#and i like that the ghoul thinks she’s adapting the way he did for a moment only for her to still do things a nice way

[dykedvonte]

The Ghoul: Ain’t ya tired of bein’ nice? Don’t ya wanna go ape shit?

Lucy, going ape shit mind you: No! I’m tired of everyone being so mean all the god dang time!

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

been thinking about how danse is who nora is endgame with in death shroud. it compels me

[miasmaghoul]

whos the best ghoul cook? do you think they have any weird eating quirks (like water ghouls eating raw fish, mountain chewin on his terra cotta plant pots, fire ghouls needing to eat more bc of higher body temp, anything like that)?

Did I ever tell you guys that I earned a scholarship to culinary school? I couldn't go, but cooking and baking remain passions of mine that I do NOT get to talk about enough.

But now you've given me an excuse >:)

So here, a BUNCH of my cooking (and favorite food) headcanons for the ghouls and Papas alike!

(There's some murder ghoul content here, mostly in Alpha's section - couldn't help myself 😌)

Aeon isn't one for cooking. Loves eating food, certainly, but not making it. He's more of a snacker, partly because it's more convenient but mostly because he doesn't have the attention span to do much more than microwave instant noodles. He's not picky though, will eat whatever is put in front of him as long as someone else has prepared it. Also doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, more of a salty/savory guy. Favorite foods include hot cheetos, thick cut beef jerky (good to gnaw), and whatever appears on his plate at meal times.

Aether is a ghoul of simple tastes. He'll cook when he has the time, but it's going to be one of his four go-to recipes every time. Always some format of protein + starch + veg, with a complementary sauce. He meal preps every weekend after his retirement so he can have easy meals to microwave and eat in the infirmary. Isn't the biggest fan of cooking with company, unless they're willing to stay out of the kitchen and not interrupt his routine. Has a weak spot for bananas. Favorite meal is one-pan roasted chicken, potatoes and asparagus with rosemary and garlic from Mountain’s garden.

Alpha does not cook, wouldn't dream of it. He doesn't even deign to eat human food most of the time, turns his nose up at it when offered. He likes his meat raw, and wants to hunt it himself so he can feel the blood run down his chin. Any prey is fair game - if he finds you in the woods, you'd better hope you can outrun him. (You cannot.) Favorite foods include the flesh and organs of anything with a pulse.

Aurora likes the idea of cooking, but in practice...well, she tries. She's impatient, is the problem - what do you mean simmer for 20 minutes? She's hungry now! She inevitably rushes everything she makes, no matter how much input she gets from the others, and has yet to learn her lesson. She also has a MASSIVE sweet tooth, they can't keep enough sugary snacks in the pantry as far as she's concerned. Favorite foods include spaghetti with butter and cheese (one of the only things she can always get right), boxed brownies and any kind of fruity candy she can get her paws on.

Cirrus can cook pretty well, if she says so herself, but it's rare that she does it for anyone but herself. She has very particular tastes, and doesn't want to have to adapt them for others. She loves organ meat and bitter vegetables, enjoys the intensity of those flavors while the smell alone keeps most of the others away. Oh well, more for her! She'll eat anything thats made for her though, especially if its served on a silver platter by someone on their knees. Favorite foods (aside from the aforementioned organs) mostly include healthy things like fresh fruit and veggies, steamed shellfish and lean meat.

Cumulus is more of a baker than a cook, but enjoys any time spent in the kitchen either way. She's the type to make a day of it, in her comfiest clothes with music playing while she dances in front of the stove. Her food is never the prettiest, but it's made with love and tastes so much better for it. Her favorite things to bake are cookies and pies, but she doesn't eat many sweets herself. Prefers seeing the others enjoy them. Favorite foods include homemade bread (she has a sourdough starter named Breadly) with lots of butter and flaky salt, anything citrus-forward and wants her proteins heavily spiced (not spicy, she has a low tolerance, but loves the fragrant flavors of herbs and spices).

Dewdrop doesn't advertise it, but he's one of the best ghouls to have in the kitchen. His precision and attention to detail are second to none, and while it doesn't make him particularly fun to share a kitchen with it does make him an outstanding cook. He likes very intricate, involved recipes because he can use them to showcase his skills (and earn a whole bunch of praise at the dining table as a bonus). Loves spicy food, which everyone assumes is due to him now being a fire ghoul, but he's actually always enjoyed a good burn. Favorite foods include any meat served on the bone, fermented foods (kimchi and sour pickles especially) and anything smoked.

Ifrit does not know how the stove works. He survives on protein bars and any leftovers he can pilfer from the abbey kitchens. Food is not a thing he's super interested in, just takes what he needs to fuel himself, and would rather follow in Alpha's footsteps anyway. He likes to hang out at the lake every now and then with Mist, though - she'll pop up from the water every now and then with a nice plump trout to toss his way, which he will roast with his bare hands. Doesn't really have a favorite food, but does like crunchy things.

Mist, if she isn't sharing her spoils with Ifrit, will keep her catch for herself. She's small enough that one good-sized lake fish will tide her over for the day. She does prefer them raw and whole, always a bit on the feral side, but she can be convinced to join the others for sushi if the offer arises. Favorite foods include anything alive and not poisonous in the lake, and cookie dough ice cream (don't tell anyone).

Mountain is overall considered to be the best cook amongst the ghouls, and definitely has the goofy apron to prove it. Naturally skilled and adaptable, he enjoys preparing meals for his pack and will do so with anyone that wishes to lend a hand. Usually it's Cumulus or Sunshine, but they all keep him company at one point or another. He grows much of the produce used in their kitchen himself, all of it fresh and delicious, but Mountain does not eat a bite of it. He's a total carnivore - the closest he gets to eating his homegrown goodies is including them in a stew but avoiding them in his own bowl. Favorite foods include rabbit, venison and this one Vietnamese style grilled beef and rice noodle dish that Dew makes.

Omega learned to cook by osmosis, if you ask him. Time spent under three Papas will do thay to a ghoul. He doesn't cook much, but he's excellent at crafting simple, filling pasta dishes that are good for the soul (so to speak). Also treats it as an excuse to drink plenty of the good wine stashed away in the abbey's cellars - blame Terzo for that habit. Favorite meal is fresh pappardelle served with roasted tomatoes, basil and spicy sausage.

Rain doesn't cook if it involves more than the microwave, not because he can't but because he prefers to be waited on. Breakfast in bed, charcuterie plates in the afternoon, specially prepared dinners to make sure he's kept happy - none of it is necessary, but Rain can't help how much he loves being served. Good thing no one minds giving him the royal treatment. He will also indulge in the odd raw fish during a swim, but only does it beneath the surface, away from prying eyes. Favorite good is soup, any kind, but he prefers brothy ones over thick or creamy styles. If he had to pick a single favorite varitey, it would be miso.

Swiss is only allowed in the kitchen because he's good with a knife. He can burn through prep work like nobody's business, but that's where his skill set ends. He's caused one too many greasefires to he trusted at the stove, and every time he's put something in the oven he's forgotten about it until smoke filled the room and the ghoulettes had to magickally air it out. But he can chop like a food processor, so he gets the knife pass. He's another one that'll eat anything put in front of him, with one exception: eggs. Can't stand them. Favorite foods include red meat served rare, really dark, bitter chocolate and anything with hideous amounts of garlic.

Sunshine is chaos personified in the kitchen. She loves to experiment with flavors and techniques, but has yet to have anything close to a success. Pasta with pesto and pineapple (alliteration is fun), chocolate covered avocado balls (with bacon, because why not), a tuna sandwich made with coconut yogurt instead of mayo (it's healthy!) - these are but a few of the food crimes that have lost her solo access to the kitchens. This girl could burn cereal, and no one wants to see that. She does love to eat though, and will frequently hang out when someone else is cooking so she can sneak bites whatever they're making. Favorite foods include cheese (all kinds), sour candy and all the orchard fresh peaches she can get her hands on.

And for the Papas:

Primo had to learn his way around the kitchen from an early age, thanks to the responsibility of raising his younger brothers falling onto his shoulders. He learned by watching the kitchen staff - a pair of elderly Sisters with so much skill in their gnarled hands that Primo couldn't look away. He never got very good at it, mostly sticking to a handful of reliable dishes that could be made cheap and easily for the three of them. His favorite of the bunch was also the one thing he was best at making - a simple mushroom risotto.

Secondo took to the kitchen like it was second nature, once Primo could trust him to not chop a finger off. Would spend hours poring over cookbooks and learning by doing, eating his own failures so his brothers wouldn't have to. He really enjoyed making simple but hearty comfort foods, lots of rib-sticking braises and stews filled with herbs and veggies from Primo's modest garden. He even cooked the last meal they ever shared together, on that fateful Uno night. It was his favorite, a lasagna constructed from fresh sheets of pasta, homemade ricotta, spinach and a simple tomato sauce, served with roasted garlic focaccia.

Terzo did not get the cooking gene, aside from being able to boil water for his tea. It wasn't a big deal since his brothers picked up the slack, and he decided there were other things that took priority - like music, history and how to retain a full head of hair after age 30. He preferred drinking over eating anyway, mostly saw food as something to put in his stomach to cushion the wine. He was a man of simple tastes, and his favorite thing was a humble sandwich of mortadella, provolone and spicy pickled peppers.

Copia never had to learn to cook, raised by the Clergy and doted on thanks to a not-so-subtle suggestion from Sister Imperator. More than a little spoiled in that sense, he would also go on to be the most worldly Papa in terms of his tastes. So much time spent traveling the world helped to expand his palate, and he got into the habit of sending pictures and descriptions of his favorites back to the abbey so the kitchen staff could figure out how to replicate them. It's impossible for him to pick a favorite, but thanks to so much time spent in LA he does have a real soft spot for Mexican food. Tacos al pastor in particular, but without the cilantro (he has the soap gene).

[darkdemeter]

War and Strife x Fem child reader Platonic! Takes place during Genesis! A sweet, curious, and kind child managed to find herself in Hell, probably bc of a random Serpent Hole back on Earth, and is now under Vulgrim’s care due to curiosity himself…until War and Strife spot her talking with him. It’s now part of the Horsemen’s mission to get her back home to Earth, after Strife “adopts” her and convinces War that she’s their priority now, for the Balance.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader

NOTES: ↳ Yes Genesis content! 👏Let's go! WARNINGS! ↳ Just sort of general fluffy content — Reader is a small bean — Vulgrim has to fix some serpent holes, be wary of falling through some of those when you're out and about — I think that's it

✎ 1.9k ────────────────

How fragile mortality is. So sweet and pure, innocence surreal. You wander through this unknown place with a target on your back, a beacon for the darkness to find you amidst its clawing grasp of shadows. But thankfully, one with astonished confusion finds you before any other hellish dweller. Your eyes peer up and up, meeting the greenish pupils of the ghoul that floats amidst the gravity of his ethereal form. His claws tap together in thought, face morphed into a puzzled sneer with a sound rattling in his throat like a grotesque snort. 

Ever mindful of your manners, being the good and well behaved girl your parents brought you up to be, you softly clear your throat. “Hello.”

Vulgrim’s eyes somehow manage to soften in the slightest of wrinkles. How did you get here?

He arcs his body to lower himself, nearing to your eye level but still raised some height above. His nose moves back into a revealing snarl when you attempt to reach a hand out to grab hold of one of his horns, eyes sparkling with a grand cosmos of curious wonderment. Vulgrim, amongst his own similar feeling, finds your reaction most interesting. Your perception of him unhindered by the reaction of fear or caution.

When an echoing shriek bellows from the spired graveyard over yonder, you gasp shortly, and Vulgrim is a witness to this fearful emotion. He watches, properly posed in his towered clutch as your head and eyes move across the surroundings before you shrink away with a small whine, feet pattering in hard succession until you hide behind the floating shades of his belted tunic. 

“Come, child,” he says, “stay right here with me.”

Humans are a species emphasised about their fragile yet cunning adaptability. And while Vulgrim has taken to studying them here and there, not once had it ever struck him that a child’s soul could harbour so much light. So much pure and raw energy that it almost blinds him whenever he looks at you. 

You nod up at him. Your hands clutch hold of the darkened purples of fabric, your fistful grip is harsh much like how you would to your mother’s tunic whenever the roar of thunder scared you. 

Vulgrim can only suspect that you somehow arrived here through the work of his serpent holes. There are a few scattered around earth, though not many, but you must have stumbled upon one. 

“Man, if Vulgrim sends us off on another fetch quest, I’m going to happily plug a bullet through his ugly ass—” Strife tapers off in his rant. 

Both him and War tug the reins of their steeds to bring them to halt. Horses voicing their huffed whinnies, the steadfast beasts comply. 

“Is that…?”

“A child,” War finishes his brother’s question. He could hardly believe his own eyes, having to share a glance with Strife to confirm what it is they see in the distance. With a harsh nudge of their heels, they hurry off towards Vulgrim who glides idly around a rocky cluster, almost pacing back and forth. 

Meanwhile, you are seated atop the rock with your head tracking the spirited demon’s movement. 

“My mama makes the best-est swoup in the village. Do you like swoup? It’s yummy. I always eat it when I feel a hurt in… my belly.”

“Vulgrim,” Strife barks out, “What the hell did you do?”

At the call of his name, the lanky merchant scowls with a hoarse, soured sigh. “Horsemen, it is not I who did this. She somehow found her way here, most likely through the use of a serpent hole.”

The Horsemen dismount, boots clubbing the dirt mercilessly. In your excitement, you leap off the rock. Vulgrim and the two nephilim brothers flinch forward at the sight of your stumble but you brush yourself off. 

Sturdy, they note in their examination. You move swiftly that it catches War and Strife unawares despite their eyes keeping a sharpened focus on you. 

“Horsies!” you chortle loudly, beaming brightly with a smile, arms outstretched. Both continue to stare at you like you’re a newborn faun stumbling on its legs for the first time.

It’s Strife who kneels down to your level. The shift of his armor clatters together and your eyes meet the flare of gold brimming from his eye sockets. 

“You like ‘em, huh?” He means of their loyal horses. He sees your smile turn higher into a grin, nodding eagerly. He smiles beneath the placid face of his visor and merely shuffles aside, his hand beckons Mayham to trot forward. 

The heavy push of Mayham’s nose nestles into his rider’s palm and he directs your own hand to rest there. You giggle as the horse sniffs and huffs large winds of breath that blow your hair back and cause your lashes to flutter wildly. Your hand smears a gentle caress against Mayham’s nose, his lips mouthing the soft surface of your palms, tickling you. 

War finally breaks himself away from it, instead turning his attention to Vulgrim, bearing upon the merchant a fearsome glare. “Just how exactly did she end up here, in Hell of all places?”

Vulgrim shrugs. “I cannot say for certain, Horseman. All I know is that she found her way to me. And perhaps by a play of fate, with the less than favorable fiends she could have encountered instead.”

Strife and War bristle at that. They find the implication that any of hell’s creatures could have found you disheartening. They can only assume that it is what Vulgrim suggests: fate. And greatly fortunate for you. 

Strife remains close at your side, not yet ready to return to the level of his feet, far too entranced at the abrupt pause in his breath whenever his eyes flicker away from you. This instinctive drive to protect you from all harm falls on him like a blanket weighing him down in water. 

“So you have been spying on the humans.” War’s skeptical tone is not appreciated by Vulgrim, followed by the bevelled snarl and recoiling of his lipless mouth that bears his jagged fangs. 

“Studying them. They are fascinating, and I only meant to observe them from afar. However, it would appear that not all my serpent holes on Earth are very… secure.”

“War…” Strife says, voice sunken low in his determined drawl. He finally stands but his head lags behind, momentarily watchful of you before he raises it to meet War’s gaze. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“Strife, we cannot forsake our mission. It is our duty to—”

Strife tries but he’s unable to bite down a growl, the golden dance of his eyes thinning angrily. “You keep going on about the Balance, fine! But right now, she is part of that balance. She is our priority to see her home safely.”

If there has ever been a reason to pull the trigger, Strife now sees it. To protect you. If any threat so much as taunted him with laying a finger on you, he would lose himself to the identity of that killer he tries so hard to escape from. 

“If anyone finds out that she’s here, they’ll come for her. And I’m not going to let any of these mongrel pieces of shit get that chance.”

War’s mind is taken under by the case his brother makes. The consequences to follow if such a scenario were to occur, then balance would only tip further into universal chaos. 

Still, what of their task? 

Both are torn from the heat of their argument when you coo, Mayham pushing his head a little further against you to muzzle into your front. Strife lays a hand firmly on the metal plating guarding the horse’s neck. “Easy there, pal. She isn’t as tough as me.” 

His voice has turned cool, less frantic than it had been before, fired into a flare of emotion just teetering on the edge of lost control. Mayham snorts and complies with his rider’s command, easing his weight and instead embraces the form of your body leaning into his large, armoured head. Your arms wrap around his elongated snout. His breath jostles your breath, his nasal pants match in time with each little heartbeat in your chest. 

Ruin’s nose bows down and with a sharp, deep snort he sniffs at you. The thick skull of his head then pushes into your ribs with a loud whicker, ears prickling about as if to beg for your attention as well. 

“Strife, it will be too dangerous to take her with us,” reasons War, though his brother can easily tell he isn’t so convinced by his own words. 

“It’s too dangerous not to take her with us.”

Vulgrim motions with a dismissive cast of his hand, spatting a puff of air, “Pah! If none of you will take her back, then I suppose she must be left under my charge until otherwise.”

War doesn’t give a second thought to his next threat. “Touch her and I shall cleave you into two, demon.”

“Seconded,” growls Strife with a slivered glare. 

“Very well.” Vulgrim’s claws scratch at his chin thoughtfully, defeated. “Then you will take her back to Earth and reunite her with the other humans.”

Strife and War glance down to find you happily coddling their steeds. “There’s lots of apples at my home. Would you like apples, horsies? Will you be my fwiends?”

“And Lucifer?” War asks the demon trader. Meanwhile, Strife bends down and his hands swoop around you and pull you into his arms. You let out a cheerful cry at the sudden pull of gravity that hoists you up. 

“Vulgrim can work on it while we’re taking her back home.” 

Turning you to face him, Strife gets a good look at you now, a bubbly and excitable soul despite your circumstances. Your head tilts curiously as you take your time observing him, small hands reaching out to run over the cover of his mask and your eyes filled with that distinct fascination and curiosity humans are known for. 

With a huff, War passes off the artefact to Vulgrim who clasps his greedy hands over it like a cage, gruffly chuckling a darkened note. “Yes, yes. Now go, get her out of here!”

You cannot see the small smile Strife has, but it's there. “We will take you back home, little one. You excited to go for a ride?” 

You gasp with a widening grin. “Yes pwease!”

With that, Strife and War turn back to mount their horses. Vulgrim’s face drops, going blank as you softly whine over Strife’s shoulder, waving your arm madly and your fingers curling into your palm as you wave. “Bye! Bye-bye!”

Strife is careful as can be, for the first time in a while exercising greater caution in handling you into the saddle of Mayham. You eagerly grab hold of the chained reins and the saddle horn, legs swinging back and forth before Strife sits behind you. 

“Where do we even begin?” War asks, looking at Strife who returns his stare. The question poses a bit of a challenge. Just which village are you from, who are your guardians and can they actually get you home as they promised?

“Little one,” War calls and you turn your big, blinking eyes to him. “Where is your village?”

“Uhh… erm…” Your voice has grown small, an uncomfortable sense of uncertainty laced within it. 

Strife takes a moment, thinking hard. It’s not until your head moves back and your eyes look up at him that he answers almost wistfully while he holds you securely. 

“I guess we’ll figure that out on the ride there.”

[ohmigoshiloveu]

The Queen definitely dominated Shilo a lot, like we can all agree on that, right? That’s what normalized casually upending people’s free will to Shilo.

I’m just curious how far she took it. Shilo was capable of leaving his room and the castle, but was that because The Queen didn’t want to dominate him to never leave, or because that would’ve been a safety hazard? While Shilo was growing up did she dominate him whenever he wanted to stay up past bedtime? Whenever he didn’t want to eat his dinner yet? Whenever he asked one too many times to see the outside world, read new books, to have a friend? Did she dominate away tantrums, dominate him into sitting still for portraits, dominate him into apologizing after arguments?

Did she use her discipline to skip over all the times a normal parent would discipline their child or adapt to their needs? She’s an old, old creature, and grew up in a very different era, it might not have even seemed wrong to her, exactly, just a useful trick that let her speedrun parenting because she knew what was best for Shilo even if it deprived him of every opportunity to be a person.

Did that extend out to Jeffrey (assuming he’s actually their dad and not like, some guy that The Queen dumped Emizel on to hide him and just dominated into believing that he was Emizel’s father), back whenever they were dating/whatever the fuck led them to fuck? Did she dominate away rough patches, rewrite his memories of plans when something came up and she knew she couldn’t make it?

Did she ghoulify him?

Think about it. She’s this great, wise, powerful Queen of all vampires with enemies around every corner, and then she falls in love/?lust? with this frail, vulnerable human. He’s a weak spot that can be exploited, a hole in her armor, and that puts him in danger. His first line of defense seemed to be secrecy, but why not have his second line of defense be a bunch of blood points to use at will? Ghouls are stronger, heal faster, and even have limited use of disciplines! Heck, if she love loved him, then she’d be extending his lifespan so they could be together for all eternity, at the low low cost of his free will and independence. But hey, it’s not like he didn’t already love her, right?

I’m not sure what would’ve had to have changed for her to have cut contact with Jeffrey and Emizel, especially since she clearly didn’t learn any lessons because she still raised Shilo to be the way he is, but like. I just want you to imagine Jeffrey slowly transitioning out of being a ghoul once he’s cut off from The Queen’s blood, slowly realizing what happened, slowly realizing he’d had a kid while under a blood bond and all the fucked up shit that entails, and then having to wake up everyday and look at Emizel and be reminded of it all.

If he stayed away from The Queen under a level 3 blood bond then she probably explicitly told him to do so, maybe even dominated him into doing it, so even just taking care of Emizel might’ve been by her orders, and as he de-ghoulified he was actively choosing to continue to follow the last orders given to him by someone who put him through all of that. That might’ve strained his relationship with his son, just a little bit.

Idk if Charlie would’ve made things that dark, but I still doubt dating The Queen of a society that sees people as walking talking buffets went super well for Jeffrey.

[icyblogs]

god bless u for the 141/fallout post i’ve been going feral thinking about a fallout au where simon is a pre-war ghoul who fought in the great war and still wears his power armor to hide that fact 🙏🙏 better yet even simon/reader fallout au where they were married before the bombs fell, and being a military wife she was lucky enough to get a space in a vault but ended up in cryo-freeze while he became a ghoul and they meet again 200 years later

Fallout!AU Ghoul!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader WC: 1.2K words Note: Hi anon! I had to do a little research about how exactly ghouls and cryo-freeze functioned, sorry for getting back to you so late! (does it still functionally make sense no but shh its fine) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! (:

Ghost who was already in the process of becoming a ghoul before the Great War! Already a renowned soldier; one of which was elected for a new experimental drug. For the sake of humanity he was told, after all, doing this will guarantee a spot in the vaults for him and his precious little wife! Doesn’t he want you to be safe? Though he might not have necessarily agreed with the means, don’t the rewards outweigh the consequences? Doesn’t he want to live out the rest of his days in peace with you? For a good vault- wanting the best for you. 

These tests, these experiments.. would end up taking a toll eventually. Too late for you to ever see of course. Well, by the time the great war actually starts, it’s far too late to see the effects of it at all. The experiments required him to stay on base- very seldom ever actually seeing you. “Just a few more weeks.” You were constantly told, and of course full heartedly you’d believe him. Why would he have any reason to lie? So when the first bomb drops.. And then the next. It was no surprise when you were forced to go into a vault without your husband, so scared. All alone without him. ):  

The experiments therefore spiraled, the results becoming null, nothing necessarily coming from them- too many variables being added. And with the radiation from all the bombs well.. He was no longer a ghost but a ghoul. 

He’d be similar to ‘The Ghoul’ in the show in my opinion! Fighting his way through the wasteland, killing, maiming- adapting. Becoming the monster that was always sort of lingering beneath the skin, going back to baser instincts. Everything he did was for his vows. For you. See, I'd imagine that he would wear a power-suit at first, especially when his skin starts to sort of stretch and shrivel, like a burn— eye sockets sinking, nose concaving. If he had found you, he didn’t want you to see what he was becoming; his humanity unraveling faster than he could keep the spool pulled taut. 

Though.. the first year passes. Then the first decade. A century. Two. 

Eventually time slows to a lull; without direction nor guidance. Always sort of be bordering on turning feral, one mishap away from just totally snapping. Enough for life itself to become a constant loop of just sort of.. apathy. Life wasn’t kind enough to people like him, never allowing anything good to stay in their lives. So why would it in this hellscape as well? Going through this so-called life like it was nothing more than a hindrance. Traveling through the land, taking on dead man’s jobs; not caring for the consequences at this point. Because what really was the point without you by his side? Never forming attachments, after all, why bother? He’d outlive them anyway.

Throughout the years, settlements pop up left and right- factions forming, most dying out faster than he could blink. These days, vaults come to the surface- trying to rebuild, kind to any poor soul or raider that they come across, like sheep walking right into the maws of a wolf. Then.. a new community sprouts up. 

Groups of thousands coming up to the surface, building a town- starting a new life. It really wasn’t anything new; Ghost had seen it and experienced it before. Would be a year or two at most of having a bed, having a steady access to food and drink- the meals always tasted like ash, if he thinks hard enough he might’ve remembered how your cooking tasted. He could blink and he was back in his home, watching you sway to some music on the radio, donned in a frilly apron, and you’d turn around and he could swear he could smell what you had in your hands. His imagination always ended up the same way; his eyes would eventually lead up to where your face was; blurry and being forgotten- he’d startle back to the reality at hand, mood darkening. 

So this new community. It wasn’t really a question of whether he was to make his way there, if not to stay for a brief moment of peace then to swindle them out of some supplies. Because at the end of the day they were vaulters. Nothing in the grand scheme of things: would probably die to some raiders anyway. They were always so eager to please, to see the good in people, and they were just so welcoming and hospitable. 

And then he saw.. you. 

The dreams, his imagination- the fog seemed to clear the moment he saw you again; even from a distance.. It was just how he had remembered you- his wife. You look like you haven't aged a day, donned in a blue clad jumpsuit. Simon watches with a dry mouth as you provide a kind smile to one of the people next to you, nodding your head as the pair of you attempt to cultivate the soil. He sees the way you jolt when the man’s hand brushes over your own as if he had shocked you- and his own eyes narrow at the sight, staring unblinkingly as if he might miss something. 

A mirage, it was easy to think. A trick of the light even- the radiation boiling his brain enough to fuck with his head, to give him some twisted hope about something that should not be possible. You.. should be dead. Long gone and yet- why were you in front of him? A phantom? Another way to mock him?

The more he looked he knew it was not the case. He could hear your voice- the cadence, all sounding just as how he's remembered it for the last eon. It made him wonder however- why were you smiling? Why.. were you laughing? He wasn’t with you- so why did you seem so happy then? 

There was something about a corpse yearning for someone full of life even still; for someone who was unburdened by centuries of an unforgiving and cruel world. He felt like Icarus, wanting to get closer; to see if he would melt if he got too close to the warmth. He’d be willing to burn if it meant that you were within reach again. His left hand felt heavy as he flexed it to try and release some tension, gold band digging into his skin. And with how sweet you looked, it only made his teeth ache and fingers twitch over the handle of his gun, longing to be with only you. Would your skin be as soft as he remembered? His throat felt dry, taking a step forward, aching to herd you back to where you belonged. Would your body still sing for him, even as your husband has turned into a monster, even as the stench of death and rot seems to follow him everywhere he goes? 

Would you still remember him? ..Did that matter at this point? He’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After all, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. 

[theunholybastard]

It's me again! How's your holiday weekend going if you celebrate? If you're up for it, can I get a fic detailing the social hierarchy of the ghouls? I'm curious to see what their social structure looks like. It doesn't matter to me if there is a plot or not. Nor does it matter if there's porn or not.

Hey, lovely! 👋 I'm doing great, besides holiday shopping kicking my wallets ass 😭 I hope everythings going great on your end! Wishing everyone a fun and safe holiday season <3

Tbh I've never given it much thought before, but obvs it would make sense that the Ghouls have a sort of pack structure and hierarchy. And now that you got me thinkin' about it I have a few ideas to share😈🙏

Era 4/5 Ghouls/Ghoulettes Social Structure Headcanons

(for the most part SFW, some brief mentions of the hanky panky)

First off,

Ghoul packs are separated by era. The era 4 and 5 Ghouls are all in one pack, and the era 3, 2, and 1 Ghouls are in entirely different packs of their own. Ghouls are naturally very territorial, so they rarely interact with members of the differing Ghoul packs. I say rarely because Sunshine and Mist actually happen to be girlfriends, and unfortunately for the others, they just have to hold back their instinct to hiss whenever Sunny comes home smelling like a different den, and vice versa.

Roles are an important factor in every Ghoul pack. After being in a pack for a while, Ghouls tend to pick up on each others mannerisms, and even start to think like each other. (AKA, they all share one braincell) This makes it easier to decide on rules and roles within the pack, since they can (for the most part) all collectively decide on it without even having to verbally discuss.

Aether is what you would call their (un)official leader. He's strong, gentle but firm, and despite being a mostly relaxed guy, he isn't afraid of putting his fellow Ghouls in their place if needed. It was easy for all of them to come to the conclusion that he is who they want to follow. He loves being in charge, and the rest love it too!

Well, all of them except Dew, who has made quite the habit of challenging Aether. It's nothing personal obviously, he's just a hard-headed little shit and craves the power and control Aether has. He's never had a very good relationship with authority. Luckily, Aether's able to set him straight real quick when they get back to the den. If you don't hear from Dew for a few days, he's probably stuck in a cage, and not always in a kinky way.

When Aether got replaced by Phantom, though he was still considered the leader back at the Ministry, they needed someone to take over while touring. Finally, Dew gets his chance to take charge! Right? WRONG! That's right, Aether's second in command is Rain! Yeah, Dew wasn't happy about that.

Rain wasn't comfortable with it at first, either. Normally leaning more reserved and soft-spoken, he felt he was in no shape to be in charge of any his fellow Ghouls. But once again, without it even having to be discussed, all other Ghouls seemed to look to him for leadership. And Rain has never been one to disappoint. He ended up adapting to his new role fairly easily, adopting a more confident and outward persona. And Dew, with his sickeningly sweet soft spot for Rain, challenges him a little bit less. Only a little bit though.

Cumulus, at the end of the day, is the glue that holds the pack together, serving as a sort of protector. Shes like the mom friend of the group, a matriarchal like figure who makes it her duty to take care of her pack however she can. She holds such a commanding yet comforting presence, making her perfect for her role. Being level-headed and intelligent, she's also the one they look to for guidance if neither Aether or Rain are available.

If any of them are in need of comfort, she's the one to go to. If any of them are having a fight/dispute, shes the one to sternly scold them and help them make peace. Oh, did Dew cut his finger open again? She's got bandaids ready. Oh, is Rain feeling a bit lightheaded? She's got a bag full of snacks with her at all times. Some creepy guy hitting on Cirrus? They'll never find his body. I have to stop myself from talking about Cumulus now or else this is gonna end up being too long I'm so obsessed with her omg

Ghouls are highly social, and if you were to ask which Ghouls are most commonly seen paired up together, I'd say they all are around each other pretty equally. They form bonds very quickly, especially with other Ghouls, and with their natural separation anxiety, they quite literally need constant companionship. They are hardly, if ever, seen alone, and you will usually see the whole pack together. But that doesn't mean they're always all together.

When Ghouls do split up from the pack, it usually is because one or more Ghouls has gone into heat/rut. And as fun as it is to fuck it out, they can't risk having potential kits to worry about. During this time, they will settle into groups of 2 or 3 to keep them socially satisfied until the whole pack is back to feeling better.

When this happens, Cumulus and Cirrus are inseparable, so they are always paired up, no exceptions. (They're girlfriends, your honor!) Sometimes Rain will pair up with them, since Rain shares a particularly close bond with the Ghoulettes, but more often than not he's with Dew or Mountain, not wishing to be a third wheel.

Aurora has no preference as to who she pairs up with, she quite literally is madly in love with everyone. But most commonly she's seen paired with Swiss, because even though he is ALSO madly in love with everyone, he may be madly in love with her a bit more. Plus, they're both SO insatiably horny, so it works out for the both of them.

Aether usually goes for Sunshine or Moutain to pair up with. They're just so much less chaotic than certain friends of his (*cough* Dew and Phantom *cough*) and Aether enjoys being around a Ghoul he doesn't have to constantly monitor and make sure they don't do anything stupid. Well, besides that one time Mountain tried to hug a bear, but Aether doesn't like to talk about that.

But much like Aurora, Sunshine has no preference as to who she's paired with, and usually just pairs with the first Ghoul who asks her, or join Cirrus+Cumulus. And Mountain likes pairing with Rain, so if Aether is too late to ask either of them, that means he's left to pair with Phantom.

Aether doesn't mind too much, it's not like he hates Phantom, in fact he loves him! But he can be... a bit much sometimes. He's grown used to it though, considering they pretty much grew up together in the Pit, Phantom is practically a younger brother to him. Besides, it's not nearly as rough as pairing with Dew. Though it does get a bit stressful when Phantom sleepwalks...

-

[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

TOP 10 personal Favorite Manga.

Here's just a couple of manga that I love & just think are top-notch.

NUMBER: 1 : TOKYO GHOUL

A series that means a lot to me in many ways. When I first got into Tokyo Ghoul it was by the very first season of the anime during 2014 and upon hearing the opening theme of Unravel and seeing the first episode, I was hooked and went into the manga series right after. A nuanced morally compelling storytelling with an array of so many cool and great characters and narratives, incredible art progression from Ishida Sui, and overall just a satisfyingly great conclusion to boot.

NUMBER: 2 : J NO SUBETE

On the surface, looks like a regular BL series, but underneath an emotional-roller-coaster and pretty heavy story about a transwoman named J. Set in the 40s /50s, you fellow J childhood and the awful, rough bullshit she deals with in life as well as her love & massive admiration of Marilyn Monroe. Really such a good story that deals with some real heavy shit...but still so good.

NUMBER: 3 : MONSTER

Not only one of my favorite anime adaptations but also equally as wonderfully engaging & just as well done as a manga as well. Monster is such a captivating, intense story and truly one of my favorites from Urasawa's works. Following Dr. Tenma, a talented neurosurgeon who has grips with the moral dilemma of either saving the Mayor or saving a young boy who was shot in a murder. Tenma chose to save the boy instead and while it costs him being demoted he still believes he did the right thing. Unfortunately years later discovering the boy he saves...turns out to be a killer. This series is such a banger from its storytelling to the characters and just one of the best from Urasawa's.

NUMBER: 4 : GOODNIGHT PUNPUN

At first glance of this manga, you might think of it as something of a cute slice-of-life story about a cute cartoony bird. But actually when reading it...IT'S WAY MORE DARKER and GETS A LOT MORE FUCK UP! For real Goodnight Punpun is one of those series that's start-up pretty light-hearted and a little bit goofy with Punpun being a cartoony-drawn bird amongst very average-looking humans as a young kid in the first volumes of the series. But as things move forward within the story as Punpun gets older and his family situation gets more unstable as well as his life, the tone gets more depressing as a whole. Love the dark psychological storytelling, although it definitely the type of story you can only read once in awhile or in a good headspace because it definitely can be a hard read.

NUMBER: 5 : BERSERK

Seriously, what can I say about Berserk that already hasn't been said on some level. But this manga is seriously, I feel one of the most top iconic series within manga as well as one of the most engaging, moving, fantastic, epic storyline I've read thus far. I know the series itself is still ongoing, and I've been keeping up-to-date with this story since reading the very first chapter. Hearing about Kentaro Miura death....was tough, I knew he had serious health issues, which is why volumes would tend to go on pretty long hatiuses... but man. Another influential iconic figure in manga gone, Berserk is definitely a series any manga-lover or anime fan should read once in awhile.

NUMBER: 6 : SHOUWA GENROKU RAKUGO SHINJUU

Not only one of the most beautifully mature, well-written, compelling storytelling I've seen thus far in an anime series. But as a manga, even more so, a well-crafted story on the life and times of a sad, burden-ridden, slightly bitter, depressed, old man known as Yakumo Yurakutei, who is a highly skilled and experienced master of Rakugo, which for those who don't know is an traditional Japanese verbal form of entertainment. Think of it as something like a form of Improv done by only one person playing different characters to tell a story, This series has many layers to its storytelling that's is done so well dealing with Yakumo and those in his life that has impacted him as to the type of pained almost broken old man he is within the present time. Just a overall good & bittersweet but fantastic story that's deserves to be check out more.

NUMBER: 7 : INNOCENT

It is one of the most beautifully drawn manga series that I have read so far while also being equally gruesome as well. Innocent is a fictionalized historical manga set during 18th century France about the story and legacy of Charles Henri Sanson (actual real historical figure), who is the fourth generation of a family of Executioners known as the Sanson family who are the royal Executioners of Paris. The story follows Charles rough journey towards his path of becoming the Monsieur De Paris. This absolutely such a fantastic piece of work, both in terms of the visually amazing stunning artwork and along with the historical storytelling of Charles coming to terms with his hated lineage and becoming Executioner of Paris but also showcasing the societal/political chaotic changes and upheaval of France slowly leading up to the French revolution. Although some historical aspects are obviously fictionalized, but still such a good series.

NUMBER: 8 : THE PROMISED NEVERLAND

While my feelings on the anime are highly mixed due to really, really, really not caring for the way they handled parts of the storytelling from season 2 of the anime series. But the manga, on the other hand, is a totally different story. Seriously, reading this series was a blast and just an enjoyable experience from beginning to end, as well as seeing Emma and Ray also Norman grow & and develop throughout each arc was great to witness including seeing the rest of the kids thrive and survive the outside world. For this manga was a great read, and definitely, I'll say at least personally to me was done far better then the second season flimsy adaptation.

NUMBER: 9 : HOMUNCULUS

Truly an mindfuck of a manga in more ways than one. But still a pretty damned good and wild story, Homunculus is a story about a homeless man named Susumu Nakoshi who ends up meeting a seemingly antagonistic young medical student named Itoh Manabu to do a little experiment on him by drilling a actual hole in his skull for a total of 700,000 ¥en. Itoh, who is very fascinated with studying the human minds and amongst other things such as ghosts and the occult, but ultimately he thinks he can unlock the hidden psychic potential of Susumu brain. Nakoshi goes through the process, and at first, nothing seems to happen after going through the the operation. Until he closes his right eye and starts seeing otherworldly nightmarish monsters and shapes with his left eye when he looks at other people. This series is truly a weird but also such a highly intriguing and fascinating psychological read while at the same time being a bit of a downer, but still an excellent but messed-up good story.

NUMBER : 10 : ATELIER OF WITCH HAT

Okay, so I just recently started reading this manga series not that long ago, about a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm so freaking hooked. Atelier of Witch hat has truly captured my heart and mind with its engaging and creatively fascinating world-building involving witches and magic to the just as highly interesting characters and storytelling. Which centers around our young protagonist Coco ( the girl on the cover) who is this super adorably passionate girl who has such a huge love for all things magical /witches and deeply wishes she could become one as well, but unfortunately normal people or "outsiders" can't become witches, you have to be born into it, but that's doesn't stop Coco from trying her hardest to still wanting to be a witch. One of the things I love most about this world and how it handles dealing with magic and witches is that magic is really normal within this world and how witches tend to uses it to help and serve regular people in need or even for lighting up a cobblestone pathway also I really like how the magic system is structured in this series, such as instead of casting spells or any from of magic with words or a phrase, magic is casted by drawing, Coco here ends up in a pickle with accidentally casting magic that ends up turning her mom into stone & thus Coco journey towards witchood begins.

Seriously, even though I've just recently gotten into this manga & and its ongoing tale it's already has captivated me on so many levels and I just can't get enough of it so far wonderful storytelling and amazingly beautiful drawn artsy apart of it which really adds a lot of this series fantastical elements. Definitely a must to check out!!

Wanted to do a list of a couple of some of my most top favorite manga series and ones were I feel other's should give them a shot at checking out if there into any of these stories. (^ _ ^)

[finalgirlminamurray]

by the way...finished bones and all (the book) recently

i think it was interesting but ultimately i do have to admit i think the movie did a better job of executing the concept. maybe i'd feel differently if i read the book first but i think it's an actually successful example of a film adaptation taking the broad strokes of the source material to build more of its own story. the basic plot remains the same but there are some significant differences in tone and what they choose to emphasize as well as some more minor details that add up to a very different experience

the author said she wrote this book shortly after going vegan and in the author's notes/acknowledgements at the end that a lot of people were surprised that she'd written a book about cannibals - then clarifying "well, ghouls, really, but cannibals is more recognizable a term" (something like that). thought this was interesting because the word "ghoul" never comes up in the book to describe what are usually just called "eaters". anyway i don't know why people were surprised that a vegetarian/vegan was writing about cannibalism because that seems to be a common thing among people who write about that.

the book wasn't shelved as ya in my library system but i heard it described as a young adult novel before reading it and i think in many ways it does really feel like one. granted i haven't read any young adult books since i was a young adult (i.e., a teenager) myself so i don't know that much about what the ya publishing landscape is really like but i wonder why libraries would be reluctant to classify this as such. is it because of the explicit horror elements? i think it's perfectly appropriate for teens and it feels like it's written from the mindset of one, in a good way

anyway, major differences between book and film are:

in the book maren is raised by her mother before being abandoned by her and going to search for her father; in the film it's the reverse. i think there's some significance here in how being an eater is tied to gender - it's not a gender-specific thing in either version but i feel like in the book most of the eaters maren meets are male. there's only one woman she remembers meeting once who she thinks might have been like her. she also notes that other girls really don't seem to like her and most of the people drawn towards her throughout her childhood were boys.

(there's also the fact that maren in the movie is mixed-race, and it's strongly implied her mother's family didn't approve of her marrying maren's father because he's black; as you might expect none of the characters' races are mentioned in the book and you can probably assume they're meant to be white. this definitely adds a whole lot more to the film's dynamics but it's mostly left to subtext. in the book maren keeps a scrapbook of various historical and literary incidents of cannibalism, and she and sully talk about polynesian people who eat their dead - none of this comes up in the film as far as i remember, though.)

in the book maren has been aware of her cannibalistic tendencies for most of her life and recalls several specific incidents throughout the book of her eating someone she got close to, after which her mom had to pack up and move again. in the film the first of these (her babysitter) is mentioned but if there were others she doesn't seem to remember them. (i'll probably have to watch the film again to refresh my own memory, but i'll take any excuse to.)

the way eaters feed is portrayed somewhat differently; the book seems to lean into the magical realist elements more and implies they can devour a whole person in a matter of minutes, leaving behind only what they can't digest. they also seem to go into a sort of fugue state where they aren't fully aware of what they're doing until it's over, and have a harder time controlling their urges. the film plays it a little more "realistically" and shows them eating like scavenger animals - this is one reason i liked the movie's portrayal of it better, i think. if you want the audience to think about the reality of consuming flesh you kind of have to show it in its full visceral glory

maren's relationship with lee is a little more ambiguous in the book; other characters assume they're dating, she wants to be his girlfriend, but he doesn't quite make it official until they near the end. the film fully makes it a romance between them and has this relationship be a core part of the story - they're also together for more of the plot in the movie, while in the book they separate and find each other again a few times.

maren is a lot less immediately distrustful of sully when she meets him in the book and is actually happy to see him whenever they meet up again. he still comes off as shady but not enough for her to be too creeped out; she's just glad to meet someone like her who seems to have some reasonable principles about how he feeds.

the big twist is that sully is maren's grandfather, being her own father's biological dad, who he never met after being abandoned as a young child. he tried and failed to kill and eat his son and sets his sights on maren instead. there's no familial connection stated in the film but since her mother there has the same backstory as her father in the book (found abandoned as a child and raised by adoptive parents) it's possible

towards the end, lee and maren hitch a ride with a college student who's moving back into her dorm; she offers to let them stay the night but won't let maren sleep in her room. lee ends up eating her and maren essentially takes over her identity so she can live and study at the school, which she enjoys until sully tracks her down. lee finds him attacking her in the dorm room and manages to kill him offscreen (most violence happens "offscreen" in the novel). then he and maren, finally feeling safe, have some drinks and finally sleep together, only for maren to wake up the next morning having eaten him. this is a very different ending than the film, in which lee asks maren to eat him after sustaining injuries in the struggle (and also they're working legitimately by the college), and highlights the book's emphasis on eaters' inability to control their hunger.

the book has more of a bleak ending, honestly, where it's implied that maren will forever be living this nomadic existence she wanted to avoid, unable to get close to anyone without killing them - but at the same time i think you could read it as more positive as she fully embraces what she is. still the nature of eaters in the book makes this a fundamentally different kind of story

the scene in the film where maren and lee meet two men who are both cannibals, but one of them is a born eater and the other just does it because he wants to - not in the book. the closest analogue is when maren goes to visit her father at the mental hospital (which goes mostly similarly to her visit with her mom in the movie, except he doesn't try to attack her at the end) and the nurse who's been taking care of her dad offers to let her have dinner and spend the night at his house. she gladly accepts, but later that night he starts talking about how alone he is and how fascinated he was by her father's nature as an eater, and asks her to do something for him - she doesn't let him finish and it's never revealed exactly what he was going to say but she's really freaked out and tries to leave immediately. he says before that "i don't even like women in that way" so i guess it wasn't something sexual? sources seem to think he wanted her to eat him. weird scene, but right after that she runs into sully again who reveals his true intentions and eats that guy, so we don't have time to dwell on it

speaking of which - the book both downplays maren's romance with lee and is a lot more heterosexual. in the film lee goes off with a male fairground worker and has sex with him before eating him, in the book that character is female (although he also doesn't seem to have done anything with her before eating her). at the same time, there's definitely something there about maren being a girl who other girls seem to inherently dislike for some reason and who has boys interested in her but always finds herself wanting something else from them...at the end she seems to be hitting it off with another guy but the very last lines imply that she's finally embraced her nature and is willingly eating him instead of fucking him. am i reaching for a queer interpretation? maybe! i'm just glad the movie made lee and maren bi (well, maybe it's more subtextual with her, but the first person we see her bite is a girl she's getting intimately close with)

in the film lee has a big confessional monologue about killing his own father; in the book he killed one of his mom's many boyfriends, and while his sister kayla didn't witness it, his girlfriend at the time did and ended up being sent to a mental hospital. this is maybe part of the reason for his and maren's argument before she goes to see her dad

other notes: the book takes place in 1997, the film takes place in 1988. in the movie maren is 18 when her dad leaves her, in the book she's only 16 when her mom leaves. (she's also a lot more resentful towards her mom for leaving her in the book, while in the film she doesn't seem to think about her dad much at all after he leaves; throughout the book she clings to an image of her dad as the perfect idealized parent she never got to have, which makes it especially hard for her when she finds out where he is.) lee's age is not stated in the film but in the book he's 19, which is interesting considering his seeming hesitance to enter into a relationship with maren. the film implies that sully killed kayla when they find what looks like her hair in his rope, but the book makes no mention of this.

overall: still love the movie, the book is something i'll have to sit with for a while i think. i would like to watch the movie again (which would be for a third time by now) with the added context i have of the book. i remain intrigued by the world it takes place in and i think it's a very beautiful movie. i think this was one of those cases where the author herself said the film was better than her book, and i don't always agree with those writers' own assessments, but in this case i'm glad she felt it conveyed the story well, even if some of the themes do feel significantly changed.

[pilferingapples]

LM 4.8.5 : Things of the Night

 A black figure barring the way stops the wild beast short. That which emerges from the cemetery intimidates and disconcerts that which emerges from the cave; the ferocious fear the sinister; wolves recoil when they encounter a ghoul.

RIGHT so with that summary of yesterday's chapter--

I've written before on how I think Les Miserables is not a realistic novel , and adaptations that treat it as such are making a mistake ; it's a Romantic novel, and that means that a certain level of magic is allowed and in, the case of Les Mis , explicit.

This book is full of ghosts-- there's Fantine's spirit, always close to Cosette, showing up first in the woods of Monterfermeil:

... she was a child of eight: no one but God saw that sad thing at the moment. And her mother, no doubt, alas! For there are things that make the dead open their eyes in their graves. - The Little One All Alone

and lingers partly -seen at times at times in the text:

The more sacred this shade was to him, the more did it seem that it was to be feared. He thought of Fantine, and felt himself overwhelmed with silence. Through the darkness, he vaguely perceived something which appeared to have its finger on its lips... Was Jean Valjean unconsciously submitting to the pressure? We who believe in death, are not among the number who will reject this mysterious explanation. - Change of Gate

even , it seems, sometimes actually touching Cosette:

Cosette was meditating; an objectless sadness was taking possession of her little by little, that invincible sadness evoked by the evening, and which arises, perhaps, who knows, from the mystery of the tomb which is ajar at that hour. Perhaps Fantine was within that shadow. - Enriched with Commentaries By Toussaint

There's also Myriel's ghost looking on at Valjean at his death, Valjean's brother (if you believe he really had a brother) visiting in his dream ...

Les Miserables is a haunted novel. The convent is a ghost, even in its introduction; Paris of the past is a ghost. The narrative acknowledges it. And for people in the book, there are more ways than dying of entering the uncanny. The Amis may not exactly be ghosts (except , perhaps, Prouvaire and Bahorel) but they're walking under a prophecy from their introduction. Gavroche has some sort of spiritual avatar connection with Paris. Cosette and Eponine are both fairy creatures in their turn, when they're slipping through the cracks of the human world-- but then Cosette is pulled back to humanity by Valjean's intervention and love, and Eponine...

Eponine becomes this.

There's a line about magic I've seen a few places that goes something like: you can't make magic with someone else's heart. You have to give it yours, and you have to mean it.

I think that's what Eponine did when she faced down her father and the Patron Minette. She offered up her life for the power to change how things were going; and something accepted. She may not have died on the spot, but her life is not life anymore; now it's This. She certainly will have the power to change how the story goes from now on, but she's changed states of being now. (Could she still become human again, without her physical death? I think so; but it's no longer as easy as it would have been in Mabeuf's garden.)

I think modern readers (including the ones who make adaptations) struggle with acknowledging the fantastic as the fantastic in stories that aren't expressly fantasy (or maybe Magical Realism). But Hugo isn't dealing with those expectations; he's a writer who fully believed in the invisible and supernatural world , inextricable from the real one. There's no contradiction, only a thin separation.

And Eponine is standing in both of them now.

[topgunruinedme]

Bite me (Bruise Me), Fight Me (Loose me Too)

Whumptober: Day 15, Pained hugs/“I did good, right?”

Word count: approx’ 10.7k

Character: Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rating: Mature

Summery: Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

Ao3 account: TopGunRuinedMe

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention to medical disorders, Undiagnosed Medical Issues, Poor lifestyle, Neglect, Child Neglect, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jake is not the prostitute, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Jake is struggling to adapt, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Jake just wants to be loved, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Mummy Issues, misconception of love, Mental misconception of Love to avoid trauma, Author may be a little tipsy writing this, Normal people become alcoholics to cope:Jake seeks out fights, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mainly Hurt, Little comfort, I Have No Idea How This Got So Long, NO Spell Check, I've been writing so long i'm now sober, Physical Abuse, Not for the character you think, We Stan Yote, We must pay for his therapy, Miscommunication.

~~~~

Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

He grew up in a hole in a wall, one bedroom apartment just shy of the ghetto, his family, small only a member of two, were food stamp users, and he was only in school due to the tax payers dime. His mother worked two jobs, day shift at the supermarket and nightshift at the petrol station where she would occasionally let him sleep in the backroom on the couch until he was eight years old and finally deemed responsible enough to stay home, although he still preferred the store in summer because they had aircon, and heating during winter. But despite his mother working herself haggard to make barely enough to keep a roof over their head always managing to get enough money to scrap together rent, even if she went out at night and came back at odd hours a bruise or two with a cracked smile, she always made it happen. Just like when she tried to put food on the table, sometimes his only meal would be a bag of skittles if she could spare the change, or if they rationed enough they could make a loaf of bread for two weeks, if they eat around the fuzzy green spots. He had eaten it once, so ravenous not realizing it, and had spent the whole next two nights paying for it, weak and shaky over a toilet bowel vomiting up more weight than he could risk losing in his mother arms who cried softly as she rocked him whispering her prayer into his skin.

But even when he went to school in thread bare clothes, a bag his mother had found in a dumpster still relatively usable even if one strap was broken and had to be tied back together every so often, and a hole or two in his old sneakers; that had dried blood strained on the inside from where his feet had rubbed them raw last summer when his socks finally gave out and he had been to afraid to mention it to his mother until she had spotted the sores and cried herself to sleep that night. He still managed, despite his hindrance, he had the reading skill of a high schooler, math of a 4th grader, and an active sport level in intensive sports despite the fact he was skinny, thin and all but looked like wind would brush him away, his lungs burnt under each long sprint and bones aches after each tackle, but he loved it.

No one cared if he was skinny or weak, no one cared if he looked like a ghoul or worse barely functioning clothes, just that he could catch the football and sprint with it fast enough that people rarely caught him before he reached the touchdown line, or that he was able to take off from the start line with such a steady pace that he could outrun most of the older kids in a 200m race.

He had potential his coach had told him; he could very well become a professional runner or player if he put in the effort. He had simply nodded along knowing it wouldn’t happen, he couldn’t afford it, and he wouldn’t dare ask his mother. He had to be smart, he had to be active, he had to be healthy; because he needed the skills for a decent job, he needed to be fast to get between jobs quickly and on time, and he needed to be healthy so someone can take care of his mother when she got sick and tried to work through a fever again like she did last winter. Someone had to do something because she was working herself into the grave and he knew it.

But despite it all, the long hours, the mood swings, his school accomplishments and little to no encouragement at his mother’s numb subconscious he knew she loved him, even when some days she laid in bed with no energy to get up, or when he had to help her to the table and cradle his palm to his chest after burning it on the stove, even after the countless times his mother had told him it was hot, to make breakfast because it was the least he could do. At least until he was old enough to do some work, he knew Mr. Martian needed his lawn moved, maybe he could ask the man. He was sure he’d let him borrow the machine and do it for him, he could he was sure of it, if he reached up high enough to grab the bar.

He had heard the other kids the other day talking about how they get money for doing chores, things like taking out the garbage and clearing their rooms, washing dishes, and washing clothes, but he had never gotten any, and he did that daily between his own studies. He always had to sneak out of school and run home just so he could drag the tied off bag of garbage down the two flights of stars past 6B who always stood on the stair landing to watch his pass day in and day out, gaze roaming over him but never asking to help so maybe he was just supervising him so he could tell mummy he did his chores. He had never earnt anything for it so maybe he wasn’t doing enough, he could do it. Get pocket change, that’s what they called it, he could give it to mummy to help. It would help, he was sure of it.

He had been slightly older, when his mother had been fired from the store after falling asleep too many times and had been employed at a mum and pop diner, who allowed them to come in early to eat pancakes for breakfast on the house three times a week, when 6B spoke to him for the first time.

“Hey kiddo, Why don’t you do that before you go to school?”

He blinked pausing mid pull to look up at the man who had overlooked his task for the last two years, now at 10 years of age, having grown slightly taller and more lanky but his baby checks finally starting to fill in with one semi-stable meal in his life, the older man’s lips tugged up in amusement at his own question.

“The racoons” he replied simply, “If they go out too early then they get into it and open the bag and fight over it then it just makes a mess and they wont take it away. But if you take I just before then they don’t get the chance because that’s when Miss Whennies cat Tinkles is watching guard, he always stands right next to it and warns them off”.

“The racoons” the man nodded along as If it made sense, “You know I could always use some help” the man cocked his head, “I’ve got a bad back you see, and a big strong boy like you would be able to do it nice and quick”.

He hesitated, grip tightening on the bag, “I uh- I have to go back to school sir-“

“It would only take a moment” 6B assured, “I’ll give you $5 for it, for being such a good boy”.

Five dollars? It would be easy money and it’s almost three times his spending money, it would allow them to buy milk for once, and he missed milk. He bit his lip slightly contemplating it before sighing leaving the bag on the landing before jogging back up the stairs towards the man whose smile grew wider.

“See I knew you were all grown up, a big boy now aren’t you?” 6B asked with his smile, and he shifted, a weird feeling blooming in his chest at the sharp smile trying not to flinch at the weird itchy feeling he got when the man reached out slapping him on the shoulder. Hand lingering as it drifted down to squeeze his arm before settling on his lower back tugging him closer leading him back towards the man’s still open apartment door. The man’s hand was warm nudging him forward, resting down on his lower back like Santa did when he used to sit on his lap at the mall; 6B hummed happily, “Growing some muscle on you boy”.

The door was closer now, held ajar by an old wooden chair wedged under the door handle, which sat under a small sign painted onto the door. The letters were faded and scratched off but he had been reading for a long time and he was really good at hangman so figuring out words with missing letters was his special skill, he squinted slightly trying to make sense of the white lettering.

Sper.

No Supr

Wait… Super.

He frowned slightly, that’s weird, Super, he wondered what it meant. He of course knew about comic books and superheroes, but the whole point of being a secret hero was to not have the word painted onto your door.

“I play football now with the bigger kids” he offered in response to the man. They were much rougher when they play so he had to train with them more often to get stronger, he liked some of them though, they helped him. Sitting beside him counting when the other two stood on either side of the bench hands hovering on either side of the bar with the black bits encouraging him to lift them, ensuring him again that they were right there in case it got too heavy.

“Hmm, I bet that makes you nice and strong. All sweaty and warm when you play too. Do they still make you wear those shorts? The little stripped ones?” The man asked.

He didn’t get a chance to answer.

The door to the stairwell opened and he jerked to the side frightened as feet raced up the stairs in a hurry, almost tripping over his abandoned bag looking startled, his mother's wild hair, purse thrown over her shoulder, hand holding the rail for support as she looked down at the bag confused then up to them, her eyes lingering on his started expression then the warm hand on his back.

“Jacob,” her tone was sharp, and angry. “Come here”.

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Truly. He was going to go back to school, he really was. “Mum, I was just going to help him with his trash then I was going back to school I promise-“

“Now Jacob” she warned sharply.

He felt uneasy, stepping back away from the hand that seemed to drop reluctantly as he stepped down the stairs, between the two tense and glaring adults, into the safe embrace of his mother, who reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, tugging him close the moment he was within range, almost tripping him down the stairs in her haste to hold him close.

“Benjamin,” His mother hissed angrily; one hand cradling his neck holding his face to her stomach, the other resting on his back desperately holding him close, the pressure half muffling the conversation as if shielding him from it. “What the hell do you think you are doing”.

“Your late on rent”, 6B replied calmly, “The boy’s just picking up your slack”.

The arms around him tightened and the whine left his lips before he could stop it as the pressure grew and he bit his lip sharply, 6B chuckled, although he didn’t know what he found so funny.

“Don’t ever come near my boy again” his mother warned sharply, her voice low and it gave him goosebumps, he hadn’t heard it like that before, not since she yelled at him for knocking over one of their rare drinking glassware, causing it to break and she had yelled at him not to move until she cleaned it looking half between wanting to throw him down the stairs herself or cradle him between her arms.

“Pay rent on time then, that way that sweet little face of his won’t pay the consequences, because I don’t know about you but I am just dying to see what they look like filled”.

“Jacob”, his mother’s voice trembled, he hummed not able to shift enough to look up at her and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, “Go to school, I don’t want you to leave until I come and get you after work alright?”

“Okay” he muttered quietly into her stomach, half disappointed he wouldn’t be able to get Mr.6B’s trash for him and earn that $5, but she didn’t release her grip when he tugged back. “Mum-”

“I don’t want you coming home during school anymore, do you understand me?”

“I-“

“Do you understand?”

“Yes Mum!” he huffed finally breaking away, slipping out of her arms and she looked crazed, lips bitten bloody, gaze wild looking half like she wanted to lung out and grab him again, “I'm going” he hastily assured making his way down the stairs not looking back as he caught the end of the conversation as the door swung shut and he took of racing to get back on school grounds before class started back up.

“What do I have to do to make sure you never touch him again?”

“You know what you have to do, with tax”.

~~~~

He loved his mother, and he knew she loved him. Even when she grew closer, more obsessive. She started to demand she came along to his matches, or for him to walk straight to the store after school instead of hanging out with friends and do his homework in a booth at the diner until he was well into high school and many years into the less affectionally known name as the diner boy.

But it was there that Pops had silently slid across a Naval brochure when his mother’s back was turned, it had been there that his normal meal 3 days a week turned into if you wash the dishes, you can come and eat anytime, and the older couple became Nam and Pop, the two who allowed him in at ass-a-clock in the morning if he came knocking after another fight with his mother. It was there Pop had opened up an old wooden box aided by candle light and shown his medals still as shiny as the day they were pinned across his chest and told him in a harsh whisper of the horrors that came with them. He explained it all, his role as a SEAL, the ground staff, the naval aviators, and the deck hands. The fliers, builders, lawyers, leaders, and the engineers. Anything he could want, all at his fingertips, and Pops was all too willing to walk into the recruitment office and hand it in himself; if he wanted.

If he wanted. If he wanted to leave all this. If he wanted to leave the diner, to leave his mother, to leave this shitty town he’s hated since he was a kid. To leave their half broken down apartment, and to leave their sleezy super long behind in the wind. To leave poor mister Pickels, the kitten that had accompanied Miss Whennies after Tinkles passed, a kitten which soon grew into a large orange ball of fluff and had well outlived its owner. If he wanted to leave…

And what’s worse? He did.

He wanted to leave. He did.

But he couldn’t.

Not with her. Not while she stayed here and suffered by herself, while that man sucked her dry of everything she had, raising her rent every time he felt like it just because he could. The man who no longer intimidated by his stronger build or his nasty glares, who simply grinned at him sharply in response, wondering down the hall calling out his mother’s name with a sing-along voice in a way he knew would make his teeth clench.

And he wanted to leave, so desperately that he could pull his hair out, bloody and raw, and tug the teeth from his head with a pair of priers and no painkillers, and it still wouldn’t compare to the pure desperate need to leave. So desperately that he could cry and yet knew it would solve nothing. Because people like them? They don’t get a happy life; they don’t get other options. They worked to live, live to survive, and survive until you couldn’t give anything more, but overall, you never truly accomplish anything.

He knew what it looked like, if he applied. A poor kid from the ghetto, they’re going to think he’s gang affiliated, he wasn’t, sure he knew some kids from school, he knew what they did, but he never stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and they stayed clear of him in response. He worked hard to get where he was, he wouldn’t let something like that get in his way.

Not now. Not after everything.

And he wanted to apply, if only to get out of here. He wanted to, had the flying folded in his pocket, in between his pillow case and pillow as he slept, keeping it with him as a reminder of what he could achieve, all out of eyeline from his mother. A small token, maybe a daydream, something he knew would never be achieved, but it was nice to hope.

It would be nice to hope, he reminded himself as he woke in the morning with a wince, tugging his shirt down from where it had risen during the night hiding the forming bruise brushing it off as another sport related injury, the three bruised patterned indents all too real to pretend otherwise. He sat at the table staring blankly into the oatmeal, the same three patterns etched into his skin sitting mere milometers from him, waving around flamboyantly as his mother complained about something he had heard a million times. The same rings that had punched their marks into his skin, arms that had left darkening bruises wrapped around his ribs, the love carved into his skin, aches into his bones.

He felt each ounce of her love with each inhale, with each cough or whistling breath, and each sharp movement just like he had when he was a kid. The way she would squeeze too hard after a long shift, but he never complained because he missed her too, even if it made his ribs ache, or he was short of breath, he held his tongue and let her hold him; arms wrapped tightly around his body during the night preventing him from moving from her grasp as she squeezed. Because his mother loved him, the marks proved it, he had learned early on to hold back the whines of complaint in the morning when he woke to the marks dug into his skin, or the way his breath hitched or came with a wince. Because she loved him, she said so. She loved him.

And that was the reason he couldn’t go.

And that was the reason he left.

The reason he had tried to close the door on the face of two uniformed men who came knocking, papers in hand claiming he had to come with them, that he belonged to the Navy. Like he was property. Their star-sparkled stupidly clean shoe that was polished to the point you could see your own damn reflection out of them, that made him want to slam the door on their shoe all that harder blocked him, wedged between the two pieces of wood looking bored at his temper.

“Seresin, come peacefully-”

“For the last time, I didn’t sign up” he glared, “So, piss off”.

“Son you’re only making this worse for yourself, you had a clear recall date if you had second thoughts, you missed it.” he blocked out the officer, his attention dragged to his side as noise came from within he apartment. Worry bubbling as he heard his mother move around when she should be on bedrest, her latest cold having sent her to bed earlier in the week and had refused to let up for a moment.

Annoyance flooded through him mounting on his already building irritation at the knowledge they had woken her form her much needed sleep, he twisted to look at her finding her ending the kitchen walking towards him, dark circles under her eyes, betraying her exhaustion from her gaunt haunted look to the tremble in her hand. She looked wearily, approaching slowly, twisting something between her palms fiddling with it as the ruckus the two men grew louder when the officer realised he was blocking out his speech.

“Mum,” he called out gently “Go back into the bedroom I’ll be right there-“

She croaked, foot staggering her hands reaching out to the nearby counter as she forced herself closer, “I did”.

“What?” He frowned confused, half distracted glaring down the officers whose hand pressed hard against the door feeling it budge slightly much to his own annoyance, “Mum go back to the room ill-“

“I signed you up”.

He paused, staring at her, his pause allowing the officers to push him back by a hand on his shoulder causing him to stagger back as the door swung open.

“Ma’am, please allow us to resolve this peacefully. Recruit Seresin has been MIA for his first week of introductions-”

“You what?” he cut the man off staring at his frail mother who looked so painfully guilty and relieved at the same time, gut clenching and chest tightening feeling like he had just been thrown into a cheese grater.

She bit her lip, sighing heavily before holding out the item she had been fiddling with, a well-loved, folded and slightly dammed pamphlet. The naval pamphlet. “I found this under your bed, I- Pops told me you were thinking about it and the deadline was coming up and you never asked me about it and you never filled it out, so I did”.

“Mum-”

“You can’t stay here the rest of your life; you cannot rot away between these four walls like I am. I refuse to let you” she demanded, on the verge of tears voice trembling, “You deserve something much better than this Jacob; you always have. Don’t squander your chance to get out of this hell hole because of some misplaced honor”.

“That honor is my mother”.

“And your mother is asking you, to go”.

“You need me here, pops and Nam need me here-”

“Go Jacob, go” she whispered, “Please, make something out of yourself. If not for me, then for you. Because if you don’t take this chance, you’re going to resent me for the rest of your life, and I can’t stand to think of it”.

“But i-“

“You can write them a letter once you get to base, explain it all. Trust me, they’ll forgive you. Please, pack. Please Jacob”.

And so, he did. He packed the small measly items he owned, that still fit in that shitty backpack from so many years ago, the trusty thing having lasted all through his schooling with a caring hand, he had kissed his mother goodbye and felt his ribs ache under the force of her hug until one of the officers physically pulled him away and lead him down to a car.

A car that led him to the most physically challenging part of his life, the best part of his life. He had been offered temporary quarters, a package of standard clothes, uniforms, and PT gear, all new. Brand new. Clothes just for him and packed in the bottom was a pair of sneakers, and dress shoes. In his size. He was offered a meal plan of daily meals, three times a day. Showers, wherever he wanted, for however long he wanted in exchange for letting them buzz his golden locks, and a bedroom, sure he had to share it with a roommate who was out of state and being flown out to the base, but it was his.

And somehow one of the worst things his mother had ever done to him, turned into one of the greatest. The bruises had faded with time and so had his anger towards her, and all too soon the dorms began to fill in. The hall loud and brash with kids his age moving in, laughing and being crass, as he waited for the hall warden to snap at them to behave appropriately, sitting on his bed picking at his fingers having long had the habit of biting his lip ripped from him having already spent time under the man, tugging at the skin around his nails flitching as he heard the key turn in the lock of the door, eyes flicking to it instinctively.

He glanced up as the door opened unusually nervous to meet his roommate for the first time only to pause, a laugh bubbling from his lips before he could stop it. The man blinked at him in the doorway, hair buzzed, skin tanned, but he knew. He had lived with them for fuck sakes. He laughed, and laughed and laughed, until the man, unimpressed, tugged the door shut trapping them within, throwing his duffle on the unclaimed bed and crossed his arms, tense, jaw clenched, glaring him down hostilely.

“What,” the man growled out.

He grinned unable to stop himself, “You know when I said I came from the ghetto, I didn’t expect them to put me with the only god damn colored kid on the block”.

~~~~

It started with the shoulder punches.

He hadn’t realised it was an issue until Javy had sat him down with a worried look, whispering quietly about some rumors flying around behind his back because he was hurting other kids. Kids he had thought had been his friends. His face had twisted into an incredulous disbelief, then hurt, and anger, he hadn’t hurt anyone.

He had then nervously asked Javy if he believed them, the man had hesitated before admitting he tapped rather hard when he was showing affection and maybe it was a misconception, a misunderstanding, that he should try being gentler.

He didn’t understand.

So, Javy had shown him, tugged down his shirt, unbuttoning it enough to tug down sleeve enough to show his sholder where the skin was splotched in different colors. He had stared at it, then stared at it some more.

They had bruised. They were old. In different stages of healing. He had been so focused trying to spread his love with the others he had neglected Javy, his love already fading from the man’s skin.

He swallowed hand grazing over the skin his jaw clenched and Javy had just mused quietly reassuring him in worry “It’s ok Jake, It’s ok”. But it wasn’t.

He had tried, to fix it. He tried, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. The rumors, his ‘friends’ and how could they say something so horrible? He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he hadn’t! Truly. He was just trying to show them he liked them, trusted them, loved them, and they had thrown it back in his face. He wondered if his marks still bloomed on their skin in the face of their betrayal, if they would look at it at night lips curling up disgusted by their own actions. If they stared his love in the eye and disregarded it so easily.

He never spoke to them again. The kids. He shut them out when they came back from break, just brushed past them in the hall, refusing to answer them when they came up to him to start a conversation, staring at them blankly when they demanded to know what the hell his issue was, if he thought he was too good for them, and all he couldn’t think about was, was his mark still on their skin? Did it burn so close to its maker? Did the blood curdle and run through their veins aware of its carrier’s actions.

Did it hurt them as much as they hurt him?

So he set himself up, he strengthened his accent, he acted cocky, irritable, and made sure to rile up everyone around him until they couldn’t stand him, until everyone saw him as unapproachable. Everyone except Javy who stared at him at night sitting on his bunk with a lost expression, but despite the others trying to pull him away, Javy stuck to his side closely refusing to leave him too. Even when everyone hated him, when people began to abandon him in hops refusing to cover his back Javy came in clutch every time without hesitation and together they became an unstoppable duo. Together, they became family, brothers, each mark at a time.

It didn’t stop the way hurt festered in his chest when he passed those kids, who had become adults, in the hall as they leaned over and whispered to another kid who looked over at him and smirked laughing. He knew. Everyone did. It was about him. He steeled his jaw throwing them a cocky smirk and thrived off the sneer he got in return.

“You shouldn’t taunt them” Javy scolded.

“I’m just having a little fun Jay” he rolled his eyes, nudging the man with a loose knock to his shoulder and Jay staggered to the side slightly, hand twitching like he wanted to reach up and caress the mark, his jaw tightening as he stared at him before moving again, likely reminding himself this wasn’t the time or place to savor the mark.

He never did. Javy was weird about them, almost moving as if he wanted to hold them, cherish them, looking tense when he gave them when others could see, before locking himself in a bathroom stall or dressing quickly so he didn’t have to look at them. Maybe he was embarrassed.

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the night, thinking he had gone to bed hours ago as he spent his time counting the cracks in the wall, still terrified to move as the boy sighed shifting as the bed creaked, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

I do love you.

So why does it feel like you don’t understand how much?

Then came Bradshaw and everything fell apart.

At first he had loved it, Bradshaw was older than them, more reactive, and he had that fire-like attitude at him. His iron-clad control was frustrating, but if he gave him fuel, the man would throw it back at him, but if he tugged long enough the man would spit at the fire, and it would bloom into a wildfire. Beautiful, but dangerous.

He couldn’t help it. It was like an addiction. He needed to see Bradshaw react, to see those ambers glow. He ignored the warnings, the stern lectures, and bulldozed through them and day by day he watched as that iron-clad control snapped piece by piece, scaffolding flattering and crumbling down around him. He loved that he could use his jabs and taunts to drag the man out to play with him, it was exhilarating, he loved the thrill it gave him, feeling as if he was on the edge of his seat every moment he was around him, dancing on his toes, and Bradshaw strutted around like a ticking time bomb and he intended to make him explode.

Most of all he loved the way he could punch the older man in the shoulder and bubble in excitement as Bradshaw would return it as good as he gave it, and for once in years, he had a bruise. A dark blemish that spanned across his shoulder, next to his collarbone, on his right side, right over his heart. It aches when he moved, tugged when he stretched, expanded when he breathed, and he could feel it in every living movement and he loved it.

Then it all went to shit.

He didn’t know what happened. He had taunted him, and Bradshaw just snapped. Suddenly the usual jab to his shoulder wasn’t just his shoulder, it caught him by the chin, causing him to stumble, then to the gut, and a hand wrapped up around his throat, body breathless, slammed back up against the wall and, this didn’t feel like love.

This, hurt.

He remembered the gasping, chocking on air as Javy held him close barking at Trace to get a handle on Bradshaw, holding his steady on shaky legs. The man’s terrified gaze roaming over him looking more devastated at each impact point, hands roaming over his tense stomach and already red and blooming jaw, he could feel it, the blood pulsing, the tenderness.

“Fuck you, Seresin!” Bradshaw snarled over Trace’s shoulder looking like a dog foaming at the mouth, Trace’s hand was on his shoulder hissing at him to back down, to not make this worse. “The only place you’re going to lead people is to their grave, you’re like a god damn hangman. The only person who wants to be your friend is death itself”.

And there it was. The death wish. The curse. The enigma.

His callsign.

The issue with living on a base is that gossip travels quick, its twists, and it never does the spoken any favors. But once someone caught ear that he grew up in the ghetto, it was over for him.

From that moment on he had been called Hangman, the man who seeks to kill all those around him, a mercenary, a curse, a bad luck charm. Death. Flying with a yoke in hand.

It never occurred to him to report the attack, or to register the way Bradshaw tiptoed around him for a bit as if waiting for the axe to fall. A blow that never came.

He never did get over the way Bradshaw’s bruises ached in his skin, how they slowly faded but his words stuck sharp like a knife between his ribs. And the colours he had looked forward to everyday, ones he had squirmed in anticipation to watch bloom across his chest, left him in an odd feeling of displacement. Bradshaw was avoiding him with a clenched jaw, Trace alongside with him. And all too soon, his skin was unblemished again.

And he hated it.

Unloved, and a death calling.

How fitting.

He never escaped it, not when Javy earned his name, not when graduation came and they were awarded their callsigns officially, his tag already printed before he could request it. His instructor smiling proudly, whispering teasingly “the mercenary” as he pinned it to his chest, staring at him with this expectation and declared in front of everyone, awarding him his rank, and officially alienating him, because who wanted deaths calling on their squad?

“I expect you to earn our country some kills, son”.

And he had. First air-to-air kill in centuries. And what he hated about it most? It proved them all right, because when it came down to it, he didn’t hesitate for a moment pulling that trigger. He didn’t flinch, think, or anything. In fact, if anything, he took satisfaction from watching it fall out of the sky, droning back to the tower over coms, reporting the kill without really hearing it.

Then he earned a new name.

The executioner.

Everyone hated Hangman, but everyone wanted to know the executioner. To hang off his arm, to brag they were friends, to buy him rounds of drink all to celebrate the life he had taken, and that night he came home with bruises brooming across his chest, back, and arm, from drunken rumbles, and sloppy disported punches in congratulation.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

He shouldn’t be happy for taking a life, but it had earned him marks. It earned him love. And he missed it so much he could scream.

~~~~

Top Gun wasn’t any different than it was the first time. Whispers still followed him, his reputation one step behind him, and Brashaw. Bradshaw stood in his way, that hostile look, the same clenched fist, the threat of his love, and yet the man just taunted him with it. And he was so close, so close. So frustratingly close, Bradshaw fist wrapped around his jumpsuit dragging him close as he laughed exhilarated, arm raised fist ready only for everyone else to jump in, to tear them apart, screaming at each other. And Bradshaw had been ripped away, the Captain jumping between them. Bradshaw might be stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a Capitan.

He wanted to throw himself off the carrier. To shove his yoke and crash into the ocean. He had been so close and all he had to show for it was the faint red marks of Bradshaw’s nails from where he as twisted the fabric of his flight suit in his fist.

And it wasn’t enough. He felt like he was going insane, like he had been going through with drawls for years and he just wanted it to stop.

“Jake” Javy stared at him with that same worried look that’s been following him for years, “Maybe it’s time we talked about it”.

Talk about him. About his obsession. About Bradshaw. About everything, and he wasn’t ready.

“Maybe its time you went to see someone”.

“why?”

“To talk to them…about this”.

“I talk to you”.

Javy never answers, just gives him this exhausted look, a haunted piercing gaze that reminded him too much of his mother the day he left, a gaze that cut through him and reminded him of every mistake he’s ever made. Missing Nam’s funeral, never visiting his mother, sending letters, responding but never taking that step to actually seeing her. Being well over due to heading back to that damn town to see Pop, to meet the grandson he spoke so fondly of that had taken over the business a few years ago. Mik. Something. It wasn’t important. Not really.

So he clenched his jaw and ignored the disappointed look, gaze trailing over Brashaw as he danced around in the sand, those muscles shinning in sweat as he tacked Neil to the ground successfully distracting he man allowing Trace to score a goal her Rio by her side faithfully managing to knock peoples ankles out from under them before they knew what was coming.

Then it came. And they crashed. Bradshaw was picked, and Maverick fell. But then Bradshaw fell with him. Love, Bradshaw so loved to taunt it in his face, even in his dying moments.

Each mark, each punch, each heated argument, and clenched jaw screamed, I love you, I love you, I love you~

And he still went after him, because Bradshaw had loved the Captain too.

But then, they lived. And he was flying like his life depended on it, and it might have, his heart pounding in his chest and he was scared it might stop if he didn’t get there in time. He hadn’t hesitate that time either, guns switching to missiles before he knew what he was doing, tone flooding through his ears fingers already pressing down the trigger before he could check which jet he had caught. Then there was smokem, and they lived.

They all lived.

The aftermath is what caused the issues though. His life was always complicated with Bradshaw around. But this time it appears the man came with an extension, the Captain, Mitchell, Maverick. His Godfather.

A father figure, who wouldn’t take no as an answer, who tugged him forward into a hug and he just stood there because where the hell had it come from? But then, it kept happening. Maverick keeps hugging, soon it became a usual pastime for the man making his rounds ensuring he patted, hugged, or kissed each and every one of them goodbye before he left and it hurt.

Usually, he was quite open to hugging, welcoming the family outlet of love. But this, he didn’t know what this was, and he hated it.

He didn’t know what he did to make the man hate him so much but it hurt, seeing the other smile brightly, Mavs soft expression welcoming them into his mismatched family alongside him, to hug him but only offer him the physical object, to wrap his arms around an empty vessel, and it ached.

He didn’t understand.

And it appeared it was becoming a common response to the man named Maverick.

Mav claimed to love him, he hugged him, he smiled so welcomely and treated him as if he was one of his one, and yet, no matter how many times he checked his in the privacy of his own home, on the verge of tears at the sight of the unblemished skin. Why was Mav allowed to love everyone but him?

Why must they taunt him with it? What did he do?

He didn’t understand.

~~~~

To be honest, letting a bunch of slightly tipsy aviator lounge around an open hanger with years’ worth of projects building up to fidget with, was only going to lead to a disaster.

Some perks of being somewhat buddy buddy with aa almost retired Captain meant accompanying the team to group outings at the man’s hanger out in the desert, it almost meant lounging back in a sun in a lounge chair drinking a beer watching Bradsh- Bradley tinker around with some object, that he thinks used to be an engine before it was deconstructed, that the older man had dragged out of the Captains workshop and began to fiddle with; apparently deeming him as his official supervisor since the rest of the group had disappeared into some other part of the hanger and Bradshaw wanted to enjoy the warm sun as well, even if it was heating the metal and causing the man to hiss in annoying under his breath in a muffled curses anytime he burnt himself.

In the most part he was enjoying himself, who wouldn’t he was practically on holiday, baking in the sun, a beer in hand, couldn’t ask for anything better. It was almost sweet serenity. Almost.

“Shit!”

His eyes snapped open eyes settling on Bradley whose teeth were gritted, blood trailing down his arm, hand clamped down on the rapidly bleeding wound. He jerked up not even glancing at the beer that he had knocked from his hip down onto the concrete where it spilled, as he stumbled out of the chair to his knees beside the man already ripping off his t-shirt and whacking Bradley’s hands away to see the damage for himself, before wrapping the fabric around it in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Mav!” the cry sounded raw, fearful.

The cut was deep, from his elbow down to mid-forearm, bleeding, pink and soft, gushy under his finger tips and he tried not to think about the fact his fingers were literally in Bradshaw’s arms, touching the mutilated flesh.

“MAV!”

He felt sick, Bradshaw was rapidly losing color and blood was pouring into his lap, onto his jeans as he tried to stem the bleeding, cursing as he grabbed Bradshaw’s limp hand from his thigh pressing it against the wound snapping at the man to hold it there. Before hastily unbuckling his own belt, not blinking over the mess he was making as he ripped it from its loops, looping it around Bradley’s bicep tightening it in an attempt of a torniquet, it was tight, probably too tight but he had to stop the bleeding-

“MAV!”

He was brushing away Bradley’s hand away, not that it did much good, the sticky blood coating his skin, and his stomach churned. And for once he was willing to admit he felt truly petrified, Bradley’s limp arms, pale skin starting at his wound, and blood in silent horror.

“MAV-!”

“Jesus, I’m here kid” Mav grumbled from behind him, “What do you nee- Bradley!” Something shattered on the ground but then there was Mav by his side nudging him out of the way, taking over. He shuffled back slightly leaning against his chair, feeling unstable all of the sudden, like the world was spinning around him. He stared at his hands, coated in blood, jeans ruined, shirt unsalvageable, but Mav was already calling for the rest of the group and, how had no one heard his screams?

Had they ignored him? At the cost of Bradleys life?

Mav was shoving Bradley into the arms of Reuben and Billy, Nat already having run off to get the car, as Mav ordered them to take him to the small hospital that was apparently in the next town over and then- Mav was in his face. His hands on his knees and Mav was- Mav.

“I’m here sweetheart,” Mav ran a hand over his knee soothingly and his breath shook before realising he’d been muttering the same word over and over again, mav. Mav. Mav. Mav. MAV.

“I’m here sweetheart, but I really need to go. Bradley’s really hurt and we have to get you up with the others so we can get you changed and ready to go see him all patched up because I think you’re a little shaken Jake. Come on up we go-” Mav had a hand on each of his elbows urging him up with him easily shouldering his weight as he stumbled around like a drunk fawn. He didn’t- he just- he was

“He was so pale” he crocked, pleading with Mav, begging him. For what?

“He’s ok, he’s never been any good with blood. He’s okay Jake” Mav reassured him gently tugging him further into the hanger, he followed blindly. That, that’s what he had been looking for.

He’s ok.

He’s never been good with blood.

He’s okay.

Okay.

Mav pulled away slightly, ensuring he had his feet under him, but his hand flew up clenching at Mav’s bicep even as Mav releases him completely, clearly desperate to follow after his son, in all but blood. His voice trembled, croaking, eyes flicking over Mav’s face trying to determine the man’s emotion from the small mini-markers, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Why are you leaving?

“I did good, right?” he asked, clarifying desperately, watching as Mavs brows furrowed slightly shifting impatiently, urging someone over his shoulder towards them as he tapped him on the shoulder squeezing it.

I need you.

“Yeah kid, you did good” Mav smiled softly, “Callie’s going to help you alright? I think you going into a bit of shock. It’s alright, no one was expecting it to happen. Cal, make sure he gets out of these clothes feel free to the stuff in the backrooms, I should have some old stuff from my flight mates stores in there that should fit him, he needs lots to drink, lots of electrolytes and sleep” he informed her, Neil sliding up beside her nodding along, gently wrapping his arm around his chest from behind transferring the weight as Callie patiently tugged on his fingers until they no longer clenched the Capitan and held them within her own.

“Come on Jake, let’s get you into a nice warm shower and-”, he couldn’t focus on Callie, throat dry, staring into an empty spot.

Mav was gone. The moment his grip was released he sent the two a grateful smile before turning on his heel and taking off out of the hanger. Gone.

Mav left him.

And he wasn’t sure he could forgive him.

That night he held his own waist, arms wrapped around himself as tight as they would go and held on. Through his sobbing hiccups, through the pained hiss and clenched teeth, his ribs squeezing tight as he let out a muffled low whimper of pain, refusing to let go, until he could see the darkening skin through his blurred vision. And then, maybe then, he could pretend Mav loved him too.

~~~~

Being asked to stay behind after class by a commanding officer was fine, being asked to stay behind after class by Maverick, was not. Let alone for the man to come up to him and ask him personally to come up to his hanger after work so they could talk about some things, he might as well have a better chance throwing himself into a jet turbine and hoping to live to tell the tale.

The drive was long, perhaps that was on purpose, to allow him the chance to shrug of today’s lesson and his worries. Maybe t had been intended that way but clearly Mav had never taken the time to know him. Instead, it gave him hours to hyper-analysis every interaction with the man and his classmates for the last two months trying to determine why the hell he was being issued an informal reprimand.

A lot had happened in the last few months, the daggers had been officially named as a squadron and they had all been issued their new enigma, he wore his quite proudly as did many others, the group as a result became somewhat closer, spending more time together. Or at least attempting too. So in response he had attempted to share his appreciation as well, but it was always one step forward and two steps back, it seemed almost like every attempt he made they would shut off a little more from him, each shaken head, each retreat, each stiff pool game when he offered to play with them and they’d brush him off, and each a disappointed murmur plunging a knife through his chest: Nat shook her head muttering disappointedly sighing in a way he hadn’t heard in months, “Same old Hangman”.

He didn’t understand, and he was started to get really sick of being left outside the loop.

He swallowed thickly as he pulled up to the fenced lot letting himself in as he pulled off the dirt road onto the slightly gravelled section Mav had donned the parking and put the truck into park, taking a moment to flex his fingers around the wheel trying to take deep even breath, to counter the way his brain seamed to twist and twirl trying to dig him further into a hole he didn’t want to get stuck in.

“You can do this” he reminded himself softly, “You can do this”. It can’t be that bad right? If he was anything bad, Mav wouldn’t have dragged him all the way out here, he would have just ordered him to his office and been done with it. Right?

“Do you plan on sitting in the car all day Seresin!” a voice called out.

He let his eyes fall shut head bumping back against his head rest before opening the car door and sliding out, “Thought I’d take a moment to enjoy the sun sir” he called back. The last one before his execution that was.

“You didn’t have a chance to do that on the drive in?” Mav asked coming into view lifting an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a cloth, dirty and stained but it appeared to be doing its job.

“I’m from Texas pops, we do everything differently, it’s easier if you just accept it” he grinned, pushing back his nerves as he strolled closer shoving his hands into his pockets, “So, what’s up, you’re not going to kill me and burry me out here are you because it think the Dingos might get me before the Eagles do” he commented lightly. If anyone would be able to kill and get away with it, it would be Mav. Hell, he already had the perfect stretch of land for it and enough connection to make a viable alibi. Maybe he shouldn’t have come…

Or at least told someone where he was going.

Where the hell was Javy when he needed him, they could have matching gravestones.

Mav huffed, lips twitching in amusement as he tucked the rag corner into his back pocket letting ti hand, “Now why would I do that? I just called aside in front of the class, that’s too suspicious, even for me”.

He shrugged, “Bradshaw would probably help you hide the body”.

Mav frowned “You saved his life, twice now”.

“Small details”.

Mav hummed, “Come on, we can talk inside”, Mav turned leading him further into the hanger, his gaze couldn’t help but drift to the darker spot of concrete where he knew had blood splattered over it a few months ago, unable to bring himself to make the trip out here since, only to find a pristine surface. He swallowed thickly before following the man in.

So, Mav’s suspiciously good at getting rid of blood stains. Great news.

He has the burial sight, the extra hands, an alibi, good clean up products, all he needs now is motives.

He go down that list worryingly quick and he’s hardly made it past the threshold of the property yet. He sighed signing his own death certificate and allowed Mav to lead him into the kitchen where the Mav placed a bottle of water chilled from the fridge onto the counter gesturing for him to take him, placing the counter between them.

He was a tad ashamed of the way it set him slightly more at ease.

It didn’t take long the tension building awkwardly between them before Mav sighed heavily suddenly looking his age, frowning heavily brows furrowing in worry as he leaned over on the counter glancing up, clearly unsure how to approach the subject, “Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

Rough treatment?

Rough?

“Look Jake” Javy squirmed uncomfortably, “There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

Rough?

“I didn’t- Javy I would never- They’re kids!”

I-

“Jake?”

He hummed, not really registering the way his grip around the bottle tightened a tad too much causing it to creak, or how he straightened slightly as Mav pushed of the counter staring at him fully in concern, “Are you alright?” Mav asked.

It was happening again.

It was happening again.

It was happening again.

He swallowed thickly, hand raising up the flesh under his shoulder, under the collarbone over his breast over his right side, digging his knuckles into the flesh, and into an older bruise, feeling the flash of the sharp pain restart his system, the haze beginning to fade.

“Jake!” Mavs sharp tone tugged him further out, those egal eyes tracking his hand rubbing at his chest, eyes narrowing, “What’s wrong with your chest”.

He dropped it, “Nothing. You we’re saying”. About how everyone hated me.

Mav stood his ground staring him down, but so did he. After all, Mav was the one who taught him how. Mav bit his lip slightly before relenting, acknowledging that they were just as stubborn as each other and they likely wouldn’t get anywhere unless one of them submitted and they both knew it wouldn’t be him.

“Jake, come on tell me what’s going on” Mav shoulders slumped, “I can’t lead a time if you’re fighting within it”.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about” He gruffed out. “Why don’t you ask them if your so un-bias”.

“Come on kid, work with me here.-“

“No! Because why am I the only one here? This is a team issue, no? Where’s the team?” he waved his arm in a wide swipe his distress beginning to grow, “Why am I the one singled out? What because Bradshaw doesn’t like me, which means Nat didn’t like me and she’ll willingly spread that distrain to everyone if she could and-”

“Jake” Mav warned lowly, “Enough”.

“I am not the only person on this team!”

“I’m aware” Mav replied calmy, “However it’s your actions that they’re concerned about, so I want to hear what you have to say before I go through with anything”.

So, there is a reprimand here.

Bradshaw doesn’t like me: Motive.

He pushes himself away from the counter not caring about where his bottle dropped as he tried to put distance between the two of them, feeling uncomfortable, scratchy, and- I don’t understand, I just don’t understand, I DON’T UNDERSTAND-

Then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The stress builds and his chest and- and- suddenly all he can do is wrap his arms around his waist in an attempt to release the building pressure suffocating him, and squeeze. Breath hitching, sharp gasps, nails digging into his flesh then- strong hands settled on his arm, one on his wrist tugging it away from himself sharply, the other just above his elbow on the opposite arm holding him still. He clamped his eyes shut refusing to look at the man, breath trembling in uncontrolled panic. Mav tried to pull his other arm away from his body but he jerked away, hands holding him still clamped tightly, but a pained hiss made its way through gritted teeth. His eyes opened, shiny and wet as Mav stared him down silently bringing his right wrist to his left holding them together loosely giving him the benefit of the doubt as he gently tugged up his shirt, letting out a shocked breath at the sight of the bruised and damaged flesh. Mav’s fingers trailing over the tender skin feeling his abdomen flex to get away from the prodding fingers, worry shining in Mav’s eyes making a wounded noise as he traced a larger bruise from his belly button wrapping around to his hip bone and lower two ribs.

“Sweetheart” Mav breathed, “Who did this?”

He blinked, jaw shaking slightly as he cleared his throat, staring at Mav’s worried expression in confusion. “What?”

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?” Mav’s eyes looked wet, peering up at him, fingertips ghosting over the bruise as if afraid he’d hurt him if he touched it further.

“No one hurt me, Mav” he frowned.

“Jake, I swear if someone’s-”

“They’re love marks” he explained softly in confusion reaching down and Mav let his hand fall, he reached for the bigger mark and traced it lightly, “See this one is darker? It means it’s full of love. This one?” he shifted over lifting his shirt further ignoring the keening noise Mav made when he revealed the black and green mark over his heart, “It’s lighter, it’s fading, the love”.

Mav stared at the marks silently, gaze flickering over the newest ones looking more and more troubled, before gently asking “Who did this?”

He blinked, “I did of course”.

“Wh-why?”

“Because…” he frowned, “Because you were punishing me, and I- I didn’t know why and I just thought maybe if I could-”

“Wha- Jake, honey. I’m not punishing you,… how am I punishing you?” Mav’s grip on his elbow tightened slightly squeezing in comfort, his gaze seeking him out, genuinely confused.

He shifted uncomfortably under the gentle gaze, feeling himself sinking under it unable to stop himself, squirming as he muttered, “Your hugs,…they’re wrong”.

“How? Wrong how, Jake”.

“I don’t know!” he bit his lip tugging away from Mav, the man only let him step back a step before he was right there again, keeping his hands to himself but making sure he didn’t flee in his agitation, “Ok. They’re just wrong,” he gritted his teeth, turning his gaze, dancing over the counter, his abandoned drink, to the oil stain on the floor, a machine with a toolbox open where Mav had clearly been working before he arrived, anything to avoid the mans gaze. “They’re just empty. Like they don’t mean anything, you love everyone else so clearly, but then you get to me and it’s like you have nothing left to give, and- and- they don’t hurt Mav! They’re meant to hurt, to squeeze, to hold you so tight that you- you fuse, to make marks so I can see your love and-” his breath shuttered, voice trembling like a loose leaf in the wind.

“Oh, Jake” Mav’s voice sounded wrenched, “Darling, hugs aren’t meant to hurt you”.

“But I-“

“Sweetheart, bruises aren’t a good thing, they’re bad. Really really bad” Mav explained softly, “Hugs aren’t meant to hurt you, you’re meant to feel safe in them, melt into them, sleep in them.”

He was trembling, he could feel it, his jaw wobbling as he sniffed, throat bobbing, fingers unconsciously tracing over his dark skin, the only constant in his life since he left home, “But I- I cant get love without them Mav” he admitted with a wrenched whisper, quickly followed by a halted sob, chest heaving in effort as he tried to supress his tears at the sudden overload, “I don’t know how, this is all I’ve known. This means love”.

This meant love. It always had. Since he was little, since he curled up next to his mother and she help him close, or her holding him by the hand as they crossed the street or in stores, she only held on so tight because she was worried he’d get lost, or that he’d have a nightmare or fall out of bed. She did it because she cared.

“There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

“Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

“They’re just kids!”

He- he had been hurting them? But it- it meant love. Didn’t everyone know that? When he nudged their shoulder did they just think he was hurting them, just because he could. When he nudges Javy…Shit Javy. Did he think he did it on purpose? Did he think he was hurting him?

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the dark room, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

He felt sick. Did everyone think he was some sick dick who hurt people just because he could? That he’d debase himself to hurt kids because he was bigger and wanted to dominate or intimidate them? Did- did Bradley just think he was edging him into a fight? Was…was that all they were to Bradley? Just some dick he used to fight within the academy. Did none of it mean, I love you?

“It doesn’t,” Mav said softly, “it doesn’t sweetheart”. Mav lifted his hands slowly giving him time to move before cradling his cheeks gently, wiping away the tears that had escaped that he hadn’t even noticed, “Do you feel this?” Mav asked softly, “How gentle I am?” Mav’s hands dropped down to wrap around his waist holding him close, giving him the option to step closer, “Feel how I hold you? Like you can just lean into it? that you can trust me to hold you?”

He hesitated slightly nodding hesitantly searching the older man for anything that told him not to trust him. Feeling as if his world had just been turned upside down, like he was miss stepping within his own body.

Mav smiled softly, “Then trust me”.

He swallowed nervously before leaning forward slowly placing his weight on the man, Mav takes it easily and he allowed himself to exhaled softly embracing the warmth of the other body, muscles relaxing like puddy, but despite allowing himself some freedom he still felt like there was the ghost of an expectation for the arms around him to tighten like a cobra and rip the hope from his still beating heart. He felt like he was about to stumble into a trap, like he was trapped in a bird with no power, a faulty ejection and just holding on for the ride, trapped in a freefall not knowing when it would stop.

“This is love” Mav mused. “Gentle, soft, and not painful”.

“My mother loved me” he muttered defensively, desperately, “She did”.

“I’m sure she did” Mav agreed gently, “She had had a different way of showing it. But us, the daggers, we show love a little differently alright? So, you’re going to have to get used to soft and gentle for a while, can you do that?”

He bit his hip hesitantly before nodding, allowing himself to tuck his head into the junction between Mav’s neck and shoulder listening to Mav hum lowly, just holding him swaying lightly allowing him to sink into the new feeling. To become accustomed to it.

To give it a long forgotten name,

Love.

[skele-bunny]

I enjoyed your kit Special and Cowbell talk. What were they like when their other brothers started coming around? >w< I bet they were excited big brothers

YIPPEE YIPPEE I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY 2 FAVS RRAAA

They were curious little things, but yes so fucking excited! Once again, timeline fuckery, I think there's a lot of time between each Emeritus. When Primo came around, this was their first exposure to a human child. Their tails couldn't stop wagging as they tucked their heads in the bassinet and scenting over this newborn human. Super protective and although they were young themselves, and raised as humans, they still had ghoul instincts. That "this is a frail thing. We need to be cautious."

Few times they snapped their jaw at Nihil because they didn't register that humans don't have scents and their ghoul minds couldn't find a scent for Nihil. It calmed down though, and they were just head over heels for their new brother. Constantly found cuddled up. Bluebell loved babysitting until Primo would start crying, then Phil would step in and just scoop! His baby.

Secondo was no different, lots of nuzzle bumps but now that they were older, their instincts grew, too. Absentmindedly grooming him and Sister just "????" When Secondo comes back with his hair sticking up everywhere and smelling like straight ghoul. First time she seen it she took so many pictures as Bluebell was half awake, just his tongue slowly pressed against Secondo's head wnsjkd They started taking baby duty at night as they were super nocturnal at the time, and had no mind keeping Second in his bassinet in their room

Now Terzo, "Terzi" at the time, was a whole new game. They had a little sister, not only did she look different but she just... In general was different. Her hair mimicked Cowbell's from the amount of curls and fluff, and was just the happiest baby ever where as Primo seemed to not like anything and Secondo was a big crier.

Their grooming habits were still there but not as much, and they had started scruffing. However, they knew to only do it when she was older and by her clothes to not harm the little human. The family had to quickly adapt to getting a toddler handheld over by the collar of her onesie. She never minded though, just a big ass smile and babbling

When they all got older, Special unfortunately started getting more rare to come around as he was now full force in his work assigned by Sister. Cowbell wasn't assigned yet, so he got the chance to bond more. They still adored Phil and cherished the times he came around.

Cowbell was not spared from Primo's rolled up newspaper, book bonks, or sandel throws.... No one was. But, still the biggest cuddle bug with Primo. Always loved helping him garden or practice wether with study cards or sudden pop quizzes. Primo was his primary caretaker when Special wasn't around, they both just clicked perfectly. They kept each other in check and on task! When Primo was a young lad still, he tried mimicking his big brothers purrs. Sometimes he absentmindedly still does in his sleep when Bell purrs. No one has the heart to tell Primo he sounds like a broken lawnmower

He and Secondo were the absolute closest, however. Secondo was the one that started "Cowbell" instead of Bluebell. Loved listening to his brother read aloud his studies and just laying his head in Secondo's lap to be pet as he'd work silently. During this time, Bell still had very poor social skills so Secondo was his voice to many conversations. When Secondo would get overwhelmed with his studies, he went straight to Bell and just needed to be held. So, they'd sit and cuddle until Secondo felt okay enough to try again

Now, Terzo? Him and Special were like no other. Even from a young age he'd find his way to Special's office. "YOU WONT BELIEVE WHAT MRS. CRESSIBLE SAID TO SISTER MARY TODAY IN CLASS!!!" and Phil was all about it, love hearing his brother blabber on for hours while he did his homework. Phil was the first one Terzo came out to, who helped him change the wardrobe, tell his family, and even start looking into medically transitioning. Special had to help with his shots for a while as he was too nervous but got into the habit quickly! Even had Phil help pick out a surgeon for top surgery! They're still little gossip pals.

"Guess what Omega said to me."

"Oh fuck, tell me! Also, you need to know what I seen Secondo doing—"

They love their brothers so much, and they love them just as much back! Species difference be gone, these fuckers were a happy family.

[vinxwatches]

fallout (2024)

WARNING: i did not finish this. i didn't want to finish this. do not read or watch if you like happy stories. do not read or watch if you like the darkness in the fallout games. this show is dark in gruesome, permanently damaging ways. fuck this. the show may fucking nail the aesthetic of fallout, it doesn't get the vibe of fallout. fallout is set in a serious world where video game characters go through a video game plots in a world that's also often goofy. an equivalence would be if the mario movie had a serious burial of Luigi half way through and he just stayed dead. a clear sign that it doesn't get it.

trigger warning: gore, dismemberment of the living and dead. the dog dies.

as a big fan of fallout 4, even fallout 76, and a letsplay of Fnv this is very hype. and the references they are putting in straight is so cool to see. and damn, that's how you start a fallout. and now jus the references, seriously the vault hallways looks straight up lifted from fallout 4 (with high definition mods)

a vault having connections with a different vault? so that either is a process of kicking people the fuck out, or the evil experiment from vault tech... probably both. also love that they don't avoid the fucked up lore that really makes fallout fallout.

oh yea, this is how you start a fallout part 2, the personal angle. kind of bummed that she doesn't start with the classic bulky 10mm. and of course there's something about the protaganists family, because this is bethesda fallout (not derogatively, just perfect adaptation)

me, out loud: "ohhh, that's the pridwin, that's so cool" if you get me to talk out loud you did good. petty power politics? how very fallout of you. "i'm bringing him home". i'm very sorry but that's not how fallout works.

also loves that bethesda continues with inclusivity. Dane is nonbinary, played by a trans actor. it's so small, it plays no role (at least i find it HIGHLY unlikely that it will. nb people are just part of reality, and so they are now (finally) entering media.

the fucking junk jet made it in?

just "the ghoul". i wonder if we'll get more info on what ghouls are. i mean i know. i've probably heard more false things then there's true stuff about ghouls to know. but if you're new to fallout i think the vault is relatively obvious, and the brotherhood is pretty well explained. but the concept of a ghoul? practivally nothing outside of them being scary, can go "feral", and are weird. but it is only the first episode.

02

it wouldn't be fallout without skeletons in strange positions and/or environmental story telling. did they use fallout sound effects for the weird man drinking water? it may not be but that is diamond city. at least based of it. it looks so fallout that i can't even remember which of the places i've had a shootout in it reminds me of, it's too many.

not a fan of living gore. like fallout game gore is fine. shooting limbs of completely mindless things? fine. but not on a person, espcially not one that's then crudely taken care of. i'm way too terrified of something happening to me, it tends to roam in my mind anyways, even more so now that i've a reason to give a shit about my body, so the dismemberment of the living... ew, please, no more. at least it doesn't stick around too long (in which case why? just to be gross?)

"cyanide was the most humane product vault tech ever made"... accurate yet horrifying.

03

oh... so that's who the ghoul is. and that, well it'll create drama, and i'm curious how close it's to the story of nuka break. haven't seen that show in too long.

me, out loud, after wondering what that monster was "oh of course it was a gulper. wait, no, those are east coast, this was west coast." not really a plothole, monsters from one side often make their way to the other. harder for a water based creature. unless the same thing evolved twice.

oh, those eyes weren't just more human then expect. that thing was human... once.

the golden rule is severely lacking. don't do onto others as you'd have them to onto you. if i was into bondage and often horney how do you think it'd treat people if the golden rule was. a good rule is "treat others how they want to be treated" or "treat others how you can reasonably expect they want to be treated". the golden rule of the wasteland is pretty accurate though: "thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time". this rule is, in fact, recursive.

of course the waterchip is broken. this is fallout after all.

04

ok, no, i'm done. no dismemberment of main characters. fuck you. even if she does get it back. i'm done.

[greyfics]

title: a first for sincerity.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

characters: the ghoul (cooper howard) + lucy maclean

fic type: enemies turned friends, optimist/cynic friends, fluffy, fair bit of dialogue, bit of angsty reflection 

word count: 1.4K

inspo: just my brain wanting to see how coops and lucy lu would interact on more positive terms, but still being very hilariously different characters, also a meme I saw about lucy recognising cooper howard on tv.

cw: first season of fallout spoilers

summary: on their way to an all too well known city in the distance, pursuing lucy's father, the duo take rest for the night, and have their first proper conversation on more friendly terms- though their differences soon show through. 

- °•. ✦ .•° -

A fire is ignited, comfortably tucked a fair few metres inside the mouth of what ten minutes ago had been a nest of radscorpions- and now, was a cosy little den for the two travellers, with a neat supply of crispy, bulging tails to keep their stomachs sated. Two heavy travel packs fell onto the sharp, black assortment of stones lining the floor of the cave- much comfier cushions to rest on after day after day of ceaseless striding. She adjusted the bag and carefully plopped herself down, hands falling askew in her lap with a carelessness she lacked but a few weeks ago. He wouldn't have even stopped in the first place, had he not adapted to the needs of his human travel companion.

Yet as his focus drifted away into the sting of light before them, long adjusted to quiet, wordless nights, she found herself unable to maintain the same still reserve; it started with a leg thumping. He did not move. Then with an innocuous whistling of some patriotic dweller song- he lifted his eyes for a moment, but they soon fell back to their starting position.

Clearing her throat, Lucy decided after a whole five minutes that this silent inaction was too unbearable to continue one moment longer, and finally words burst from her mouth, "So! Las Vegas. Seems like your kind of town." He groaned, scoffed, and waved away her attempt at communication, saying "Just 'cos we're going in the same direction don't mean you gotta try and get all pally with me, sweetie. Sweet jesus...- you vault dwellers are so polite- it's insufferable, you know that?" the words were sharp, but the tone was playful. He had to admit, however much it drove him up the wall at times, the bright-eyed sparky pip in the vault-dweller's step was amusing at the very least, and endearingly hopeful at a push. With a stiff lip and one hand planted against her hip, the girl tried to shrug off the comment with her own retort, "Fine, have it your way. I was just trying to get to know you, since we're going to be together for a while."

"Alright, alright- if it'll stop your lecturing for five fuckin' minutes- what exactly do you wanna know?"

She found herself stumped at this rejoinder- shamefully, she realised that her initial attempt at conversation was a selfish and insincere attempt to broach a silence in the name of social norms- social norms for a vault full of useless sheltered pacifists. She'd learned to try her hardest to find a balance between that vaulted delusion, and the cynical realities of the world above. Taking a minute to actually think back on their ... mixed past interactions, she thought of his recoiling at the site of the vault-tec's icon, the vault boy. He wasn't one to waste his bullets, she knew that for sure. So, losing the chipper persona, her pitch lowered slightly and her stature relaxed, as she once again asked him a question- with sincere intrigue, this time: "How'd your whole vendetta with Vault-Tec start? I mean, clearly you're no Cooper Howard fan." This comment received an abrupt raucous round of laughter from the gunslinger, that she did not quite understand, "Honey, you can't begin to understand how right you are there. As for Vault-tec... well, I'd rather not talk about it."

She made a quick cry of protest, before flinging a radscorpion tail at him in frustration- he wove to the side in time for it to skip across the ground and exit the cave behind, smoothly returning to his former hunched-up position on his travel pack. Before he could begin to argue, she piped up to cut him off, "You just said you'd answer my questions." He barked back, louder, "Well you just opened a can of worms I don't wanna contend with while I'm tryna catch a little break and forget everything for a while. How about we start talkin' bout what you're gonna do when we catch up to your daddy?"

She was the one to remain silent, then. Flashes of a decaying woman reaching out so tenderly to the daughter she hardly got to know, because of Vault-Tec. Bloodied knights in bone-crushing steel-plated power armours, raiders, hunters, her own father- hundreds of people slitting each others throats and putting holes through each other, for the sake of a tiny blue chip with the potential to bring an end to the false necessity for war- she felt as if the man that raised her was but the dying shadow in the horrifying light revealing the man who wrought the destruction of what could've been a peaceful life for her- and stapled open her eyes to the truths of the world without sticking around to help her live in it. Her eyes were brimmed with glitter, glass- but she could not let herself cry right now. She wasn't in the mood for taunting.

Though he tried to fight it, that alien, long-forgotten gnawing of guilt began to creep into his chest- she didn't know. She hardly knew anything at all. Yet, even when he left her to be torn asunder for her parts in exchange for a little bit more time in his 200+ year lifespan, she refused to back down to his level- she chose redemption over retribution. She had been the first person he'd met in these wastelands to bother giving anyone else a second chance- and it was stupid, and it was naive-

but damn it, wasn't it a change?- and, how rare was that in this god-forsaken place?

Now he was the one to awkwardly shuffle his weight from one leg to the other, and after ten minutes of silent preparation and thirty seconds of an inaudible string of curses under his breath, he finally initiated a conversation himself, "I didn't used to be a big, bad meanie you know. I was just a man with a family, before the nukes dropped. Hell, I didn't just buy into the vault-tec gimmick- I lost jobs promoting those fuckers as their front man-" He left, at that moment, a dramatic pause to bask in the slow realisation that dawned upon her as to his identity, "Yep. Not that my career was my biggest worry when the bombs dropped." She doesn't even know where to begin in questioning him with that small snippet of insight- but once again, her mind comes back to his disdain of the vault-tec organisation- and how paradoxical it seemed to her for cooper howard himself from the commercials to have turned against the company she had assumed he worked for, "Not to circle back to the can of worms I opened earlier but- what changed your mind about the vaults?"

A phantom heartache burned into the ghoul's chest at that moment, as that venomous conversation played once more on a loop in his mind ( "a nuclear event would be a tragedy… but also, an opportunity." )-

-it took him longer than he would have liked to be able to compose himself, and go back to playing the loveable rogue, "They wouldn't let me bring my dog into the vault." ("perhaps the greatest opportunity in history.")

Her heart just about burst, unable to contain the unexpected gem of redeemability she had dug out from her former adversary ("because when we are the only ones left, there will be no one to fight.")-

"Awww, you do have a heart under all that... you !-" ("this is our chance to make war obsolete.")-

"-It might not be beating, but now I know it exists at least!" ("because in our current societal configuration, ... we have friction.") He chuckled half-heartedly at the vault dweller's attempt at a witty barb, but his mind had already flown elsewhere as their conversation continued, autonomous hums of interest stepping in to account for his attention disappearing.

 ("We have conflict and we have war.") After a few minutes of rambling, she realised that the conversation had ended a while ago- the genuine sliver of human empathy they shared once again shying away. This time, she found herself content with the silence. She realised, in fact, that she was losing precious time thinking about her future predicament with words that had lost their purpose- She thought she could understand the wastelander's silence ("and war, well... war never changes.").

She couldn't begin to- not quite. Not yet.

Perhaps soon.

[swoomoo]

Amare got called the fuck out by her ghoul last session so hard that I ooc was speechless and didn't know how to respond. I just went "......yeah".

This is a bit wordy as I am talking about my emotional state around the game.

So, if you didn't know. Amare's ghoul Koda is the one that was dominated and blew half of Vesper's face off. Amare freaked out and tried to cut his head off because of it. I was however, 1 die short and just gashed his throat open. She wasn't going to save him until Niccolo said that the whole thing would bother Vesper if he knew she did that. She begrudgingly saved him.

Afterward, once Vesper recovered, she was thankful Koda was alive because she does love Koda and felt horrible that she crossed a line she thought she never would have. She thought she was better than other Lasombra in this way.

Koda was in the hospital for a while and came back with a bit of pep in his step. Before, he was very quiet, monotone and surface level. Afterward, he was obviously pissed at Amare and let her know it (He even has a dragon-breath shotgun he was sure to point out to her). He didn't want to leave her though because he still cared about her.

Koda used to be in the FBI and specifically met Amare when she was 18. She had just escaped the (secret) blood-cult she grew up in and he helped get her situated with moving on (relocating, changing her name etc.) He is the only father figure she has ever had. Amare ghouled him because she has issues with letting things that make her feel human go.

Amare has had an (over the top I admit) tragic, cruel and sad life so when she finds anything that makes her happy, she refuses to let it go. It is actually why she had a very difficult time adapting to the Sabbat (and eventually fled). Koda was the first thing that brought her any sort of stability which at that time was a foreign concept to her. So without going on too long about it, she does care a lot about him.

Amare stayed back to talk to him last session while the others stepped out. She was going to ask him what he wanted for the future and how she could help him accomplish it. Just moments prior, he heard her say, "I cannot think of any uses for him so you can just kill him". This was scourge business and she was talking to the sheriff in regards to a kindred that was breaking progeny and hospitality that she staked and brought in.

Koda was like, "Hey that is not a normal thing to say. You are really starting to lose yourself." Amare tried to retort "I have no sympathy for kindred, we are not actual people anymore and all we do is hurt actual people. The less of us there are around, the better. I know this because I am on of them. I likely wont be here for very long but if I can make the world slightly better, than so be it. I've been thinking, and I want to reconnect with the things I used to do... the journalism, like activism stuff. I want to try and start exposing corruption in the church again."

Koda nodded to the second portion but told her, "Don't give me this, 'your a monster and not a person' bullshit. You are still a person. If you weren't then you wouldn't want to help people still, you wouldn't have asked me to stay with you, you wouldn't have adopted your daughter, you wouldn't have tracked Vesper halfway across the world. I am staying by you because I want to be around you and I will not work for a monster."

"......yeah". It's all I could think to say. I feel both Amare and I would only really be able to think that in the moment because he was right and in character, out of character I just knew it. I literally couldn't argue. Thankfully he had more to say.

He basically went on how he had two rules for us to work together. The first was basically not to attack him, and the second was to take him along with her more often. The second one really took me by surprise but I was there for it. He wanted to be close to her more often, and not just on ghoul duty. We have to break into somewhere after this so I invited him and he hopped up and tagged along.

I didn't write Koda to have a lot of personality or give him a deep characterization when I wrote my backstory because I knew the ST was going to have a LOT of work at the start of the campaign. I gave him motive and connection to Amare but I never expected him to become a legitimate character to this extent. He is literally 1 of 3 currently in London that knows Amare's real name and is only 1 of 3 people to have known her while she was alive.

I think my story teller really wanted to show that he still saw Amare as his daughter and was super protective over her and I think that might have done me in emotionally?? It is sweet and I guess I am sensitive around family concepts with acceptance but it was a really nice feeling and despite last session being really slow in terms of action and events, I have been stuck on this. I am excited to continue to explore their relationship but the power dynamic is unsettling still and honestly fucked up but I suppose it wouldn't be WoD without that.

[gojuo]

Tell us now your top 5 most hated characters on ASOAIF and F&B please!

My no.1 most hated ASOIAF character is Tywin Lannister. I hate this man. I hate him very much. I wish he would go away and die somewhere where he will inconvenience no one but the vultures. I loathe his manner. I loathe his style. I loathe the fact that he dares draw breath in a world where my loved ones do not or rather cannot because he murdered them. I loathe that he was rewarded for behavior which, in-universe, he should have been quartered for. I want him dead. I want to kill him and destroy him. I want him died. #SCENE #ANGER #FUCK #DIE #HATERED

There is not a single ounce — not even a miniscule amount ­— of sympathy I have for this scumbag. Not a single thing likeable about him. Not a single redeeming quality he has to his name. From the first moment he showed up on page until the very last mention of him, he was nothing short of disgusting. He is diabolical, satanic, monstrous, loathsome, ghoulish, sadistic, cruel, insert every single synonym of the term demonic here, etc. etc. I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him.

The whole “Yeah he’s evil uwu but Charles Dance is so granddaddy I can fix him <3" sales pitch this low IQ fandom has been pushing since the dawn of that accursed adaptation on top of it all only makes the intense disgust I hold for him so much fucking worse. Tywin Lannister has no conscience, no charisma, no morals, and he has no honor — all of that in an un-sexy way, one of the greatest crimes a villain with no traumatic backstory could objectively ever commit. Never mind the beyond immoral execution of the Red Wedding (“Machiavellian” my ass. Any stupid fool who says this crap needs to go back to elementary school in order to relearn how to read and how to interpret literature and themes in literature right the fuck now), never mind the severe mental torture he’s put his own flesh and blood through to the point where two of them are in a destructive incestuous relationship with each other and the other pushed to the point of patricide, this monster had his son's fourteen-year-old little child-wife gangraped by his guards, had each of them give her a silver coin after one was done with her, then had thirteen-year-old Tyrion rape her last and, contrary to the others, give her a gold coin because “Lannisters are worth more”. All because she was a common-born little girl who dared to marry the disabled son he hated so much. Am I supposed to think this piece of shit falls under the sexy evil category of villains? What sad backstory does this trash have to his name that would woobify him enough to “if villain bad why sexy” him? His father had a few mistresses after his mother died and gave them gifts and cared for them? Was that the tragic past of his that elevated him enough for people to wash their conscience clean so to cross moral boundaries all to lust after this so-called “sexy villain”? Tywin Lannister had his father’s mistress, who was nothing but a poor common-born daughter of a candle-maker, stripped naked and paraded through the streets of Lannisport for two whole goddamn weeks, and forced her to tell every man she came across that she was a thief and a whore, quite alike to what he did to Tysha as well. This man hates women. I cannot stress this enough, like Tywin Lannister hates women. And not just women, but especially commoner women. His modus operandi is inflicting sadistic sexual violence on any and all women he doesn’t like (which is like, all of them). As a true “if villain bad then why sexy” connoisseur and quite frankly, the president of the club, this man is not, never was and never will be a part of that esteemed category of villains.

And you know something that’s a veeery personal ick of mine — and this is really the icing on the cake for me — is shit-for-brains dickriders of this ghoul having the gall to pretend like he did not explicitly order the murder of Elia and her babies, that he apparently just “let” Clegane and Lorch loose on them. These low IQ fucks know what that demon did to his father’s poor mistress and what he did to little Tysha, and then somehow they still think this sadist with a severely fragile ego did not tell Clegane and Lorch to do what they did to her with his own mouth? Any waste-of-space who parrots this BNF-drivel (all said in order to minimize what happened to Elia, Rhaenys and the baby in place for Aegon) is not only going on my blocklist like immediately, they also need to die. Respectfully.

Now, I mostly spoke on his character from a moral standpoint, but I want to make clear that this loser’s shortcomings aren’t only morality-based. All the shit-for-brains stans this demon has know he has no morals so they always deflect to the “b-b-but he’s a military genius, that’s why I like him, I’m so edgy!!!” excuse and I want to emphasize how fucking stupid you have to be to believe Tywin is anything but brainless. AFFC is literally right there. GRRM’s explicitly spells out to the reader through Jaime’s POV how fucking stupid Tywin was in everything that he did. How the only show of military genius this demon had was through being nothing but a bully. All his work unraveled the second he died. He built nothing, and he will go down in history as nothing. That’s why his one and only legacy will always be that he got murdered on the shitter by his own son, like the fucking loser that he is.

I hate this fucking character with every fiber of my being.

On number 2 stands Aerys II Targeryen. Do I even need to explain this? What I said about Tywin applies to this racist, rapist, fascist piece of shit as well. I’m not going to waste my time and money psychoanalyzing this bottom-of-the-barrel trash. Aerys is the pinnacular culmination of three hundred years of Targaryen delusion, self-worship, egotism and five thousand years of Valyrian hubris, god-complex, and megalomania. Him and his daughter both, but I’ll get to her in a minute. This man’s lucky he’s only got 2 stans — and those two are only stanning just to be contrarians — unlike Tywin, who’s got an actual dedicated fanbase. Ugh. Two peas in a pod. One edge he has over Tywin is that at the very least Aerys has some sort of tragic backstory that’s actually valid. Too bad for him idgaf. Pour one out for Rhaella :(

My third most hated is ... Daenerys. Man… How do I even open this can of worms… I’ve a whole tag dedicated to hating her, soooo awkwardly waves hand in that direction. Everything about Daenerys is just so … racist. Racist on an in-universe level, racist on a meta level and racist on a fandom level, so I was never going to like Daenerys no matter what. The fact that she has the most insane and delusional and downright disgusting fanbase ever in all of media history really doesn’t help her case. If they hadn’t been this rabid and racist, then I don’t think I would have hated her this much. Because then I could’ve just had her character be as she is: the Paul Astreides of the series. A false Messiah, basically. The meta-level racism (GRRM making every single antagonist in her plotline nothing but walking, talking Reel Bad Arabs tropes; the use of POV trap which leads to none of the brown and black supporting characters in her story having a voice; GRRM’s own racism as in exotic-erotic tropes for all of the Essosi people, really badly researched POC cultures he based the Essosi off of, using brown and black people as nothing but props for the main white girl) and Daenerys’ in-universe racism (conquering and colonizing lands and peoples; white saviorism; imperialism; her hypocritical use of slavery) would still be there, of course, and I still would not have been able to stomach it meaning I still would not have rooted for her in any way, but then at the very least I would not have been subjected to a long decade of fandom racism being justified through the excuse of her freeing slaves from evil Reel Bad Arabs (spoiler alert: she is not freeing anybody).

Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about her. Everything about her from her character to the plot and storyline and her place in the narrative is downright insulting to me as a WOC, and quite frankly, any WOC that lays down their lives to defend this girl baffles me. Like, stop it. Please have some self-respect.

Then comes Jaehaerys the Old King. Father and inventor of misogyny. It’s crazy.

No. 5 is Rhaenys I and Daeron I the Young Dragon. EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST THE DORNISH SHALL FALL!!!