, just like he brought the Experience of Death upon himself by cheating at Duel Monsters.

Oh yeah, speaking of which…

Wheel of Morality, Turn Turn Turn, Tell Us The Lesson We Should Learn

What was the outcome of Death-T? What impact did it actually have? 

Did it bring about any big moral reckoning? Any questioning of the heroes’ values? Did Atem learn the difficult but important lesson “torture bad”?

Nnnnope!

Death-T is immediately followed by a series of episodic chapters that take us right back to the status quo like nothing happened. Atem keeps merrily handing out penalty games all the way up to the very end of Duelist Kingdom. When he does finally stop doing them, his decision has nothing to do with Death-T. It takes a comment from Pegasus about the Millennium Items having an “evil intelligence” to make him wonder “wait…I’m from a Millennium Item…I’m an intelligence…could evil…maybe include…torture????”

And even after the manga lukewarmly reverses its position to “torture sort of bad I guess,” it never really does anything with that revelation. None of the past penalty games are ever reexamined. No apologies are made. The Experience of Death is quietly swept under the rug, and the Mind Crush, when it’s brought up at all, is framed as noble act that “fixed” Kaiba (because “if you make someone suffer badly enough, you can hurt them into being a better person” is a great message).

Basically, we learned nothing from Death-T, nothing changed, and our takeaway is supposed to be “Atem was 100% in the right and Kaiba was 100% in the wrong, and also he’s an evil monster who deserved everything he got.”

Guess I Need A Satisfying Conclusion of Some Kind Even Through Death-T Didn’t Really Have One, Huh

Wow.

That was…a whole lot of words of Death-T rage that I apparently had in me zjkghzkkf. 

I tend to feel less justified about constantly harping on Death-T then I do when it comes to, like, the racism in Memory World, or the series’ general Miss O’Gyny. It’s not like “magical vigilantism” is exactly a real-word social issue that’s being reflected in this piece of fiction. I realize a lot of my anger pretty much boils down to “hey,, ! thats…my fave. stopp...being mean to him >:(”

But I also feel like the issues in Death-T aren’t limited to Death-T.

The manga has this…this thing where it wants to be able to pinpoint a few clear, unchanging moral rules (“cheating is bad!” “graverobbing is bad!” “patricide is bad!”) and just apply them neatly to every situation, without having to take into account any of that inconvenient stuff like “what were the circumstances of this specific situation,” or “how many choices were actually open to this person,” or “how much harm was done by this choice compared to its benefits in terms of basic human well-being.” Yet at the same time, that moral absolutism is somehow coupled with a reluctance to apply any moral judgement to its protagonists at all. 

The two points where that becomes clearest are Death-T and Memory World. And I feel like even when people acknowledge the issues with those arcs, they still want to be able to write it off as “oh, that was just a problem with the early chapters, it was fixed as the writing matured,” or “oh, that was just a problem at the end because of the mad rush to finish the story before it got canceled, it was never a thing before then.” But it’s not an isolated problem. It’s there at the beginning of the story, it’s there at the end, and it’s baked into everything in the middle.

…but anyhow. 

hey,, ! thats…my fave. stopp...being mean to him >:(

[maxheadley]

Part 1; The Fairy Lights

Autumn was welcomed for two reasons; the slight shift of the weather changing from heat to cold, and the long-awaited day where two beloved, infamous star-crossed lovers wedded. Everyone was on their toes, anticipating the grand union, and not a single soul stopped for a second.

As morning arrived, Sebastian woke to the patterns of footsteps, going back and forth in the hallway of Creedence's home. He sighed, wishing they'd stop for just a split second, and give him a minute of silence. The last fews days were busy preparing for his wedding and it almost seemed like the world would never halt. Silence was a wish he would fail to receive.

He kicked off the stark white comforter and turned on his side, sliding a muscular arm under his fluffy pillow. His dark hair dangling dangerously close to his eyes, he pushed them away. He stared at the bare walls of his old bedroom. He recently moved his items into the master bedroom of Ben and his's newly built cottage (courtesy of the Fey folk). He left one item on the nightstand. The one thing he cared enough to leave with him that night. A picture of him, his brothers and sisters and his grandmother. The family he hardly knew except Creedence and Julissa. The family he came to know, the family he would've never traded for the world despite any faults or any bad luck following them. Or the corruption that followed a couple of them.

He ran his fingertips across the nine faces of his family, erasing a film of gathered dust off the glass. Sebastian stood at Creedence's side, snugly in the middle of Creedence, and Ambrosia. His smile was as bright as the sun as were the others. He had never known happiness like he did and rekindling the broken parts of his family helped and finding the love of his life wasn't bad at all. It was great. Too bad not everyone could see Sebastian achieve his goal he dreamt of since he was twelve. He thought of Alura trapped in the confines of chains, deeply hidden among the cells of Glessica's Castle's personal prison. Probably half driven out of her mind having nothing to do and no one to speak to except the shadows across the walls. And then he thought of Alexander, his twin but drastically different brother, who walked the forests of the Dark Fey. He had become trapped in misery, grief, and turmoil and wondered off to the darkest place he could escape to. Like those who are like him, encased in darkness and unfaltering misery, slowly destroying whatever light and love that fought inside them.

Sebastian hadn't known Alexander very well or really been close to Alura, but nonetheless he wished they'd witness their brother marry. He did ask if Anazul would release Alura for the hour of his wedding but obviously to no avail and none of the Fey could track down Alexander. He suspected his twin brother wouldn't want to be found, so he cloaked himself to remain untraceable and among the shadows of what he loss. Sadly.

He jumped, straight out of his reverie, when a knock sounded on his door. He cleared his throat and yelled. "Yeah? Come in!"

The door opened, revealing his brother standing there, one hand snaked around the doorknob and one hand holding the head of his cane. Creedence looked older and younger at the same time. He suffered a loss of his own. His wife committed suicide not wanting to live without her husband and without knowing he'd be resurrected. Though, unlike Alexander, Creedence had children to stay for. He couldn't wander off and leave it all behind. That'd be a mistake.

His hair was wet, probably from his shower, and his unusually thin, body was draped in an oversized black bathrobe tied at his waist. "Hey, Bash." Creedence's pale face broke out into a radiant smile, one which reached his eyes. Sebastian noticed for the first time in an age.

It brought his own smile to play. "Hey, Dee. If you thought you were going to wake me up, you've mistaken. The footsteps of others woke me up." He joked, sitting up and stretching his back. A couple cracks later, he was standing up and striding over to his brother. "Although, I appreciate the gesture."

"You know just because it's your wedding day doesn't mean you-" Creedence began, but Sebastian enveloped him into a huge bear hug. Creedence's laugh erupted into his ear and Sebastian couldn't help the grin that flew onto his face when they broke apart. "I'm going to miss living with you, Dee."

"I can't say that I won't miss you living here either. I know Cres and Reli will be different, but sometimes change is inevitable." Creedence beckoned to the working servants preparing the last of the decorations and tailoring for the children's attire. Not one of the servants bothered to take a break to glance at Creedence and Sebastian. He didn't blame them. One misstep could poke Crescent's skin or cause an unnecessary rip in one of the papier mache balls (used to cover the lights). No one wanted anything to go wrong at this point and Crescent would probably lit the seamstress on fire if she stabbed him with a needle. He hated needles.

"How are you holding up?" Sebastian asked, leaning over the iron railing and watching the seamstress tailor the last bits of material for Crescent's silver blazer. Crescent was staring at the rain splattered window unregistering anything else around him. Sebastian would have to have a thorough talk to his nephew once he had the chance.

Creedence put his free hand on Sebastian's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm excited. Truly." He smiled at his little brother. "I can't believe my little brother, my Bash is getting married this evening!"

"It is a shock? Isn't it? I can hardly believe it myself." Sebastian smiled, putting one hand in his hair. "Do you think Ben is doing well? I mean he's probably still asleep, but I mean all the wedding events and preparations have been a bit stressful. Do you think he's okay?"

"Ben's a tough cookie. He's unapologetically unafraid."

"You know, sometimes you can be too."

Creedence shrugged, pressing off the railing and stepped back. "I think we all can be, Bash."

Ben tried on his suit a thousand and one times since Rhea finished up the last of the silver detailing on the cuffs and collar of his blazer. He admired the way the suit did not make him appear too large nor too scrawny. It was exactly the right fit and shape for someone with his condition. Later, he'd confidently stand on the dais, waiting for his beloved, and have his stolen little moments of glory finally. He now stood in front of the extremely large wall mirror of his bathroom. He ran his freshly cleaned hands across the top of the white, silky like fabric smoothing any riffs.

He smiled. "Damn, I look good."

"You are the definition of handsome!" said the soft voice of his best friend, Ambrosia. He saw her appear in the reflection of the mirror at his side. She stood about five inches shorter, barely reaching his shoulder. She had one hand over her protruding stomach. She was beginning to show. Her second pregnancy wasn't as fast paced as her first for some strange reason. He couldn't help but have his heterochromic eyes drawn to the small baby bump hidden beneath a deep maroon soft fabric. But he said nothing onto the contrary. Instead, focusing on her words.

"Ah! Don't let Michael hear you say that. You know how jealous he gets!" Ben grinned, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Oh. Whatever." Ambrosia chuckled, gently pushing him. He barely stumbled and laughed. "Are you ready to be officially united with Sebastian?" Ambrosia added, her emerald-gold cat slitted eyes gleaming deviously.

"It's been a longtime coming.." Ben began, but trailed off. He stared at the reflection of Ambrosia. Before Michael, before Magnus, before Sebastian, he'd thought he'd be married off to Ambrosia procreating and leading the Wolf Pack. But God and Legend had other plans apparently. His destiny taking a broad turn for the best. He picked up after a couple of seconds because Ambrosia inquired more. "I thought you were the one I'd be married to one day. I never expected to fall for your brother. I didn't know he existed til about two years ago before I found out our memories of anytime before that were erased. But I wouldn't change a thing between you and me, nor me and Sebastian. I am happy our lives worked out this way. We're both happy."

Ambrosia's lips spread into a smile. "It's no lie you are happiest at his side. I think that's most important."

Ben could only smile, too.