#and then he does SOMETHING incredibly violent but barely restrained

[carrion-art]

If a portrayal of Darth Vader doesn't make me shit myself out of fear I don't want it

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

holy shock guys you need to restrain me rn

so imagine,

overworked salary man miguel o'hara x reader

day in, day out; from 8 in the morning to 5 in the evening, from monday to friday, miguel o'hara goes to work. not by choice, mind you, but to "serve his purpose in society and keep money and services flowing" for the insatiable society he is cursed to live in. he grumbles every morning when his alarm clock for 6:00 AM on the dot beeps and beeps until he decides to live that morning his mundane existence.

begrudgingly, he gets up and off the bed, dreaming to himself in his half-asleep stupor about how wonderful it'd be to get back under the covers and pretend he didn't have anything worthwhile to do. actually, he didn't need to pretend; his work was just that, anything but worthwhile. miguel has lost track of time on multiple occasions, only checking the calendar when he has nothing to work on, which is incredibly rare, mind you, and the look on his face when he realizes monday wasn't yesterday, for today is now friday.

miguel used to be a more sociable, confident, and sort of cocky guy. before he knew about the turmoils of the real world and lived every day like it was his last, miguel's now counting down his days--many of which has slipped from his mind entirely--until the day of his retirement, or his demise from all the workload he's been getting that seems endless. he wishes he could just have one day where he's not worrying about accounts or reports or having to face empty coffee cups by his table that aren't even his, or having a nosy co-worker look over at his monitor and chuckle about his work and point out his mistakes.

if only he could grab his keyboard and smash it against their heads without any repercussions, he'd do it in a heartbeat. and he'd do it again, and again, and again. he was tired and in need of solitude; though everyone else his age was doing the same thing without audible complaints and without much violent tendencies, he wanted an immediate exit from this hellish routine he was compelled to live out until he reaches his 60's.

he sighs as his virtual assistant, affectionately called lyla, greets miguel every morning--though he wishes he'd hear a voice other than hers the minute he awakes from his slumber, or lack of it. he mumbles back a good morning, not that the AI slept or anything. he makes himself coffee and reluctantly checks his phone for any updates at work. putting on his glasses and squinting, then pulling away from his phone as he adjusted his reading glasses, he deduced that it was the usual mail he received, with a lot of irritating nicknames from his boss. if he could punch him for every time he called him "mike", he'd've murdered him by now. but the man helps him pay his bills and put food on his table, he had to bear it. for a little longer.

miguel sighed as he put away his phone and readied the shower, thinking all the while if he should stop by a convenience store for breakfast or just make some toast. he had some time to kill, maybe he could make himself breakfast. as miguel stepped into the shower, he realized something was wrong. "mierda," he cursed as he grumbled and took off his reading glasses that he brought with him into the shower. all the kinds of things he does when he's out of it are phenomenally funny. yet miserable when you think about he's a man in his early 30's with a dead-end, nowhere job he finds no comfort or excitement in, barely has a social life, no friends that reach out to him for stuff other than high school reunions he has no interest in attending, and no one but a virtual assistant to greet him a good morning like she was coded to do.

miguel sighed as he finished his shower and turned the tap off and dried himself. as he wrapped the towel around his slim waist, he took a peek at the clock by his bedside table. how wonderful, he spent a long while in the shower lamenting his misfortunes, and now, he doesn't have the time to make himself breakfast anymore. could his day get any better?

miguel donned on his white button-up and realized he messed up the order of buttoning his shirt, the bottom most button without its counterpart buttonhole, and the buttonhole on the top most part of his clothing was without its counterpart button. he sighed as he undid his clothing, wishing his office would get rid of this pretentious dress code.

he finally did his buttons right and put on his blazer in an instant not caring to button it yet since he had to catch the commute by 7:00. he took his suitcase and was about to leave his apartment, when lyla appeared and reminded miguel about his dark red and blue striped tie that he left hanging on the backrest of his seat at the dining table. miguel groaned as he re-entered his home, lyla greeting him a welcome home, and him leaving before she could even finish her greeting.

miguel went down the stairs of the underground subway station and huffed as he caught his breath. he used to be so much more active when he was in his 20's, but that version of him has long since died when he signed his soul away to corporate slavery and his only form of exercise now is making his way from his home to the daily commute and back. he tapped his foot against the cement pavements and stood behind the bright yellow line; he hoped he'd make it on time before his boss, his annoying, stupid boss would chew him out for being a minute late again.

there were significantly more people boarding the trains that day, figures, it was a friday–everyone would be eager to go to work for a more rewarding weekend that'd be ahead of them all. however, for miguel o'hara, weekends only last for a minute; that's because he spends them all either finishing up work dumped on him by his extremely incompetent workmates or sleeping all day to make up for the 120 hours he spends in the earlier portion of his week working his ass off.

he barely got any sleep last night, staying up until 1 AM finishing up the organized reports he had to file and sending them to his head manager, that good for nothing, and stayed awake until 4:20 AM, listening to the ceaseless ticking of his bedside clock. insomnia's a thorn in his side, all the time. it also doesn't help that right now, as he's waiting for his daily commute, he felt the lack of sleep catch up with him as he felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier. he opened his mouth a little to yawn, feeling his eyes water as he did, signaling that sleepiness was upon him.

you know, maybe he could just shut his eyes a little and stand right where he is. yeah, he can do that; just giving hid eyes a rest as he–and he just missed his train.

wonderful, fantastic. now there wasn't anyone else on the platform waiting for the next train, it'd take too long. he sighed as he was about to leave, when he heard panting and the clacking of heels coming into the station. "shit!" he heard a voice cry out as the clacking got louder. he watched as you entered the station, exhausted and shaking in the knees. you must've ran a long distance to get here, for your forehead was beading with sweat, your chest rising and falling as you took in copious amounts of air, filling your tired lungs.

"did... did it..." you panted out, your speech broken as miguel approached you slowly, but didn't move any closer when you stood straighter, albeit in a strained and forced manner; pretending not to be panicky right now as your only train that'd get you to where you needed to be on time had just left seconds ago. miguel nodded with a slight frown on his face as he was predicting what follow up insults his buffoon of a boss would throw at him this time for being late, apart from a threat to cut dock him off his pay, or even worse, fire him on the spot–his sloppily done tie? his still tousled hair after probably three bottles of gel? his permanent scowl on his face, and the wrinkles that came with it?

he didn't want to think about it, it gave him headaches every time he thought of it, especially as it was becoming more and more of a reality as he stood there on the station platform with your spent figure from rushing in here, doing nothing. you sighed as you slumped on the mahogany bench nearby, sitting on spilled coffee someone so nicely left for you to sit on. "dammit!" you exclaimed in frustration as you got up, trying to get the stains off, but it merely spread over your clothes, making the mess more noticeable.

miguel wordlessly took off his unbuttoned blazer and offered it to your agitated figure. he looked at you with a nonchalant look on his face. "here, it'll hide the stain." he said as he peered at you, neither amused nor disappointed, just... utterly tired. you hesitated for a moment, but you took his blazer with a nod and a rushed, "thanks" as you wrapped the blazer around your waist and rubbed your face with your hands as you sighed yet again, even longer than the previous one.

"i'm getting fired after this, that's for sure." you murmured as you leaned your back against the wall and shut your eyes as you frowned. miguel, for some reason, joined you by the wall–leaning his own back against the wall and letting out a held in breath. "so am i." he confessed as you looked over at him. "well, guess that makes two of us." you muttered as you looked down at your shoes. "this might not matter to you anymore, but um..." you said as you looked back up at him, who now looked down at you; and as your gazes met, you pointed to his collarbone area. "the... the tie." you spoke as he peered down and noticed that his tie had come undone, what with it hastily being wrapped around his neck.

"well then, a lot of people might have seen it before you did, fuck." he said as he grabbed his tie and fumbled to tie it back on properly, grunting every now and then as his attempts to tie it all ended in failure. you couldn't take it anymore and told him to let you tie it for him. he couldn't resist, seeing as how you wouldn't take no for an answer after watching him fail time and time again.

"you have a... very pretentious looking tie." you remarked with a smirk as you did his tie, with him looking away from you out of embarrassment. a red hue appeared across his cheeks as you said that, and he pushed his glasses up further on his face. "it was a gift from my very competent head manager. they said red and blue were my colors, so they gifted me this. yeah." he rambled with a head scratch. you smiled at his rambling, and as he finished rambling, you finished tying his tie.

"that's better." you said as miguel looked down at his now tied up tie. he raised his eyebrows in an impressed manner. the creases on his tie that were the fruit of his earlier, miserable attempts were obscured. "wow, you... did it so much better than i ever could. thank you." he remarked with a small smile as he took off his glasses and tucked an arm of the glasses behind his button-up's front. he crossed his arms over his chest. "honestly, i'm not scared of getting fired. i'm thrilled about it, actually. i won't have to see those imbeciles at work, gawking over my reports and leaving their trash on my table. i'm just pissed they'll have the satisfaction of cutting me off and not me cutting them off." he said as he looked at your face and down at your waist where his blazer was embracing your curves.

"and... so am i." you said in a rather surprised voice as you said it–almost as if you yourself didn't realize you also hated your job, didn't like nor relate to your brainless co-workers who were suck ups to your equally shitty boss. miguel gazed over at you. "if you want to... wanna get some breakfast with me?" he asked in a gentle, almost as a whisper, tone. "it's okay if you don't want to, i just didn't get breakfast this morning–" "i'd love to." you said as you smiled up at him. "i'll tender my resignation letter all the while." you said as you looked at him with shining eyes. miguel smiled wider than before, hearing your words. he might've just made a new acquaintance... one with a brain and a heart, and has also had enough bullshit from horrible working conditions. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in getting to know you, though.

"um... what's your name?"

a/n: NANAMI KENTOIFIED OUR MIGGY O'HARA LET'S GOOOOOO

@thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @luvstarrstruck@binibinileonara

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 3

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

“Going off the information I have listed here, it appears as though you’ll be receiving subject N-45, today. She’s a healthy 22 year old female. Her short, but muscular body weighs 95lbs with a childish height of 4’10” tall. She possesses primarily Romanian and Filipino ancestry, with some Dutch or Finnish or... whatever, thrown in there as well. And according to the various items we found on her person when she was first brought in, she’s apparently a graduate student at the University of Bucharest, or, at least she was, before she drove her car into a tree while driving up the mountain and was recovered by Heisenberg” Miranda explains robotically, reading aloud from a piece of paper held inside a thick manila envelope. “Of the 4 remaining test subjects, N-45 is easily the most violent and difficult one to work with, having to be either anesthetized or restrained every time I wanted to so much as take her vitals or stabilize her condition. When given smaller doses of sedatives she-”

For the first time in his entire life, Salvatore completely ignores whatever unimportant nonsense Mother Miranda is going on about, continuing to take in and analyze the strikingly unique appearance of the young woman before him.

Upon first inspection, N-45 appeared to resemble that of a normal woman in just about every way possible. Her hair was scruffy and very short, barely long enough to reach her eyes, and a deep black color that looked so soft and luxurious that Salvatore ached to run his fingers through it. Her face was slightly round, giving the young woman a very youthful appearance, with her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones being some of the only things keeping Salvatore from mistaking her for a child. And lastly, her... figure, if Salvatore had to put such an embarrassing idea into words, was similar to that of Mother Miranda, only shorter, more compact even. It reminded the hooded man of those small packets of candy Duke occasionally gifted him that said “fun sized” on the label, in reference to them being much smaller than the standard sized candy bars and yet somehow being… better, despite technically giving you less candy.

She was already perfect as she was, but it was not just N-45’s beautiful human features that pulled Salvatore in and refused to let him escape the stupefaction he’d been placed under, but also her mutations.

A soft royal blue coated her from head to toe, giving way only to a large patch of solid white located on her chest and stomach. Her skin catches the light in a way that reveals areas of tiny overlapping scales, glimmering like stars in the midnight sky, or freshly polished armor, perhaps, along the bony ridges and tender curves of her figure.

Small white dots distributed like paint splatters across the colored sections of her flesh give a similar visual effect as freckles, starting from her hairline and extending all the way down to the very tips of her toes. These galaxies of white were invisible only on the white patch along the front of her torso, as well as on the lighter blue hue taken on by both the palms and webbings of her hands and feet.

Long Fin-like extensions grew along both her forearms and lower back. The former extended outward and inward like a windshield wiper, likely used to decrease water resistance. The latter, however, perhaps used to increase fine motor maneuverability while swimming at greater speeds or in tighter spaces, grew straight downwards from her lower back in an overlapping fan configuration that marginally covered her rear end, though not by very much. The fins looked like a soft, delicate material that was probably very flexible but very durable, if Salvatore had to guess just from looking.

And to top everything off, N-45 even appeared to even have gills, 2 different sets by the looks of it. The first set of 3 breathing slits was located horizontally along both sides of her neck, while the second set could be found on both sides of her torso, following the downward angle of her ribs but stopping just underneath her soft, plump-looking breasts.

Salvatore feels a sudden wave of heat cascade over his body and he turns his face away in shameful embarrassment as he suddenly realizes that N-45, much like every test subject undergoing cadou treatment, was still very, very nude at the present moment.

“I can’t make any promises regarding her disposition, but physically speaking, she’s ready to be released to you whenever you’d like. I’ll have some of the villagers transport and release her into the reservoir later this week” Mother Miranda says, pressing a button to close the pod now that Salvatore was no longer staring at her.

“W-wait just a m-moment” Salvatore calls out, prompting Mother Miranda to halt the closing of the pod.

“Yes? What is it?” The woman asks curtly, clearly not wanting to stand here and watch Salvatore any longer than she has to.

Wringing his hands together nervously, Salvatore meekly asks, “C-could… could y-you wake h-her up… s-so that I can s-speak with her… j-just for a m-moment?”

Mother Miranda remains silent for a moment, blank face staring directly at Salvatore as she contemplates what to do.

“No, Moreau,” she says finally. “I’ve had a very busy day today and I'm quite tired. N-45 is a menace that I struggle to deal with even on my best days. The last thing I need is something going wrong and her getting out and causing all sorts of chaos.”

Salvatore’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but he makes no further attempts to argue.

Mother Miranda rolls her eyes at the incredibly childish display, walking over to place a gentle hand on Salvatore’s head. “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to have N-45 be the first of the subjects to be dropped off? It’ll be more difficult than my original plan, but I suppose it was a bit unfair that you were the only one who didn’t get to “pick” their gift.”

“Yes, M-Mother Miranda… I-I’d like th-that very… very m-much” Salvatore says, leaning into the touch as Mother Miranda begins guiding him back toward the hallway leading to the exit door.

It wasn’t until after Miranda had exited the lab and begun walking down the long hallway toward the exit that Salvatore dared cast another glance back at the pod that contained N-45, wistfully thinking of how amazing her hand had felt in his, and how much he wanted to speak to her.

Just as the disfigured man was about to turn back and follow Miranda out of the laboratory, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, prompting Salvatore to tense and snap toward the 4 pods, frantically trying to figure out what it was he saw. A few seconds of stillness pass before Salvatore sees movement again, not freely moving about the room like he originally expected, but from within one of the 4 pods, his pod to be exact.

His curiosity momentarily outweighing his nerves, Salvatore slowly approaches the metal capsule, trying to get a look through the small pane of glass that allows visual access into the holding pod.

Another flash of movement has Salvatore flinching, jumping back as though he’d been advanced upon. After several seconds of stillness, however, the hooded man regains his confidence and once again inches his way toward the capsule, moving his head up and down to try and get one more glimpse at N-45 before he has to leave. One last look before she lays eyes upon his vile and disgusting body for the first time, screaming and calling him a monster as she runs away, leaving him alone and without anyone to call his own. Just like always.

“ Hello ?”

Salvatore froze dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his lungs refusing to take in air, as a soft, muffled, questioning voice reaches the deformed man’s ears, followed by two golden orbs with narrow black slits running vertically through the center, that slowly peek into view from the bottom of the glass window. Salvatore’s eyes widen in shock as he quickly realizes that the orbs of gold are not, in fact, just spheres of color, but rather a pair of eyes, staring intently at him from inside the pod.

“Uuuuuh… u-u-uuum… I-i… I w-was just…” the disfigured man stuttered as he struggled to move his body, seemingly paralyzed by the bewitching gaze currently locked onto him, looking at him with an intensity that makes Salvatore wonder if this is what it feels like to be a cell put under a microscope.

It isn’t until Salvatore notices the golden orbs moving and shifting from one corner of the window pane to the other that the hooded man realizes, to his immediate horror, that he might not be the only one trying to get a better look at the figure located on the other side of the pod door. Panic and fear immediately fill Salvatore from deep within, growing strong enough to allow him to finally overcome his temporary paralysis and skitter away from view. Pulling his hood even further over his petrifyingly grotesque face in shame of himself, Salvatore flees the laboratory as quickly as his hobbled limp would allow.

His heart pounds to the beat of the soft, but desperate pleas of protest coming from N-45’s pod in response to Salvatore’s rapidly retreating form, yet the hooded man cannot bring himself to believe what he hears as true. Perhaps believing that the siren-like voice he hears echoing off the metal laboratory walls to be nothing more than a trick of his sick and lonely mind, Salvatore does not stop, nor does he turn back around until he’s met up with Mother Miranda at the exit to the surface, lungs burning and legs aching from running for so far and long.

“Oh, there you are, Moreau,” Mother Miranda says suddenly, stopping just before they are about to exit the laboratory. “I’m glad you chose this time to finally catch up, because I just realized a second ago that I’d forgotten to give you N-45’s previous name. You can name her something else if you’d prefer, of course, but I offered the information to your siblings so I suppose I should offer it to you as well. Would you still like to know N-45’s name, or would you rather abandon her given name for one of your own choosing?”

After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Salvatore lifts his head, “I… I-i would like to k-know… her n-name… please...” the mutant man says softly.

Mother Miranda briefly raises a questioning eyebrow at Salvatore’s nervous body language, but ultimately rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, all but tossing the Manila envelope containing N-45’s information at the hooded man before disappearing out the large metal door.

“If you’re going to read that now, feel free, but return to the meeting room once you're done. And be sure to lock the door to my laboratory behind you” Miranda commands, her voice having grown echoey due to how far away she now was.

“Yes, M-Mother” Salvatore calls after her as he scrambles to catch the thrown file and prevent any loose papers from falling out. Once he’s got a solid handle on the thick envelope, he opens it, casting a quick glance back in the direction of the pod room, where Nadine and the other 3 gifts were being held for the time being.

Returning to the file, Salvatore frantically flips through every page, trying to find the one that held N-45’s personal background information.

After several minutes of desperate flipping back and forth, Salvatore finally focuses on one particular piece of paper that looked to have been in the file for the longest. Pulling out the particular page he’d found, the disfigured man drops the rest of the folder onto the ground and begins rapidly skimming through the information printed on the page, his hungry eyes refusing to stop until they finally zeroed in on the information he’d been looking for.

Project: E.V.A. Resurrection

Subject: N-45

Parasite Administered: Cadou (Series- N; Strain- 45)

Family Name: Bogdan

Given Name: Nadine

“N… Nadine” Salvatore said slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded and out of breath as each individual letter of the young woman’s name rolled off his tongue like Camembert cheese; smooth, creamy, decedent, and likely to keep him up all night with an upset stomach and a racing heartbeat.

Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine.

The name quickly became a broken loop played over and over and over again inside Salvatore’s head, his mind unable, or rather unwilling, to think of anything else as he read, reread, and then re-reread Nadine’s name at least 100 times, before finally setting the piece of paper down.

“Nadine...” Salvatore breathes the name once again, his voice carrying a wistful tone. “E-even your n-name is wonderful...”

An already beautiful woman, made even more perfect through the power of science and Mother Miranda’s grace, only for all that potential to end up wasted in the hands of a desperately lonely and horrifically mangled fish mutant, who was more likely to accidentally dissolve her in stomach acid than woo her like some kind of aquatic Prince Charming.

“Y-ya right... e-e-even with a-another mutant… I’m s-still so disgusting a-an… and horrifying in comparison… n-not even my o-own kind can b-bring thems-themselves to love me f-for who I a-am… not th-that there’s much of m-me that’s worth l-loving to begin w-with” Moreau laments to himself, wondering if it was even worth holding out hope that things with Nadine could go his way. As if one look at his monstrous form wouldn’t be enough to ruin everything Salvatore already has an agonizingly low chance of ever having with that magnificent specimen of a woman.

Even with Nadine’s own external mutations making it clear that she was no longer fully human, her form had still retained such a beautifully strong, yet womanly shape to it, and her face still looked so young and innocent despite everything that she’s been through. Someone as beautiful as her was far too good and pure to be tainted by his filthy hands.

‘Maybe I should just kill her when the villagers arrive with her at the gate? At least then... I could say I put her out of her misery before she had to experience it for herself…’ Salvatore sulks mentally.

However, despite the self degrading thoughts running through his mind, the memory of the curious look Nadine’s shockingly bright and mesmerizing golden eyes held when trying to look at Salvatore through the pod window made the hooded man shiver, having never been looked upon in such an innocently curious manner before. Most people who got that close to Salvatore didn’t even need to see his face in order to start screaming and running away in terror. However, if the deformed man allowed himself a brief moment to believe that it was indeed her who’d been calling him to come back and show himself, then from the tone and rushed quality of her voice, it would seem as though Nadine was unsatisfied with the fact that she hadn’t seen all of Salvatore’s face and body, not terrified.

How strange...

How very strange indeed…

[cherryblossom-chopper]

Shanks Stan is back in touch! I am delighted with your previous work with my red-haired husband, but can we imagine that some reckless boy without eyebrows and self-preservation instinct, aka Kidd, could steal Shanks's pregnant partner in order to put pressure on him and try to overthrow him. she is strong enough for a pregnant woman, but she has too gentle and caring character, and constantly persuades the Kidd pirates to let her go until her terrifying yonko husband comes and takes their lives

Yesssssssss. Did you know this actually one of my absolute favorite concepts? I love reading and writing this specific concept with various characters. I’ve done something similar with Shanks and few others (Click me!)  

- Alright, so obviously marrying Shanks means you gotta be stubborn, and god damn is (Name) stubborn. She insists that she doesn’t need to be babysat by the crew whenever they dock on island. Shanks obviously doesn’t listen and tries to chaperone her everywhere

-(Name) is able to give her overbearing husband the slip for a few minutes. She loves the man but the past several months he’s been a bit suffocating.

-I imagine that when Kidd snatches her it’s really... awkward (?) Kidd had been tracking the Red Haired Pirates for awhile and when he saw his opportunity his sends in the cavalry aka Killer

-In their previous encounters (Name) and Killer have gotten along quite well actually despite their affiliations. So upon seeing him (Name) isn’t immediately suspicious. But when Killer mutters Sorry! and swoops her up into his arms, (Name)’s obviously concerned.

-She struggles a bit but being six months pregnant and being pretty well restrained by an immensely strong man makes getting away more difficult than you’d think.

-On Kidd’s ship (Name) is put in Kidd cabin for safe keeping and a discussion with Kidd. Surprisingly he’s far more reasonable than the stories say.

-Hey, so sorry about all this, I just need to overthrow your boy toy. You comfortable? Need something to eat?

-He’s my husband and you could loosen these restraints there a bit too tight.

-Sorry girlie, not happening. I can get you some snacks or something though. I’m not really looking to starve you or beat you. Just doesn’t sit right with me. 

-It’s a very short lived abduction. The Kidd Pirates are woefully ill prepared for what is coming next. Kidd sets out to sea before sending off a ransom note, or more of a voicemail I suppose.

-Transponder Snail voicemail has to exist right?? Voicesmail? Voicesnail? I’m gonna believe that it does.

-In under a day The Red Haired pirates have pinpointed Kidd’s location and have set a course to find them

-Shanks himself is a bit of a mess. I imagine he goes through stages of emotional turmoil in this situation. At first he’s hurt, because (Name) has given him the slip. When he can’t find her he’s on edge but this isn’t the first time she’s been able to evade the crew. When he get’s Kidd voice message (Voicesnail) it’s an all out meltdown. Because jfc he’s gonna kill (Name). 

- On route to (Name) I think Shanks is pacing around the ship. Benn does have to coax him into the galley to sit for a few minutes before Shanks warps the wood on deck. Benn is also probably holding Shanks hand for comfort? Platonic cuddles also may or may not occur. Sometimes you just gotta give your homie a forehead kiss for moral support.

-Anyway when The Red Haired Pirates final reach Kidd after about two days since (Name) was snatched, Shanks is wired. He is practically drowning in a nice cocktail of emotions and actual cocktails. No one can convince he didn’t drown a few of his sorrows in whiskey.

-Upon seeing Kidd on the deck of the nearby ship, he lights up with rage. He is ready to kill Kidd with bare hands. And he practically does.

-The pirates eventually stand on opposite decks close enough to speak with another. Kidd is smirking like a devil and is prepared a smug speech that he’s probably rehearsed. He get three words in before Shanks decks him in the face. Armorment Haki and all.

-It doesn’t take long for both crews to descend into an all out brawl. The Kidd Pirates doing poorly against The Red Haired Pirates. In about an hour, Shanks’ crew is able to subdue Kidd and his gang. 

-With Kidd being restrained by Lucky and sea stone cuffs, Shanks is able to question the foolish delinquent. Shanks approaches Kidd with a type of anger few people on his crew have ever seen; it’s his calm rage. His voice is flat and there's almost a smile on his face; even Benn is unsettled by it. Shanks grabs Kidd by throat and puts on an uncomfortable amount of pressure.

-Care to tell me where my wife is?

-Instead of getting an answer Kidd spits in Shanks face. He applies more pressure.

-God help your soul if you hurt a single hair on her body, because I’ll personally see to it that I take your other arm. Where is (Name)?

-Kidd glares harder at Shanks and still refuses to say a word. Kidd must've had some kind of guardian angel because just as Shanks prepares to resort to more violent measures, Yasopp finds (Name).

-We got her Captain! She seems okay!

-Shanks immediately lets go of Kidd and walks towards the sound of Yasopps voice. He’s trembling, Shanks is filled with so much anger and fear that he’s shaking like a child.

-He swings open the door to Kidd’s cabin and sees Yasopp breaking off (Name)’s sea stone cuffs. She’s sitting on Kidd’s bed and looks up at Shanks. She sees him and she smiles.

-That’s all it takes for Shanks to start sobbing. He practically runs over to the bed and places shaky hands on her cheeks

-Are you okay (Name)? He didn’t hurt you did he? What about the baby? Is everything okay with our baby?

-She can’t help but laugh at her husband. He’s so emotional. Yeah, I’m alright. I’ve got a few scrapes and bruises I imagine but I’m just fine. The baby is just fine too. Kidd was rather hospitable, he’s just young and dumb.

-When she’s free of her restraints Shanks spend a moment squeezing her into a tight hug. He takes off his coat gives it to (Name). He smiled because damn she’s so cute in his clothes.

-Shanks helps her stand and escorts her off of Kidd’s ship. When walking across the deck he wraps his arm around her waist and glares at any of the Kidd Pirates who have the gall to look at (Name). 

-When (Name) is safely on his ship, Shanks feels like he can breath a bit better but still hurries off to the medic on his ship. After getting the thumbs up from the medic Shanks encourages (Name) to their shared room.

-He does anything and everything her heart desires while saying that his precious wife deserves everything in the world. Shanks does eventually wind down and crawl into bed with his wife though.

-He cuddles up to her belly for awhile and presses kisses on her skin. He does end up tucking his face into the crook of her neck and resting his good arm around her stomach.

-Imagine he probably doesn’t sleep that night, or at least not very well. Shanks feels immense guilt for what happened and is thankful she hadn’t been seriously injured. He’s even more grateful that their baby seems to be safe. At some point in the night he finds himself writing baby names that he likes against her skin with his finger.

- I dunno I just feel like Shanks would be really devastated by the event and not know what to do after something like this. What he does in the days following are probably desperate attempts of asking for some kind of forgiveness even if (Name) says he shouldn’t be sorry.. He’s still incredibly sorry for letting the kidnapping happen.

-I think Shanks would have a hard time accepting that it wasn’t his fault but by the time the baby is born he’d fell much better. 

[cybernaght]

Lost Tomb Reboot aka Reunion: The Sound of Providence Season 2

I swear I wasn’t actually planning to write this thing, instead just opting for random picture spams of the season, starting with every time this show got Zhu Yilong’s Wu Xie wet, because that was a trend I had not expected and kind of lived for.

All that will still happen eventually, but here’s also my five cents on the season, because it is very very important for you to know just how worthy of love it is. 

You see, Season 1 was silly and fun, and definitely, undeniably, enjoyable. 

Then Season 2 swooped in, and completely won my heart. I cannot even express how much I adored it. Everything about this show is extremely extra in the best possible way; it is likely to have been the most charmingly over the top thing I have ever seen.

(Vague spoilers for : specific monsters, narratively significant moments, fate of the certain characters, including the protagonist.)

Some of it comes from the pace, which speeds up dramatically early in the season, and only slows down marginally to allow characters some breathing room. It’s not just gripping because it makes you want to hit play on the next episode, it also keeps you engaged because you can’t wait to see how the next wild set of events may be resolved and then topped. At about episode ten I was questioning how they could possibly produce a sense of further escalation. At episode twenty, I was wondering if anything can top dramatic impact of whatever was occurring only two thirds of the way through the season. 

I need not have worried: every single incredible character moment, every mind-boggling turn of the plot, every single bizarre threat would be blown out of water by the next one. 

Partly, this seemingly has to do with the writers attempts to ground the material. I am not sure what the novel contained, but I can discern that it was something along the lines of ghosts, ghouls and various supernatural circumstance. But when you are told  “this is a curse”, your reaction is naturally to go, “ah okay, so curses are a thing, and this is one of them, gotcha”. When you are told, “this is a heavy metal poisoning combined with a neurotoxin affecting the victim’s central nervous system and making them violently hallucinate”, your reaction is to question whether this is how metals, toxins, poisons, or, indeed, central nervous systems work in any version of reality. 

The show does this a lot. From human shaped swarms of killer moths, to flying brain-penetrating eels, to probably my favourite monster of the moment: the murder clams.

Seriously, I cannot stress enough that this show has murder clams. They move with their clam mussels. They jump with their clam shells. They will murder you in cold blood. 

There are ancient “laser corridor” style set-ups, there are shapes made out of fog recording its memory, there are group hallucinations generated by the sound of thunder, there are Mission Impossible style full face masks. There is a character who walked off a gun wound and sarin gas poisoning in order to die in the arms of his lover who looks like his dead sister. And by “looks like” I mean, “played by the same actress”. 

There is a whole character of Doctor Churros, who saves our hero from imminent death by washing his lungs with oil. 

This, I suppose, ultimately, is how The Lost Tomb Reboot (Season 2 in particular) lures you in. It turns what I saw as the show’s fault in season 1 into its biggest strength by establishing the world in which nothing is too outlandish and everything is possible. It so thoroughly breaks your expectations barometer, you grow to willingly accept whatever is thrown at you. 

The most beautiful thing about all of it, is that the fun and games and moments of barely controlled hysteria do not lower the stakes whatsoever. Moreover, somehow this show makes me believe that it could just about do something as irrevocable as, perhaps, killing off the protagonist 

You know how you can watch, say, a super hero film, and then the “all is lost” moment happens, and you kind of have to struggle to care because you know that they will pull through. It’s curious to see how that happens, but you don’t doubt for even second that it will. Well, when that moment arrived here, I found myself between ugly sobbing, and going into speculation overdrive to try and figure out how the Reboot would deal with that. By then I have seen that show be an high octave action movie, a supernatural mystery, a horror thriller, a buddy comedy and a spy flick: it was not a massive stretch to imagine it turning into a revenge tragedy.

Wu Xie dying had been building up since episode one, so you had hours and hours and oh-so-many hours to brace for it, and when the tragedy does not strike, the relief is visceral. 

Despite all the moments of hilarity (whether intended or otherwise), despite the chaotic turns of the plot, despite how utterly off the charts this show is tonally, when it matters, the narrative is pulled together in a way which not only makes complete sense within the world of the series, but is meticulously set-up, satisfying resolved, and delivers lovely emotional impact. Considering that the moral of the story is a very common “live in the moment”, paired up with “greed is bad”, it was surprising how much resonance its delivery actually created. 

Ultimately, however, this show is about found family, and, more specifically, about Wu Xie’s ability to create this family for himself and for every single member of it. He starts as one of the trio, and ends as one of a large group of old allies, new friends, and people he has graced with so much kindness that they follow him until the bitter end. 

Lost Tomb Reboot ensures that you get to know them all, and it’s pretty damn hard to not love this misfit group of adventurers in its entirety. 

(The only thing I could say is that I wish the series spent more time making sure the viewer knows and likes Zhang Qiling, but it seemingly had little purpose for him apart form sweeping in as an avenging angel every now and then. I get that he is a well established character in the series, and that his whole thing is being deadly and enigmatic, but considering that you got to know the other two legs of the famous Triangle so well, it’s a shame that this one was reserved to mostly being Xiao Ge Ex Machina. It would have been nice to know what he was about apart from “really damn cool”.)

Bai Haotian remained my favourite character. She is cute, sweet, romantic, and, for the lack of a better word, “girly”. She is not shy about her crush on Wu Xie, and is prepared to do a lot of reckless, dangerous things for him. None of the above undermine her intelligence, cunningness and authority. Xiao Bai is a young woman in a position of power, and she absolutely knows how to handle herself; for every time she is a damsel in distress, she gets to be the rescuer. For every time she puts herself in needless danger, she learns to collect herself and plan ahead. For every time she is bossed around, she turns and takes charge. Her journey is not the centred around getting the guy, but around discovering her self-assertion; she finds her place within his team not by being a romantic interest, but through her personal strengths. 

My absolutely favourite moment for her came when an antagonist used her affection for Wu Xie to get an upper hand on her, and she gets restrained, knife to her throat. Xiao Bai swivels away, knocks the attacker out and goes to town kicking him, to a great astonishment of this team, as she states that liking someone does not make her weak. 

And it doesn’t. Being in love has nothing to do with weakness or strength. Being a young, and excitable, and a woman does not equate to weakness either.

I’m not saying that this show is a feminist manifesto, because it is definitely not that. Every other prominent female character suffers a pitiful fate in service of creating motivation for the men of the story. But it does spend a lot of time making sure you, the viewer, know its heroes well enough to mentally befriend them. And if this means giving the female lead complexity, I cannot possibly be mad at that. 

So, this was it. This was the Lost Tomb Reboot. It brought me a ridiculous amount of joy and I will miss it a lot. 

And yes, the picture spams will be 100% an excuse to rewatch at least some of it. 

PS. Said spams miiiiight be gif based if I figure out a way to colour correct the damn things. 

[superheroesofbothuniverses]

Kidnapping Number Eleven (Wintershock)

Darcy grumbled and swore as she woke up in yet another dank cell in some unknown baddies’s lair. Working around Avengers and being married to one made her life wonderful, thrilling and…….prone to being kidnapped. She twisted around in the chair she was restrained in and glared at her bare left hand.

“Bitches stole my wedding ring!” she complained. “I will cut them!”

“I’ll join you,” said a similarly grouchy male voice from across the room.

Darcy whipped her head around to see she wasn’t the only prisoner. A man was tied up in similar fashion to her, wrists and ankles cuffed to the chair. His handsome face was bruised and cut, and he looked decidedly disgruntled. She squinted in the dim light and then recognized him.

“Sousa?” She asked. “They nab you too?”

“Yes and yes,” he confirmed. “I thought I had left the kidnappings behind in my field agent days.”

Darcy chuckled.

“Even being supposedly dead doesn’t mean one is exempt from being snatched, apparently,” she sighed. “I was on such a roll. Ten months since the last kidnapping. Guess I’ll have to reset the counter.”

“You have a kidnapping counter?” Daniel asked, with some amusement.

“Yep,” she sighed. “Twenty attempts and eleven successes, counting today. I do PR work with the avengers and that tends to make me a target. Not to mention, I’m married to someone that tends to make evildoers’ lives miserable and short.”

“Sounds familiar,” Daniel admitted. “I sure hope they aren’t being lured into a trap. I have no clue how many people they’ve got stationed here.”

“No worries. My husband’s pretty badass. He can take ‘em, and if he brings his buddies, well, it will be lights out for our captors,” Darcy said confidently, while Daniel fiddled with his leg.

“Are you hurt?” She asked, concerned again.

He shook his head and pulled up a small metal device, which he used to pick the cuffs and free himself.

Darcy’s jaw dropped.

“Smooth, Daniel. I’m only halfway there.”

She’d been working on her own cuffs with the hairpin she’d had hidden away, but it was slower going than usual for her. She was rusty. She made a mental note to ask Natasha to run some practice sessions with her.

“I gotta know, where did you manage to hide a lockpick?” She asked, as they rubbed the circulation back into their limbs. “They searched me pretty thoroughly, except for my shoes.”

In answer, Daniel pulled up his pant leg, exposing a prosthetic limb, which had a tiny compartment built in. He smirked and shut it again.

“Nice!” Darcy admired. “Tony’s work?”

“Jemma Simmons, actually,” Daniel said. “Though it would be something a Stark would do as well.”

“Bucky will be jealous,” she joked. “Don’t think he’s got any cool compartments in his metal arm.”

“He could also break down this door with that metal arm in a heartbeat, though.” Daniel said, eying the very thick cell door that so far was impervious to their attempts to pick the lock.

Darcy shrugged. “Yeah, most likely. I’m not hearing much from outside right now. Where are all the thugs and mad scientists?”

There was no window in the door, so all they could do was sit and wait and hope rescue came before their captors came back.

“You’re with Quake, right? What’s that like?” Darcy asked to make conversation.

Daniel’s eyes grew soft and warm, and she could tell she’d picked a good topic.

“It’s wonderful,” he said fondly. “She’s so incredibly smart and funny, and strong and loving. After all the stuff life has thrown at her, she still has such a huge heart. I think I was smitten from the first day I met her posing as a CIA agent.”

“Awwe,” Darcy cooed, heart melting at how massive his heart eyes were as he talked about Daisy. She’d only met Quake a few times, but she could totally understand how Daniel could have fallen for her right off the bat.

“What about you? What special someone will be bursting through here to carry you to safety?” Daniel asked her, a knowing sparkle in his friendly brown eyes.

Darcy chuckled.

“That would be one Bucky Barnes, badass extraordinaire and the world’s most adorable cinnamon roll of a husband.”

Daniel looked confused.

“Cinnamon roll? Is that some modern slang term? I’m not familiar with it.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, thinking back to how much Daniel reminded her of Steve with his general confusion about modern day idioms. “It means he’s got a sweet, gooey personality underneath all those layers. Despite everything the War and Hydra did to him, he’s still got that irresistible charm and gentlemanliness that seems to be a thing with the men of your era. I bet Daisy appreciates that too.”

“I think so,” Daniel acknowledged. “She does call me a square a lot, though.”

He gave an adorable sheepish grin that Darcy guessed meant the term square had become one of endearment.

She heard gunshots and banging noises and quickly hit the deck, self preservation instincts kicking in. Daniel was crouched down, too, listening intently.

About three minutes later, the door was violently opened and three figures appeared: one of which was obviously Captain America, the second a tall brunette woman she quickly recognized as Daisy Johnson, aka Quake, and the third was a very ferocious looking Bucky Barnes, gun aimed and ready.

“We’re alright!” Darcy declared before he could get himself more worked up, but he carefully checked her over anyway, needing to see for himself.

“I see you’ve picked the cuffs already. That’s my girl,” Bucky said with a proud grin, pulling her into a relieved hug.

“They took my rings,” she said with a pout against his chest. “Did you leave me anybody to yell at?”

“A couple. I’ll ask Barton to search them.” Bucky told her.

“Everything okay, Johnson?” He asked, nodding to Quake, who was tenderly wiping the blood off of Daniel’s face.

“Yeah,” she said absently. “Doesn’t look like more than some surface wounds. I don’t know what these idiots were trying to prove except how dumb they were in their terrible planning and execution.”

Steve, seeing that things were under control and he wouldn’t be needed to carry an unconscious body, shared a look with Bucky, and left the room again.

“So it wasn’t Hydra?” Daniel asked.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Bucky replied. “Looks like a wannabe who was tryin’ to impress someone. The guys we’ve caught are already squealing like stuck pigs.

“Did you make your scary murder face at them?” She asked. “I bet they peed their pants.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t have to. Steve and Nat beat me to it. Besides, I have Resting Murder Face as you so frequently remind me, doll.”

“Yup. And it’s an awfully cute murder face, too,” she told him fondly. They gazed at each other for a second and then heard a sigh behind them.

“If you’re done with the flirting, could we please get out of here? I have a hot date I need to get to.”

Darcy pretended to roll her eyes.

“Oh, fine, Quake. I guess I can jump my hot husband a little later.”

She heard Daniel make a choked sound even as Bucky cracked up.

“No filter Darcy is the best Darcy,” he whispered.

“And don’t you forget it,” she ordered, winking at him.

The four of them met Steve, Clint, Nat and Sam in another room, where ten restrained men were sitting or lying, depending on their state of consciousness. Darcy recognized the thugs that had taken her and upon pointing them out to Bucky, watched in glee as he menaced them until they begged for mercy and gave up their boss. Clint, who had been searching them, found Darcy’s jewelry and she gave a huge sigh of relief as she put her rings back on.

“Better now, doll?” He asked her.

“Much,” she told him, admiring the way the Ruby and diamonds sparkled on her hand. Bucky’s proposal had been incredibly romantic and she would never ever forget the way her heart had throbbed when he’d gone down on one knee in front of her and looked at her so lovingly as he’d asked her to marry him.

After all the prisoners were rounded up and loaded on the quintet, Darcy took a seat beside Bucky and snuggled up against him as best she could.

“Thanks, babe,” she whispered. “You’re awesome.”

“You are, Darcy,” he told her. “You could have run FAR and fast from the Avengers chaos, but you stuck around and I’m very grateful.”

“Despite the Chaos and kidnappings aside, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. We’re worth it, Bucky,” she told him, squeezing his hand with hers.

[callmemythicalminx]

The Last Of Us 2: We Need To Talk About It

*Spoilers ~ ye have been warned!

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I’ve held this off for as long as I could, but I’ve given up resisting- we need to talk about The Last of Us 2. It’s an incredible masterpiece, there’s no doubt about it. The graphics are beautiful and incredibly realistic, and the gameplay has made bounding leaps in progress since the first game, offering a more exciting and intense experience for the player. The actors have of course done incredible jobs and the sound design is amazing. Altogether, a pretty amazing game… Except for one thing- the story.

The first game was widely loved for many reasons, but most prominently, and I’m sure many will agree with me on this, the story and the characters are what made it stand out and still hold up to this day. Joel and Ellie are amazing characters, incredibly complicated and realistic. The former was a man we as players grew to love, after seeing the horrible pain he had to go through and the hardships he faced. We saw him do unspeakable things, hurting and killing many, all in the name of survival. But still, we cared for him, because we saw him grow to love too, risking all to keep his new daughter safe. Ellie was a young kid, forced to grow up too soon in a world that didn’t really care about her. Faced with the fact that she was the possible saviour of humanity, she had the weight of a brighter future on her shoulders. In each other, these two characters found someone to care about again. Joel saw the daughter he lost and couldn’t protect. Ellie saw a father who wouldn’t leave and would help keep her safe.

After seeing the bittersweet ending of the first game, we waited for 7 long years to see Ellie and Joel return to our screens once more. Trailers promised new adventures with the pair, as well as the much-anticipated impact of Joel’s actions after taking Ellie from the Fireflies and stopping the creation of a possible cure. Even when leaks about the story were released, the majority of fans held strong to the belief that Naughty Dog would lead us well and would give us a great sequel to finish off an incredible generation of progress, leading us into a new age of video game storytelling.

Oh, how wrong we were…

Make no mistake here- I know Joel isn’t a hero. What he did at the end of the first game was incredibly selfish. I’ve always seen him as an anti-hero because of his sometimes cruel and violent actions and that can’t be forgotten. Undeniably though, he is still such a beloved character, who we can’t help but connect too because he’s human and vastly complicated. He was also living in a world where people are doing much worse things to survive. Darker, more evil actions that weren’t close to anything Joel ever did. Can he really be blamed for some of his actions, when seeing what other surivors had done? When I first played The Last of Us, I couldn’t help but sympathise with him, especially as I saw him slowly become more caring again after meeting Ellie. He’s incredibly interesting too in terms of characterisation because he’s neither good nor evil- he’s just human, trying to survive in a nightmare world.

Obviously, playing as Joel made a world of difference as to how we perceived him and whether or not he was a hero or villain. If we’d been playing as a completely different character, perhaps a Firefly, we would have most definitely seen him in a different light. This is where Abby comes in. I’ll give Naughty Dog credit here, it is a really interesting concept to introduce a playable character who’s seen the other side of our famous duo’s actions. It’s a great way to make us think even more about the consequences and the effect we have on our environment. As the daughter of the lead surgeon meant to operate on Ellie, Abby has seen the negative effects of Joel’s actions first hand.  This opens up a widely explorable concept for the player to experience, offering a new complicated character who has seen her own pain and hardships just like Joel and Ellie did. She’s sure to be liked… Right?

Unfortunately, no.  

In the span of two weeks, Abby has become one of the most hated gaming characters of all time. The reason why- bad storytelling.

I understand what the game was trying to do, I really do. I see what the story was trying to tell and portray, but the writing and pacing ruined this before the game had barely even started. I know I can speak for most when I say that I was expecting Joel to die, either it be naturally or inflicted by someone (or something) else. Naughty Dog know how to tug players’ heartstrings, as we saw at the start of the first game when Sarah was killed. It was bound to happen, though I didn’t really want it to. Joel deserves a worthy death, one befitting of his character which would complete his arc and bring a conclusion to his story. What we got instead was single-handedly one of the worst character deaths ever presented in a video game.

Joel dies at the hands of Abby, less than 2 hours into the game after we’ve seen him for only 10 minutes or so. He and his brother Tommy willingly walk into a very suspicious situation, in the most stupidly uncharacteristic way, revealing their names and where they’re from. They say this to a group of 10-20 strangers, in a building where they can easily be ambushed and restrained. Abby is at the helm of this group, driven to Jackson for one thing- the need to avenge her father who Joel killed. After hearing who they are, the group is obviously more alert and ready to strike. Joel then says, and I quote ‘Y’all act like you’ve heard of us or something’… Bear in mind here, that our Joel from the first game knew he was a wanted man and that he couldn’t trust anyone. Hell, he didn’t even trust Ellie for a good while before he started to care for her. But here he willingly gives his name and acts shocked when it’s recognised? This is not the Joel we know, who’s incredibly smart and can see a trap a mile off.

In one of the most sickening occurrences I’ve ever seen in a video game, Abby then shoots Joel in the knee with a goddamn shotgun. Tommy, of course, jumps into action to help his brother but is quickly restrained and knocked out. While listening to Joel’s horrific groans of pain as he lays wounded on the floor, Abby then has the audacity to ask him to ‘Guess’ who she is? Other than the fact that this is incredibly cringy, there’s no way in hell Joel would have the faintest clue who she is. He doesn’t run a family check on everyone he kills, does he? She could be the daughter of a random soldier he killed or some other nobody.

Ever a badass till the end, still having no clue who she is, Joel tells Abby to get on with whatever she has planned. She gets someone to tourniquet his leg while she collects her weapon to end his life- a golf club of all things. After calling him a ‘stupid old man’, something that both upset and pissed me off too much, Abby then begins to start beating Joel to death. You play as Ellie now, as she tries to find him. She enters this group’s hideout to see her father hunched on the ground, curling in on himself, spasming because of numerous brutal hits he’s received to his head. His face is bloody and bruised, his eyes barely open as a pool of blood spreads around him. We feel the horrendous pain Ellie does as she’s quickly restrained and forced to watch Joel meet his death. She begs, rambling for him to get up and leave, but there’s nothing she can do.  Ellie’s horrified cries are ignored as she begs for mercy and with a sickening crunch, Joel receives one final brutal blow to the head.

And he’s gone. Like that.

If this was written true to the character we know and love, Joel would have never entered that building and given his name that easily. Neither would’ve Tommy. These are two seasoned veterans of a zombie outbreak, who have seen the horrid measures people will go to when provoked or desperate. Is the game really trying to tell me that they’d trust a bunch of suspicious-looking kids, walking willingly into a crowded area with no weapons, standing apart instead of together? Joel didn’t trust anyone in the first game, why would this change?

Regardless of the fact that he’s in Jackson now, which is ‘friendly to travellers’, and that he’s grown ‘softer’, he’s still not gonna be trustworthy of strangers. By and by, Joel is still a wanted man and he knows this, he took away the world’s chance at a cure for Pete’s sake. Secondly, this is plain and simple a terrible death for Joel. Not because of how he died (because this is a zombie apocalypse, after all, it’s going to be brutal even if it’s awful to see) but the fact that this happens the way it did and the placement of it. There’s no closure to his character arc or to the rift between himself and Ellie that’s, at this moment, unknown to the reader. He didn’t die saving Ellie, which as cliche as it sounds, would have juxtaposed beautifully with Sarah’s death at the start of the first game. Imagine how satisfying it would have been to see that Joel would be willing to die for Ellie after he’s been focused only on surviving and himself. Imagine if he’d died in Ellie’s arms just like Sarah did in his…

The timing is also really bad considering we’ve barely seen any of him in the two hours we’ve played. When we see Joel die, it doesn’t feel as impactful as it could’ve been. We haven’t seen any new or old encounters with him and Ellie, except for the small seconds at the start as he retells the end of the first game. We haven’t had a chance to fully reconnect with him. His odd actions further distance us away from him because he’s not acting like he usually would. Therefore we’re left with a horrifying death that feels hollow, strange and disconected.

Abby does not help make this scene any better, which is a shame, because I think if different choices were made to push this death further in the game, we could have had a chance to care for her or at the very least begin to like her. Instead, we have no clue as to who she is or what her motivations are before this. All we know is she’s looking for someone. To then see this new character kill someone so beloved, in the most brutal way… Players are gonna hate her immediately! I hated her immediately! And like I said, her dialogue in this scene is atrociously bad, especially when she insults Joel. That really felt like you were adding salt to the wound there Naughty Dog.  

Imagine if you will, what a better death or a change in chronological order of Joel’s death could have done to help the story. If we’d got to know Abby more, playing as her for longer than two hours, she might not have been as hated. The player could have begun to like her and sympathise with her, slowly realising who she is and at the same time, seeing the damage Joel has caused in his selfish decisions. She could have still killed Joel, but towards the end of the game, so that the player would have felt more conflicted about her doing it after seeing her past, seeing the pain that she went through. The game could have reminded us that Joel is still an anti-hero. Imagine that? If the game had made us admit to ourselves that, though it’s painful to watch, his death might have just needed to happen to make up for the loss of everyone he killed? It could still have fit the environment they’re in too, with a brutal and harsh death that could’ve come out of nowhere, but still felt justified in the story. Tess in the first game had a brilliant death, befitting of her badass character, yet still shocking and realistic to the world she lived in. Instead of becoming a zombie, she instead let herself be shot after bravely standing outnumbered against the enemy while Joel and Ellie escaped. It was a great death and Joel had every right to one of his own. 

Maybe he didn’t even need to die for his actions at all though? Let’s not forget that he’s not the only one who has done bad and unspeakable things in this broken world the characters live in. He’s not irredemable, he’s a complicated human being who has had to adapt to the world around him. Think about some of the groups we came across in the first game- is Joel really worse than them? Yes, he took away the world’s chance at a new begining, but did it even deserve to start again after seeing how horrid people had become? Imagine if your loved one was sacrificing themself for a world that didn’t deserve it? Imagine if the cure might not even work or be possible to create, would you really just let them die? Joel’s only human, he acted with his heart instead of his mind. I have no doubt that Abby would probably do the same, or Ellie, or any other character who had those same choices ahead of them. Joel’s actions were selfish, yes, but he shouldn’t have to die for it. I wouldn’t want to lose someone I cared deeply about, just for a possible cure that would save an unworthy world.This is why we aren’t finding fault with the fact that Joel died, it’s HOW and WHY it happened that’s got us so pissed off.

What makes his death and the story even worse is the ending of the game. All the pain and trauma Ellie goes through killing all of Abby’s friends to find her becomes worthless. Why- she lets her go free. After fighting her twice and losing her fingers during one of those fights, Ellie suddenly has an epiphany and realises that revenge isn’t the answer. She lets Abby go. Once again, I understand what Naughty Dog were trying to do here and once again it could have worked.

‘Revenge is bad’. It’s been in many games and this message has worked beautifully in most too, like in Red Dead Redemption 2 for example. It worked beautifully in the game because it’s something that Arthur makes reference to a lot, reiterating the fact that ‘revenge is a fool’s game’. We see that pan out when John gets revenge at the end of the game and pays the price for it. The reason it fails in The Last of Us 2 is that this message comes from nowhere. Ellie has killed hundreds of people leading up to her final fight with Abby and she’s lost even more in the process too, including friends, her family and now her ability to play the guitar which was the final big thing linking her back to Joel. She’s brutally murdered many, torturing others so badly that she turned into a shell of herself afterwards. She suffers from PTSD because of Abby’s actions, seeing the death of Joel repeatedly, leaving her physically and emotionally weak. It doesn’t make any sense that after all this traumatising violence and pain, she suddenly gives up on the notion of revenge when she’s just about to kill the murderer of her father. The most disappointing thing is this message could have still worked if done correctly. If she could have realised revenge is pointless sooner, this wouldn’t feel as out of place as it does. Why does this one person, the murderer out of all people, change Ellie’s mind, after killing so many? Sure, you could say she has a family now and she was reminded of them, but then why would they have such an impact at the point of Abby’s near death, when Dina begging Ellie to stay didn’t work in the first place? It’s. Bad. Writing.

Abby and Ellie have both hurt each other equally, killing family, close friends and their fathers. Instead of killing each other, the story could have led them to realise together that Ellie is still the key to saving humanity, and with Abby’s link to the fireflies, they could somehow still create a cure.

Imagine. That. How fulfilling that would have been? Instead of the horrid, pointless ending we got instead.

Joel’s death could have brought the two together, connecting the Fireflies once again with the cure to right the wrongs he did. He could have realised that Abby was looking for him and willingly sacrifice himself to make up for what he did, completing his arc like I mentioned while also dying a fitting, badass death. He could have left a note for Ellie to read, explaining his actions, to say sorry and to show that he knows this is the only way to fix what he did. At the end of the game, Ellie could have looked out on a recovering world, singing her own rendition of Joel’s song, this time full of new beginnings in the face of great sacrifice.

That’s how you finish a story and a character’s arc. I’m no world-class writer, but I could imagine many different ways this same story and message could have panned out but with better writing, pacing and time, telling a tale of angst and sadness, while opening up a new chapter of hope and healing. The real end of the game leaves you feeling hollow and depressed, unfulfilled in the journey you’ve just experienced. Games are at their basic principle means of enjoyment, we play them to escape our lives and to have fun. They can be dark, harrowing and painful but still an absolute pleasure to play. What doesn’t help in defence of the game’s story is that the game director Neil Druckman said himself ‘For us, with The Last of Us specifically (Uncharted is a little different in our creative approaches), we don’t use the word ‘fun’. That feels… wrong to hear. If video games are not enjoyable, then what is the point in playing them?

I think it really says something in particular when the most enjoyable part of the game is a flashback between Joel and Ellie where there’s no real action. It’s just them, exploring a museum for her birthday, talking and joking and it’s the best part of the game hands down. It doesn’t include any of the new brilliant gameplay and while stunning, doesn’t really have much visual impact either. What makes it so special is just seeing the characters we love interact and have fun like it’s a scene cut straight from the first game. After 7 years, us fans were yearning to see more of Joel and Ellie’s cute relationship, so to only have that and a few other small scenes is so… unsatisfying. If we had more of their adventures before Joel’s death, I know that many people would have been much more accepting of it. It would have definitely been more impactful, having given us the chance to reconnect with them both again. Going back to Ellie on her revenge path after that museum scene was so depressing. It’s such a shame that further interaction between them was just forgotten about and thrown aside. They were such a big factor in the first game’s success, so to see them barely together felt too strange. Though we play as Ellie for the most part, it began to feel less and less like Last of Us and more like some new zombie game. Playing as Abby so suddenly too and for so long just further implemented that weird feeling. It’s a real shame because I really can’t stand her at all now. But she could have been a great character if the story was much different.

I can’t help but feel that the story feels patronising and degrading to its audience in some ways. Some of the choices and plot lines feel very disrespectful to the characters and fans, simply because of what it expects of you after forcing you through unwanted pain and misery. Let’s not forget also that we were lied to in the trailers. Showing numerous clips of Joel as his oldest self to reel us in, then change them to be flashbacks? Flashbacks which happen to be the only good pieces of storytelling in the whole game. It’s just wrong. And quite frankly it’s disgusting. Video games are expensive nowadays. We already knew many fans were gonna buy it anyway because we’re loyal to what we love. But to intentionally make that push, using lies, to secure sales for an expensive game from a huge fan base… it’s disrespectful.

As a whole, I can see what Naughty Dog were trying to do. They were trying to create something different, do what they wanted instead of what the fans wanted. That’s not a bad thing at all, it’s ballsy and creative to do something like that with a well-loved franchise. Rockstar took that same leap when they created Red Dead Redemption 2, forcing you to play as Arthur instead of the beloved John. It worked for them because they wrote the story well enough so that you’d have time to explore this new character and grow to love him, especially when faced with his actions and his mortality. Arthur dies brutality but fans still love the game because it was a fitting and wonderful way to finish his character arc.

This idea fails with The Last of Us 2 because the player isn’t properly engaged with the story before shit hits the fan and their favourite character is dead. I have no doubt that if it was written differently, if we’d been able to see more of Joel before his death and had more than two hours played with Abby that this story could have actually worked. The message that ‘revenge is bad’ could have worked. Ellie and Abby both have the same arc, experiencing something traumatic, being consumed by revenge, then ultimately realising it’s worthless to kill. We could have followed the same arc with a much better version of the story we actually got.

Instead, it feels like the game is intentionally pissing us off, continuously ruining that idea, first by making us watch as Joel is brutally and stupidly killed so soon, then secondly, by then forcing us to play and connect with Abby for 50% of the game when that seed of hate for her has already been planted. This is another one of the moments in the game where I feel like we’re being patronised. Is it really fair to paint us in such a bad light for not wanting to play and grow to like Abby, when we saw her as a stranger brutally kill our favourite character? Is it really that bad for us to hate her after she has caused so much pain when we’ve only known her for two hours? It’s such a shame because she could have actually become a new well-loved character.

I’d just like to say that while I think the story is bad, no one who was involved in the making of this game should be attacked for it. Video games, especially in this age, are such hard things to make because so much goes into them and I don’t want to discredit anyone’s work. Regardless of my or anyone else’s opinions on the game or its story, the team at Naughty Dog have still poured hours of time and effort into making it. They shouldn’t be receiving attacks or hate, we can still discuss the game and our opinions while being respectful. The actors shouldn’t be receiving hate either, they acted brilliantly with what they were given. Ashley Johnson and Laura Bailey especially should be credited for their work. And Troy Baker, though he was only in it for a short while, deserves an award just for that final ending scene between Ellie and Joel- it made me cry buckets. He made this character come alive beautifully and he deserves all the praise for it. And so do the rest of the cast, who did exceptionally good jobs.

In my eyes (though it sounds bad) The Last of Us 2 doesn’t exist as a game. In my own perfect world, it’s actually just badly written fanfiction posted to Tumblr or Wattpad. As goes in my made up ending, Joel and Ellie move to Jackson and restart their lives after the end of the first game. Eventually, he tells her about what happened and there’s a rift between them for some time, which is, of course, to be expected- it was a momentously selfish thing for him to do. Over time though, Ellie learns to forgive him and the rest is history. Because there’s no real canon ending, anything can happen. So… Did they eventually create a cure? Who knows. Did they stay in Jackson, happily living out their lives? Maybe. Did Joel die a badass and sacrificial death protecting Ellie? Possibly. Or did Joel die eventually in old age, surrounded by his family, holding his daughter’s hand as he passed away?

I hope so…

He may have been a complicated anti-hero. He may have even been a villain. Regardless, he still deserved a respectful death and in my perfect makebelieve ending…

He got it.

🌟🌟/5

Photo Credit ~ some from @ inora_miller on Instagram

[anothercolourmagines]

idk if you've done anything for this before if so just ignore this, but can we have general yandere 2pcanada and 2pamerica headcanons? maybe also how they try to get their darling to start loving them back? thank you hun!

I haven’t yet! You’re actually the first to request it! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶

                                    ________________________

Yandere!Allen Jones: He is incredibly possessive and does not even try to hide it. He needs to be reassured constantly that you are not actually interested in anyone else. Expect him to get violent whenever he thinks someone is making a pass at you and just looking at you weirdly. 

He doesn’t stalk you, per say, but he does know every move that you make throughout the day. That is mostly because he knows people and has them do the spying instead, under threat of violence. He’s always informed of your location and who you’re with and whether he needs to go take care of them or not.

He doesn’t make any effort to conceal that he’s obsessed with you. His flirting is aggressive and he gets rough with you occasionally when he feels impatient with your rebuttal of his advances. It annoys him, because he’s already decided that the two of you should be together and your insistence to deny your ‘obvious’ attraction to him just brings up his abandonment issues all over again.

He is not violent, at least not with you. He throws things around or breaks them but he never puts his hands on you when he is angry. If he ever does end up hitting up it would make him feel incredibly remorseful and ashamed. Not enough to actually leave you alone, but will be on his best behaviour around you for a while.

If you fight against him, he’ll just think that you’re playing hard to get and doubles his efforts as a result. He quickly becomes suffocating and dangerous, because you never know how he’ll act around other people. If he had his way he would have you all for himself, without the pesky interference of your friends and family. 

How He Tries to Win Them Over

He already thinks you’re in love with him, but for whatever reason won’t admit it, so for him it is merely a means to trying to get you to own up to it. He most likely just starts acting as if the two of you are already in a relationship and tries to be a good boyfriends. Even if you deny it, he just rolls his eyes at you and goes on doing whatever he wants anyway. His biggest appeal might be his guard dog nature, however. He is extremely overprotective of you and is willing to do whatever he can to make you happy. It becomes comforting to know that someone has your back and if give him that opening he will be sure to take advantage of it and make you rely on him for support and protection.

Yandere!Matt Williams: He is more subdued and a little more restrained. His attraction to you is something you barely notice, mostly because he keeps his distance and prefers to observe you from afar. He is in a way a quintessential stalker that just follows you around without you noticing.

He takes his time approaching you, only because he knows he intimidates people and doesn’t want that to happen with you. When he does find the courage to talk to you, it’s most likely because you need help with something and he feels like he can step in and do something nice. If the interaction is positive it will most likely spur him on and he becomes bolder with his actions.

Every body thinks that he just has a little crush on you, but his feelings run much, much deeper than that. Even he isn’t sure that what he is feeling is normal and safe, but he has so little experience with this sort of thing, that he ultimately convinces himself it must be not that bad. After all, he just wants to keep you safe and happy. That can’t be bad.

He hangs onto every bit of kindness you offer him and tries to pay you back tenfold. You have basically acquired a large and protective dog, with the way he treats you. Nobody dares to cause you trouble when you’re around and rumors soon start spreading that there must be something between you. It pleases him, because it makes him feel like what he’s doing is normal.

How He Tries to Win Them Over

His very reluctant about engaging with you for a long time, so when he actually decides to do it, it’s pretty uncomfortable for the both of you. While at first he was content just to watch you from afar, you suddenly find him everywhere that you go. He’s become your shadow, but he is so awkward about it that it’s hard to tell him off. He uses that to his advantage, somewhat subconsciously, as he attempts to seem more appealing to you by playing up with social awkwardness. He thinks that as long as you find him endearing, you won’t leave. If you don’t fall for it, he gets desperate and that makes him pushy. He has a strong built and you soon find that on your own when starts to slightly manhandle you into doing what he wants. 

[lailannajacobs]

Changing Reality

Pairing: Angel!Bucky x demon!reader 

Summary: It’s halloween, the one time on earth you actually like...too bad it’s ruined by the last person you ever wanted to see. 

Warnings: kinda angsty 

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Hey all! This is my halloween special that I’m so glad I managed to finish up before the first! Hope you enjoy it, I’d love to know what you think! <3 

Changing Reality

You suck in a deep breath, the fear, the chaos and excitement palpable on your tongue. There’s already so much of it in the air, swirling and growing as if it has a life of its own and it’s only 8 in the morning. A wicked grin curls at your lips, the possibilities endless, your freedom so much closer. You love halloween.  

You step out your front door, your illusion discarded like shedding away a too-tight skin. There’s no reason to keep it in place today. Today is the one day that no one looks twice at a demon walking down the street. The only thing you can’t shed are the silver bracelets weighing you down.

“I love your costume, Ms. YN!” your neighbour’s daughter shouts from the end of the driveway where she’s waiting for the bus.

You grin, razor sharp teeth making her gasp in awe, “Thank you, darling. And yours is absolutely bewitching.”

She gives a little twirl, her pink backpack flopping up and down over her black dress. Adjusting her witch’s hat, she shoots you another smile before hopping on the bus. The other students on the bus press their noses to the windows, eyes wide. Children are so much keener than adults, still believing that the impossible is possible. It’s the reason why you let your eyes flare, their natural violet colour glowing bright in the early sun. One mouths cool and you let out a sigh, the pressure of 364 days of keeping hold of an illusion finally off your chest. This is the one day in your eternal prison that reminds of you of the old days when you were here by choice. The memories are bittersweet and you push them from your mind, determined to enjoy the only day on earth that you can.

“Hello, YN.”

You tense, his voice stealing your breath even though it’s been centuries since you last saw him. You can’t help but wonder if you conjured him by thought. There is so much suffering you want to cause him and yet you know that none of it will be enough for the pain he caused you; none of it will ease the pain he caused when he dragged you from your merry existence and trapped you into this one. You aren’t going to giving him the satisfaction of attacking him. He doesn’t deserve anything other than cold hatred. For now.

You turn slowly, a devilish sneer on your lips as you face the angel, “James. What do I owe the pleasure? Have you come here to gloat?”

He stands a little straighter, smoothing down his pristine black suit. His wings aren’t out, probably afraid he’ll draw attention to himself. You roll your eyes. After all, you’re a demon and barely anyone has looked at you twice. Angels have always been far too conceited to think they could ever blend into a crowd.

“Why would you assume that?” he asks, blue eyes fiery, “would it be because, even after all these years, you’re still trapped here on earth?”

“Go back to heaven,” you spit, “today is not meant for you.”

The laugh that comes out of his perfect mouth is nothing short of condescending and nothing like the laugh you used to know, “and you think it is for you?”

“Look around. This day celebrates the terrifying — the monsters. But after what you’ve done, maybe you should stick around.”

He doesn’t miss the hatred in your voice. He knows that he’s the last person you’d ever want to see and have stick around, today of all days. You hope he knows that monster is too kind a word for him.

“What are you doing here, today of all days? What does your precious daddy have you doing?”

You flash another crazed smile to a brother and sister walking by behind James and their startled looks calm the flame building inside you enough that you don’t do anything rash.

“Nothing you need to know about,” he says curtly, eyes darkening as they drag over you in inspection.

You shake your head, not sure why a small part of you might have thought anything different would happen. You stalk past him.

“Go find someone else to torture,” you call over your shoulder, “because I have better things to do with my day than stay here chatting with you.”

When you hear the familiar whooshing that signals his departure, your posture breaks and you hear nothing more than your pounding heart. If you never saw him again, it would be too soon.

2nd Century A.D

You skip through the town, screams still echoing behind you. The fear grows by the second, the other civilians hidden in their huts, terrified you might chose their home to enter next. The satisfied cackle that leaves your throat echoes through the night, piercing their terrified hearts like spears. There’s still so much chaos and terror to thrive on, but you’re satiated, knowing you should go back to hell. Yet you stay for a little bit longer, basking in the cool, bright air that is earth, staring up at the million stars above.

A whoosh behind you cuts through the terror and you whirl with a grin, ready to pull and tease the fear from this one brave soul.

You hiss in surprise at the sight of the wide expanse of feathery of wings, a blue so dark they’re almost black. You’ve never met an angel before. Very few of your kind have and have lived to tell the tale.

His hands are clasped, resting on his black tunic, and he tilts his head, dark, shoulder length hair tumbling to the side. You want to vanish, escape to the safety of hell, but you’re mesmerized by eyes so cold, so blue, the likes of which you would never see on a demon.

“Leave monstrosity,” he growls, “before I make sure you never come back.”

You know you don’t know much about human life, but you could never understand why they would worship something like him, no matter how handsome. They’re violent, arrogant and the reason your numbers are diminishing slowly. You don’t want to stand down to someone like that. So you don’t.

You shrug, pretending he doesn’t intimidate you in the slightest, “what if I’m not done feeding?”

His hand lashes out, grabbing and lifting you by the throat before you have a chance to move. It doesn’t hurt. This is a warning, not a threat. He could kill you if he wanted to. He should kill you. You know those are his orders. But nothing happens. You wonder if he’s the kind to play with his food, but his eyes are wide and unblinking.

Piecing the look together, you let out a satisfied laugh, “you can’t do it. Can you?”

His grip tightens and he brings you so close that your faces are practically touching. You should feel fear but somehow you know you’ll make it out of this alive. Instead, all you feel is excitement, drawing off this strangely exquisite energy crackling between you two.

“I just like to watch you squirm,” he croons.

“And I only came here to feed,” you whisper back, biding your time, “what is it that you angels feed on, I wonder? Is it this? Is it feeling powerful over a plain ol’ demon?”

Fury lights his eyes like a bonfire. Using all the strength you have left, you force forward, smashing your lips against his. His surprise and disgust are immediate. He drops you and takes a step back before he realizes what he’s done.

You grin, “see you around angel.”

And then vanish into thin air.

You have trouble shaking the strange feeling your meeting with James left crawling up and down your skin as you make your way to work. Living on earth throughout the centuries had gotten boring, but in the last century you’d found yourself a job that has kept you preoccupied. It’s one of the most chaotic places on earth, and as you pull open the doors, getting hit with a whirlwind of emotion, you feel calmer by the second.

“Woah Ms. YN!” a sixth grader stops, punching his friend on the shoulder so that he’ll look too, “cool costume!”

You shoot them a toothy grin, “thank you boys.”

They take off, about to run down the hall, but you don’t let them.

“Boys,” you snap, your voice echoing unnaturally.

Everyone in the hall freezes, cowering under your stare. They nod quickly and walk off, shoulders hunched over, the rest of the students resuming their activities. There’s lingering fear and excitement in the air. It makes you breath easier.

The rest of the morning passes by in a blur of halloween activities, little school work and candy that only serves to get them more excited. By the time you’re ready for lunch, your good mood has returned. You step out into the cool air, heading to the nearby cafe for lunch. You’re waiting at an intersection when you hear the whoosh, the breeze tickling your face.

“What now?” you snap, keeping your eyes focused on the crossing countdown.

“You have a job,” he remarks.

You think maybe you hear surprise in his voice, but apparently you were never actually able to read him. You won’t make the same mistake of trying to read more into it, even if you’re beginning to get curious as to why he’s here. Over two hundred years since he trapped you on earth and you never saw him once. Now, twice in one day. It’s almost enough to get to you to ask. Almost. But there’s far too much pain and anger for curiosity to have its way.

“It’s what humans do,” you snap.

You start off across the street hoping he won’t follow. He does, yet he doesn’t say a word, following you silently into the cafe. You hate it. You hate him. You hate the way he smells like the cologne he used to wear in the 19th century. You hate the way he stands too close. You hate the way he gets under your skin without even saying a word. You hate everything about him so much so that you have to restrain yourself from doing anything incredibly violent in public.

“Whatever your purpose here,” you snarl, “get it done and move on. I don’t have time for you to follow me around like a lost soldier.”

The barista takes a step back, eyeing you warily. You grin back to terrify him more, hoping the fear will lift the weight on your chest.

“I’ll have a latte,” James says, immediately putting the barista at ease.

You use everything in your power not whirl around and punch him. There’s no doubt in your mind he realizes what he’s done, your two abilities complete opposites.

“I’m waiting,” he finally murmurs, “my task here isn’t an easy one.”

You actively try not to crush the dollar bills in your hand and say, “if you’re waiting for me to ask what it is, I don’t care as long as you leave me alone.”

“Very well.”

He vanishes and only a few people look up in surprise. It escapes most people’s notice, the expectation of seeing weird things on Halloween clouding their judgement. You’re left standing there, trembling. You can’t tell if it’s fury, nerves or agony. You know shouldn’t feel anything after all these years, but he’s shaken you to your core. If this is what he came here to do, then he’s succeeded. And you hate him all the more for it.

6th Century A.D

You skip through the dark streets of the village down to the docks, the massive dragon heads at every helm staring back at you. The hunger gnawing at your stomach drives your forward, anticipation growing. You’ve read their stories. You know there’s plenty of fear here to be teased out.

He drops heavy to the ground, dust flying around in a massive cloud. He widens his stance, blocking your way. You haven’t seen him in a few centuries, but you know he hasn’t forgotten your last encounter — not with that look in his eyes.

“I see you couldn’t stay away, angel,” you back into a fighting stance, readying yourself this time.

He tilts his head to the side, a predatory smirk on his face. This time he’s ready for you. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not afraid. You bested him before and you have no doubt that you will again.

He moves fast. You barely have enough time to block his hit before his next one comes. Every hit has you on the defensive, unable to gain the upper hand. You’re not discouraged though. He plays fair. You don’t. You pull out a dagger and fling it at him, causing him to stumble back in an attempt to evade the hit. His momentary distraction is enough for you to send him sprawling to the ground. Your victory doesn’t last long and the air is punched out of your lungs by the impact of your body hitting the ground.

You look up, piercing blue eyes and navy wings blocking out the night’s sky. You struggle against the weight of his body, but he’s caged you in with his thighs on either sides of yours and his hand keeping your wrists pinned over your head. He grins and you snarl at him, thrashing to get free. He leans in further so that you can no longer move.

“Don’t be foolish, demon,” he purrs, “I’ve won.”

You feel the vibration of his words through your chests and the tickle of his breath on your cheek. You glare up at him. The smirk on his face only grows.

“Then kill me, angel. I know you can do it,” you taunt, lifting your chin slightly.

Your lips are almost touching, but this time he doesn’t back away, ready for your games. Instead, he dips his head and whispers, “but how could I kill you, when you can simply vanish back to hell?”

You blink back your surprise. The only explanation is that he’s letting you go, but it can’t be…He raises a brow. Without giving him a chance to change his mind, you vanish back to hell.

You head back home, unable to get James off your mind. You don’t know why or what he’s come to earth to do, but you can’t help but think it’s a cruel joke on his part. Now that he’s no longer near you, all you feel is anger. You can’t help but also be frustrated with yourself. Every time you had imagined coming face to face with him, you had sworn you would make him pay for what he’d done. Now, you’d seen him twice already and you were so flustered and emotional that even your students wouldn’t have taken you seriously.

Your neighbour tentatively waves at you as you walk up your driveway, taken aback by your appearance. His fear, although noticeable, does nothing for your mood. You’re tempted to stay in for the night, but you refuse to let James ruin your evening. You’d gone to the town’s costume party for the last five years and tonight won’t be any different. But you’d be kidding yourself if you said it felt the same.

The slinky little black number you’d hung over your closet door this morning reminds you of all the fun you’d had in it last year. It manages to tease a small smile from your lips, and with an encouraging sigh, you get ready for the night.

As you make your way to the town hall, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll cross James there. Had this been like before, the two of you would have blended into the night, the massive energy flow of the party shielding you from being discovered. Every time you had come up from hell, James had been there. Most of your memories associated with earth had been connected to him, but now, as you look around the party you just walked into, there are memories everywhere and none are of him.

There are so many questions you want to ask him, but you know your anger will never let you. The bracelets shake on your wrist. You still don’t understand what happened — where the betrayal had come from…You had never been more mistaken in your life.

Your breath comes out in shaky gasps, fear taking over. The pain is so intense it floods your mind and all you can think of is that you’re going to die. You don’t know how you didn’t see those angels coming. Hell, you’re surprised you even managed to get out alive, but now, you’re too weak to get back to home. You try to stop the bleeding. The pressure on your wounds only makes you want to collapse. You’re going to die here. Alone. Your legs give out and the pain of hitting the ground makes you black out.

When you come to, tremors still wrack your body, but the pain is somehow bearable. You open your eyes, but you don’t immediately recognize where you are. There’s no light in the room you’re in and it’s only because of your enhanced sight that you notice the gardening tools that line the walls. You don’t try and lift your head. Instead, you search for some kind of feeling from the outside world that might tell you where you are, but there’s nothing. You pause. There’s never nothing. Everywhere on earth sways more to one side or the other…except for. You’re about to try and push yourself up, wondering how the hell you got to a place like this when he speaks.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. I couldn’t bring you anywhere you would heal faster because they would be looking for you. This is your best option until you’re well enough to go home.”

You peer through the darkness to find him, but you don’t need to see to know who brought you here. As hard as you tried, you were never able to push the angel completely out of your mind. The only thing you feel now is relief, your body’s shaking starting to slow.

“You don’t have to keep hiding in the dark,” your voice is a hoarse imitation of what it usually is, “I know you’re a terrible sight but I’m sure I’ll live.”

The sound in the dark takes you by surprise, warming your heart unexpectedly. You try to shove the feeling aside but doubt you’ll forget the sound of his little laugh any time soon.

A small lamp flickers to life, basking the room in a soft glow. The angel leans against the side wall, wings tucked tightly behind him. The shed seems too small for him and yet you doubt that’s the reason for the uneasy look in his blue eyes. If anything, you’d say he looks like he wants to retreat to the shadows.

“Thank you,” you begin, enjoying the way those two little words seem to ease the discomfort on his face, “I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

He shrugs as if what he’d done wasn’t unimaginable in almost every way. Yet, somehow you knew that if he had shown up on your doorstep, half dead from a demon attack, you would have helped him. You can’t explain it. You almost want to ask if he could, but neither of you speak up, comforted by each other’s company.

You feel your body knit itself together, his opposing essence dampened by the weight of the dead around. You’re impressed by his thinking, knowing that a cemetery is the only place that neither of your energies will affect the other.

Unsure why, only knowing that it’s what you want, you speak up hoping to hear his voice, “I’m YN,” you say, impressed that your voice has already returned to normal.

He hesitates, and for a moment you’re not sure he’ll answer, “James. You can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you echo, testing it out on your lips. He shivers and you’re momentarily surprised that angels can feel cold, “how long will you be staying here…with me?”

His answer comes quickly, “until I know you’re well enough to return home.”

You try not to look into why his words make you so happy.

His lips spread into a sly grin and you can’t help but wonder if somehow he can read your mind until he says, “after all, I believe we’re tied one-one. We can’t have other angels ruin our fun.”

“Best two out of three?” you asked with a grin to match his.

“No,” he replies. You can’t help but feel disappointed, “I’d say we have far more time than a simple two out of three.”

You hold back a laugh only because of the pain it’ll cause in your stomach, “who knew you liked losing so much.”

“We’ll just have to see,” he pauses, “YN.”

You shiver, murmuring, “yes we will.”

You’re wandering aimlessly through the party when you see them. If they weren’t so massively out of place, you would have thought you were imagining them. James and another angel are arguing at the table not far from you, the partygoers giving them a wide birth. Even the humans can sense the animosity rolling off them in waves. You almost leave, but you’re close enough that you overhear them and what the other angel says catches your attention.

“If you come back now, brother, Father will be merciful,” the angel said.

“I’m not leaving,” James widens his stance, as if he’s anticipating a fight, “not after what I’ve done.”

The angel shakes his head with disgust, “demons have no soul, James. She will not forgive you, especially after what you did.”

“I don’t deserve to be forgiven, I’m only hoping for it. And if I have to walk the earth for as long as she did or longer and she never forgives me, then it will only be what I deserve,” he barks back.

“Brother, once I leave,” the angel warns, his voice deep, “know that the next time we see each other I will hunt you down.”

There’s no room for doubt in his threat. Angels are merciless, and the only reason the other angel doesn’t cut him down right away is because of their semblance of a friendship. They both understand that.  

“If that’s what you think is right,” Bucky says.

He turns and leaves, the party-goers parting as if they can sense that he doesn’t belong in their midst.

The other angel stares after him, shakes his head and then vanishes into thin air. You’re still reeling, not sure you’ve overheard correctly, but pretty sure that Bucky has banished himself from heaven. It doesn’t erase what he’s done. You don’t want it to change anything. It shouldn’t change anything. And yet, the party is suddenly suffocating and you’re gasping for air. You look around, desperately searching for a way out. People flinch back and you can only imagine what you must look like. Even their fear is not enough to calm you down. You shove them aside, their growing anger and fear enough to keep your from stumbling, and somehow you push past the doors and make it outside.

You’re trembling, the cold air nipping at your sweaty body. Your fingers wrapped around the railing is the only thing keeping you upright. You hang your head between your shoulders, waiting for the spinning to pass. Only it doesn’t, sending you spiralling into the one memory you tried your hardest to lock away.

19th Century

You suck in a deep breath a smile. Who would have thought, out of all the centuries you had lived through so far, that the 19th century would be your favourite. You haven’t done a thing and the air is ripe with fear and paranoia, Wilde’s upcoming trial throwing London even further into a descent of panic and obsession. There’s only one other thing that would make your night perfect.

The familiar whoosh puts a grin on your face. You turn, about to ask him what took so long, but the look on his face steals the words from your mouth. Something is wrong. Your instincts scream at you to run away. You don’t understand why, because it’s just Bucky, but you stumble backward, your body moving on instinct.

He reaches out for you, pain written all over his face.

“Bucky?” you find yourself whispering, “what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything, only shakes his head as if he can’t speak. You try to quash your fear and it works enough for you to stumble over to him. He catches you in his arms before you can fall, pulling you tightly to his chest. You want to ask him what’s wrong. You want to tease him about being an uptight angel, but he’s holding you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear so you hold on even tighter. He buries his face in your neck and you almost miss it when he says, “I’m sorry.”

You feel the pain before you realize what’s happened, a deafening screech bursting from your mouth. It’s gone. Almost all your power is gone and you collapse to your knees, begging for air. Bucky stares down at you, his face impassive. You try to vanish but nothing happens. Fear rises up like bile. You scream once more but nothing happens. Bucky doesn’t move.

Two bracelets dangle on your wrists like handcuffs, locking you to this earth. You rip and pull , tearing at your own flesh to take them off, but you know it’s in vain. There’s nothing you can do to take them off.

“Bucky?” you choke, grasping for any kind of explanation.

Two angels appear at his side, staring down at you with disgust.

He tilts his head, nothing of the angel you know in his eyes, “it’s a sin for angels and demons to fraternize.”

You don’t even recognize his voice.

All you know is that he should have killed you instead. You lung for them, ready to rip them to shreds for what they’ve done, but you get kicked into the ground. Pain folds your newly weakened body in half and you gasp for air. You glare up at them with hatred, wishing for their deaths.

“This is your punishment,” he says, simply.

You curl up in a ball, tears stinging your eyes as you take the pain. You don’t know how you could have been so stupid — that he hated you so much he rather see you suffer. You want to kill him but he’s gone and your anger is leaving you just as quickly, until all your left with is an empty feeling you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to fill.

The doors burst open and you look up. Bucky stops, eyes widening when he realizes you’re here. He looks like he’s about to leave but takes a cautious step forward.

“Take another step and I don’t care how many witnesses there are…” you warn even though you know that without your full powers it isn’t a fair fight.

He lifts his hands and stops moving, eyes never leaving yours.

“Please,” he says softly, “I didn’t come to fight.”

You scoff, “I sure as hell owe you one.”

“I know. You do. But if you could just hear me out, then I’ll leave you alone,” he continues quickly, as if he’s sure you’ll be the one to vanish out of sight.

“I don’t need to hear you out,” but the conversation you overheard earlier makes you pause, “but you get thirty seconds. Go.”

He takes a step forward and points to the bracelets, “I’ve only come to take those off.”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re sure you didn’t hear him right. When you don’t move or say anything, he continues on.

“When the other angels found out about us, they ordered me to kill you. I couldn’t do it, YN. I couldn’t. I tricked them into believing that a life trapped on earth would be worse than death because I was too selfish to let you go and I thought,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “and I thought that somehow I could find a way to keep seeing you. But I’d never gotten a chance to tell you what I was planing — or to ask you what you wanted — and I knew you wouldn’t want to see me so all this time, I stayed away. I can’t let you live like this anymore, YN. If I do this now, you should be safe enough to return to your home without incident. Please, let me do this for you.”

There was no mention of the fact that he’d exiled himself to do this or that he wanted something in return for his actions, and that’s the reason you nod. It isn’t understanding, although now that you know why he had betrayed you, your anger doesn’t feel quite as raw, but something strangely like acceptance. You don’t trust yourself to speak though.

His steps are tentative as he closes the distance between you, blue eyes full of sorrow, missing the thing you could have been if only you’d been a little more careful. He stops a foot away and looks into your eyes, asking for permission. You extend your hands.

You stare up at him, feeling his calloused fingers slide gently around your wrist as he works the magic on the cuffs. HIs brows are furrowed in concentration and the longer he works at it, the more he pales. You suddenly get the feeling that these were never meant to come off and the thought fills you with more anger and some other emotion you can’t quite name.

They clatter to the floor. The weight lifts from your chest and for the first time in centuries you can breath easily again. You don’t realize you’re smiling until a small one appears on Bucky’s face

“I still hate you,” you murmur.

He dips his head slightly, “I know.”

You try to ignore the feeling of centuries of crushing yourself into his arms that comes rushing back at you, and cup his cheek instead, “maybe one day, I’ll forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he closes his eyes and leans in to your touch, “but I will be on earth, waiting if ever you do.”

And then you vanish back to hell.

[caincifer]

I've been thinking about BNA a lot lately, more specifically about how much it fuck everything up near the end. Let me explain the issues I have with the show. This post would naturally include spoilers of the show's last couple of episodes.

First of all, when you're making a show that deals with the topics of racism and oppression, deciding that the oppressed race should be a race of super human who are incredibly aggressive just for comedy sake maybe isn't the best idea.

Let's take a look on Zootopia for a second. In the movie who saw how the population where manipulated by the villain into discriminating and fearing the predators. But the thing is that this shouldn't be possible is there wasn't already some kind for distrust of the predators from the herbivores citizen. The truth is that the herbivores had already a sentiment of fear for predators that they inherited from their ancestors. THIS is how racism in the real world often works; kids are being told by their stupid parents that "this race of people is dangerous" or that "this kind of people are all criminals, murderers and rapist and you should call the police of you see one of them near the house." Of course, we have to consider that the predators in Zootopia have all claws or fangs or both, which make them look a bit threatening. But just because they have those doesn't mean they're just going to start using them to attack the other animals, just like how you won't expect a sane person to pick up a knife and start stabbing people at random on the streets. Meanwhile, Beastmen in BNA can AND WILL become violent for whatever stupid reason. After all, being aggressive and violent is something that is celebrated in their culture.

What I'm trying to say is that Zootopia does deals with the topic of racism right. The writers created a society that deals with social and racial issues in a realistic that people can relate and take SERIOUSLY. BNA doesn't do that. In the second episode of the show there is an scene where two big idiots got into a fight because they didn't want to wait in line and everyone but Michiru is like "fuck yeah, a fight! I'm so glad to see these two guys inconveniencing us all!" Honestly, what I take from that is that the Beastmen are kinda stupid. Like I wouldn't surprise if it was a common occurrence, back when the Beastmen lived with the human, that a Beastman had to be restrained by several police officers because the Beastman started beating people up in a Burger's because he didn't want to wait in line. In other words, the moment the show threw that joke, it lost the possibility to be a meaningful story that people who were discriminated in real-life could relate to.

And that wasn't even the dumbest thing the show did! No, the dumbest the show did was when the show revealed that Alan, the rich privileged rich douchebag from a powerful family, was actuy a pure-blood Beastman all along. What is a pure-blood Beastman, you ask? I don't know! the show literally introduced that concept in the last episode.

Now, let's think about this for a second. Imagine that one day Trump, or Logan Paul, or whatever rich white celebrity you hate suddenly took off a mask and say "Aha! I was a black guy all along!" Doesn't that sound like the stupidest thing in the world? It is the stupidest thing in the world and the people at Trigger did it only so the show could have a big cool-looking fight between two giant wolves in the last episode. A fight that ultimately had not weight due to it being sustained by a bunch half-baked ideas and plot twists that were dropped minutes earlier. No, Trigger. I don't care about the fight between the pure-blood Beastman Alan and mixed-blood Beastman Shirou. You literally introduced the concept of pure-blood and mixed-blood Beastmen five minutes ago. I really wish that Boris was the main villain. Like, instead of him being a pedophile who helped Alan for some reason that barely explained he was a tragic antagonist who suffered so much because of the way human traits him that he manipulated the church and Nazuna in order take revenge on human. It's a really generic idea for a main villain, and yet it's way better that the shitty plot twist that the show gave us.

Anyway, I really needed to take this out of my chest. If I have to be honest, I have very mixed feelings about the show, I'm mostly disappointed by the direction the story during its second half. In the end BNA reminded a lot of Darling in the Franxx. Both started off as very promising shows but ended up shooting themselves in the foot really badly. Ok, maybe not as bad as Darling in the Franxx, but I certainly think BNA could have done things a lot better. And it's a shame because I really like the characters, the setting, the art-style and the music. It just that the writing was so flawed.

Finally, I have to say that this is just my personal opinion about the show. I'm sure there are a lot of people who were discriminated and oppressed all their life and probably related to the struggle of the Beastmen. In that case, I'm very glad about them.

[kob131]

https://spectralscathath.tumblr.com/post/190909103203/fight-analysis-rwby-vs-ace-ops

So let’s start with the set up for the fight, specifically, these quotes from Marrow and Harriet.

Marrow: We’re not actually going to slug this out, are we?

Harriet: We’re not doing anything. They decide what happens next.

This puts a heavy emphasis on the fact that team RWBY starts this fight. They are the aggressors in this situation, which then makes it both incredibly cowardly and utterly manipulative when, seconds into the Harriet vs Ruby fight,

Hold it hold it hold it.

How come you don’t mention the music in the background or the alternative to Team RWBY here? The foreboding music indicating a fight is inevitable and the alternative is Team RWBY being arrested while leaving people to do, something fundamentally against their morals?

That line is more of a confrontation Team RWBY will be offensive instead of being ‘the aggressors’ (AKA negative connotation).

... This is gonna be intensely biased in the Ace Ops favor isn’t it?

Ruby: Come on, Harriet! We’re playing right into Salem’s hands! You know we need to be working together!

A quick aside, Ruby’s voice is pitched up with this line, compared to her earlier bragging that the Ace Ops aren’t the best anymore. Her cocky smirk is replaced by a wide-eyed, fearful look, and I’d like to point out that this only happened after Harriet landed the first blow of the fight, kicking Ruby into the elevator doors. This is entirely faked, purely because Ruby’s suddenly realised that Harriet poses a threat and is trying to put on her cute ‘I’m just an innocent kid don’t hurt me’ act, while also trying to heap all the blame of this fight onto Harriet.

Her tone was also pitched up when she was talking into her school. That’s the result of raising her voice. To say nothing of how her look is PLEADING in nature, not FEARFUL.

Harriet doesn’t take any of this crap, thank the good lord, and decides to put her focus on pummelling the ever-loving aura out of Ruby.

... I really should just ignore you huh?

And boy, does she manage it. I went through and counted every single blow landed in each fight, so let’s start the blow-by-blow, literally. I’ll focus on each specific match-up one at a time, to properly break it down.

Yeah huh, sure. And Tyrian would be unbiased moderator in a debate between Ozpin and Salem right?

I’ll just keep the Ace Ops fight open in another tab so I can peer into reality.

Also, just so we’re all on the same page, I am a trained martial artist, having studied Karate (specifically Zen Do Kai), and boxing. Let’s keep this in mind as we analyse this fight.

Also keep the rest of what they’ve said in mind as well, as in ‘I have already shown an intense bias for the Ace Ops’ so you really shouldn’t be listen to.

Hits Taken Harriet: 2 Ruby: 7-8

Wanna know what isn’t counted? The amount of time or the number of times Harriet and Ruby used their semblances. Wanna know long/many times Ruby used her semblance? Five times. Two times for extended distances, once for a quick defensive deflect and two for split second dodges and maneuvers. The longest being 7 seconds. 

Harriet? Fuck, I don’t even know how to measure her because EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES is using her Semblance. She uses it CONSTANTLY. So naturally, her aura would drain faster.

Does the OP consider this?

Now, if we take into account aura levels, we are aware that Harriet’s are noticeably lowered, as seen from her fight with the Megoliath. She and Ruby are both using their semblances a lot, hard to say who’s using theirs more. Possibly Harriet, but Ruby isn’t far behind.

Fuck no, they keep it VAGUE so you don’t see how much Harriet uses her Semblance. 

I shouldn’t even consider the rest of this post considering how FLAGRENT this shit is, but we’ll move on.

Hit 2: Harriet kicks Ruby in the chest with both feet.  (Some of these screenshots are hilarious but I’m doing it as categorical proof of the hits)

Yeah, see how Harriet’s feet are ON Crescent Rose?

That’s a block. So -1 hit.

Hit 3: The next one is a little hard to count, as it’s the shot where Harriet blitzes by Ruby. The first hit is hard to tell if it connects or not, while the second hit most definitely does, meanwhile Ruby blocks the third strike. The first of these is the only hit that is ambiguous.

Yeah, it looks that way in screenshots...in animation Ruby doesn’t react correctly, meaning she wasn’t hit AT ALL. So -1 as well here too.

Hit 5: Harriet restrains Ruby’s hands behind her back, enough to cause Ruby pain. However, that is an unfortunate side-effect of having arms pinned in that manner, so I’m not going to call it excessive. After all,

Harriet: It’s not excessive if it’s necessary.

Quick fuck you: This can be said of Team RWBY fighting the Ace Ops, necessary to defeat them and try and save as much as Mantle as possible.

It’d be reductionist but that’s OP’s speciality at this point.

Hit 6: Ruby escapes Harriet’s pin, ties the bolas around Harriet, before yanking Harriet backwards into Ruby’s uppercut to the spine, which appears to go near the area of Harriet’s nape and the back of her head. (I’ll come back to this)

Yeah, that’s a pretty serious hit. Most people would suffer serious pain from that. OP even tries pointing this out as a failing of RUBY.

Yeah. That one. I study in Australia, which, had a certain event happen that leads me to be somewhat biased against punches specifically to the nape/back of head, you know, that place where your spine meets your skull? From Wikipedia, just for a basic rundown: ‘During 2013 and 2014, significant media attention was paid to two violent killings involving one-hit punches in Australia. Noting that 91 people had died in Australia in the previous fourteen years from brain trauma as a result of being so hit, a media campaign was launched to refer to them as coward punches.’

91 people. Yep.

So, if I sound like I disrespect Ruby for the single hit she landed, while Harriet seems to get a pass for punching Ruby in the back and the throw to the ground, I would like to point out first of all, Harriet only started going for attacks to the head and neck area after she had been restrained, in which case she is trying to put Ruby down hard and fast. Secondly, Ruby not only pulled Harriet backwards into the uppercut, she’s fucking grinning.

How triumphant. None of the Ace Ops show this level of glee at landing hits, I’m just saying. Also, calling back to Harriet’s line about it not being excessive if it’s necessary, Harriet was at that point restrained, only showing she is capable of fighting despite that after being punched. While hitting Harriet may not have been excessive, you would also think that perhaps a leg sweep, or a kick to the back of the knee, would be enough to stop her, instead of a King Hit, specifically one that Harriet could not have even tried to block due to how her arms are tied.

Rant about my own personal biases towards coward punches is over let’s continue the actual analysis now that I’ve copped to it

P.S. No admission of your self evident bias for the Ace Ops? yeah, not gonna buy this.

Hit 7: Harriet headbutts Ruby in the face. This one doesn’t have an impact SFX like a lot of hits do, but the way Ruby reels back makes it clear Harriet connected the blow

Notice how OP doesn’t have an image here?

Yeah, -1 again.

Hit 9: Harriet runs into Weiss’s ice wall, her aura is shattered, and she is knocked unconscious.

What isn’t shown: Harriet running head first USING HER SEMBLANCE (which makes her faster than Ruby in close quarters) into a thick ice wall.

For demonstration: run as fast you can, leaning into it, at a wall of ice. Actually don’t because people have DIED from that too. And we don’t have super quick powers in INCREASE the damage.

But how, the pray tell fuck, does Ruby apparently have enough aura to tank at least 7 hits, most of which are kicks, from a combat-trained runner, and come out smiling? Tyrian gave her a few scratches and one kick to the stomach and that had her aura flickering. Now, yes, Tyrian is on a level all his own that only Qrow and maybe Clover can match, but also; are you fucking kidding me?

Difference: Ruby used her semblance a fuckton, Tyrian is probably stronger than Harriet considering he was equal to QROW and could block bullets with his tail FROM SOUND ALONE. 

Ruby barely used her semblance in comparison to Harriet spamming the thing while the OP says she had LESS Aura.

All while taking FOUR hits, maybe 5 since OP manipulated shit.

Suddenly doesn’t seem so implausible huh?

Ruby’s a speed fighter/sniper, a DPS main, and I’m supposed to believe she’s all of a sudden more of a tank then Yang?

Because fictional characters in a world without definitive roles unlike an RPG fit neatly into all roles and not like certain circumstances gave Ruby more durability that you CONVIENENTLY ignored.

So… yeah. Take that bit as you will.

Take it as an indication you’re biased as fuck? Okay.

Anyway. Shall we move onto the next round?

You’ve sunk your creditability with that last fight and I REALLY shouldn’t listen anymore out of sheer offense at the lack of principles here, but fine,

Blake and Yang vs Elm and Vine

Hits Taken Blake: 4 Yang: 4 Vine: 3 Elm: 4

Ah huh, what is said about Semblances?

Okay, so. Elm and Vine use their semblances liberally enough, while Blake and Yang barely use their semblances outside of finishing moves. I’ll grant them all that.

...After all that with Harriet and Ruby, you don’t even BOTHER discussing the use of semblances?....

You know, they don’t even really ANALYZE the fight. Wanna know what they say beyond stating hits (NOT a good indicator of whose winning)?

And aside from the suicide bomber attack, this fight is solid enough, animation-wise at least. Elm proves herself to be an absolute goddamn beast of a woman whom I love, but… it’s a little sad that the only hits Blake makes are team attacks. Once again, even worse then it was with Bees v Adam, Yang carries the fight while Blake is near-useless, aside from a few token team attacks.

I do wish Elm was more of a tank, though. It’s what she deserves.

Honestly, this feels so INSULTING. What, you didn’t have problems so you skipped the fight effectively? Analysis doesn’t mean ‘bitching about what I don’t like’, I learned NOTHING from this. 

All I can say is-

It’s not even necessary? Anyone remember this handy lil trick Blake has?

Look at that! It’s an exploding clone that doesn’t rely on someone else to pull the pin on the bomb!

What the actual fuck was the point of this move, other then to make me worry about Blake’s mental health? Who approved this? Who said ‘what’s the ultimate show of trust? Having the former member of a terrorist group put bombs on herself that someone else detonates! Brilliant!’

This is utterly bizarre.

Just sayin’.

Blake’s clones are BLATANT when infused with Dust. Vine wouldn’t have fallen for it.

Weiss vs Marrow

Hm. Hmmm. Well. Weiss got her first solo fight win. Unfortunately,

Harriet: Marrow! Cut the crap, will you?

Marrow: I’m trying to arrest her, not kill her, Hare!

Her opponent was holding back. Looks like Weiss’s special power is still ‘losing every fight she’s in with an opponent who’s not self-sabotaging’.

Marrow: I know you Schnees are used to getting what you want. But it's time to let this one go!

Yeah, don’t buy it.

Hits taken Weiss: 0 Marrow: 1

Yep.

Weiss takes no hits, at all, while Marrow blocks and dodges every single one of Weiss’s hits aside from the last. I’m serious. So I can’t go by hits for this one, I need to go by attacks.

So you say basically nothing about the actual fight but the dodgefest you say more? Really?

Hm. Yes. Hmmm. There’s some rather, shall we say, unfortunate implications here, since this looks, to me, rather more like an execution than anything else. As pointed out to me by a friend, when I showed them these screenshots, Marrow’s posture in the last is a very submissive pose. Head down, tail drooped, arm slack, reliant on external support (his boomerang), and kneeling. Also, what is with Ruby and Weiss and going for the back of the head?

He JUST got done dealing with the Knight and had to use his Semblance to stop it. After dodging and blocking a fuckton of hits. After all of the shit with the Grimm before. For someone trying to make the Ace Ops look as innocent as possible, why would you ignore how tired he must be?

Also that isn’t an execution pose. You have to be aiming for the NECK for an execution, not the HEAD. 

There’s also the unusually heavy focus on Marrow’s tail getting burnt, and this tone-deaf line, if we’re going to point out all the ‘faunus racism’ implications that show up.

Marrow: I know you Schnees are used to getting what you want, but it’s time to let this one go.

Weiss: This is my home, and I’m not giving it up without a fight.

...

You mean like when Kefla was launching her barrage of lazers at Ultra Instinct Omen Goku and they focused on his hair just barely getting grazed? It’s to emphasize how close the attack was.

Weiss, honey, you’re from Atlas. Mantle is a separate city. Twin cities, at the most, but you’re Atlesian. Also, this came right the heck out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere in Weiss’s arc this season were we getting anything about her giving a damn about Mantle beyond ‘I kill grimm there’.

... HER ENTIRE ARC IS ABOUT CARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE!

And, just because unfortunate and hopefully accidental implications are the order of the day on Weiss vs Marrow, she’s saying this to the faunus that’s managed to get racism humansplained to him by the same woman who calls him ‘Wags’ as a funny nickname.

Sorry, I don’t speak wet farts.

Seriously, how the fuck is this a racism thing when Weiss is assumed to be someone who always gets her way, even in THIS Volume.

Weiss: Don't you think "tyranny's" a little dramatic?

Forest turns around to respond and looks surprised upon realizing who had just spoken.

Forest: Easy to say for a Schnee heiress, living comfortably up in Atlas.

Weiss: (sighing sadly) Not anymore.

Marrow deserves more respect than this, guys. I don’t even want to get into how bizarre it is that the final shot of his defeat puts the focus on his shackles, putting them even more in the foreground then Marrow himself. That’s just weird.

To emphasize he has them. Dumb I know but considering this post’s bullshit, you guys kind of earned it.

To conclude:

Ruby should have gotten her aura broken three hits in, sorry not sorry. Ruby is also a cold-cocking manipulative lil brat who has lost even the dregs of my respect for her. What a shame.

Which was complete horseshit beyond even Adel Aka or Dudeblade.

Harriet and Elm’s defeats seemed to have been framed in ways that were meant to be a little humiliating, with Harriet making dumb faces as she passes out and Elm landing in an awkward position. I disapprove of this. I would prefer if they were defeated with dignity.

It’s called humor.

Blake continues to be a useless damsel in distress in Actually Important Fights, while Yang is Angry All The Time and does all the heavy lifting.

That had fuck all to do with what you said, and as if being evasive and wasting enemy resources and acting as support for one of the BIGGEST HEAVY HITTERS IN THE SERIES is bad?

Weiss v Marrow has some weird implications that make me uncomfortable.

Which says more about you than anything else.

Credit where credit’s due: the voice acting, sound design, and the fight animation was great. Do I think the Ace Ops should have won? I would have found it more interesting, to be sure. Can I live with team RWBY winning? I can, but I could have done without the smugness.

Smugness you inserted.

Is there anything I would have changed? Bees vs Elm and Vine was fine, but I’d have either made it Ruby v Marrow and Weiss v Harriet (for a speedster vs Schnee fight, and a Lil Rd vs the Wolf fight), or would have let Harriet break Ruby’s aura.

Instead of personal stakes, bland ideas! Wonderful!

Also: War should and hopefully will be an Ace Ops’ song, not a team RWBY song. If anyone got betrayed here, the Ace Ops were the ones who put their trust into four liars who hid vital information and had the gall to act offended when they got told what a dick move said information-withholding was.

*insert equally shitty take about Ace Ops with bias in favor of Team RWBY here.*

Anyway, thanks for reading, I’d love to hear other thoughts on the matter. Ta, luvs.

Which is why the reblogs do nothing but regurgitate what you said while I’m blocked.

Speaking of reblogs....

https://jadekitty777.tumblr.com/post/190942492544/fight-analysis-rwby-vs-ace-ops

A lovely read dear! I’d also like to add, just because I was curious:

During the Qrow &Tyrian Vs Clover fight, I decided to do my best to count the amount of hits Clover and Qrow took.

I’m going to start with Qrow - he took about 5. One toss and 4 punches, mostly to the face (jeez Clover, I thought you liked his pretty face lol). Keep in mind Qrow is also primarily more a close-range fighter and took front lead in the Tyrian fight in the episode prior AND just went through a plane crash. The same plane crash that knocked Robyn unconscious - despite the fact she was only back-up during the other fight  and hadn’t been down in Mantle during the evacuation efforts up until the end to lure Tyrian out. The point is, his aura should be hurting, but it doesn’t even flicker.

For Clover? It added up to be about 11-12 - one of which was a point blank shotgun blast to the chest, 3-4 hits from Tyrian’s bullets in the back, and one more sword slice from Harbinger to his back.  I highlight those ones because they’d be the hardest to tank. The rest were various kicks and punches, most to his face and midsection.

(Also really Qrow,you should not be surprised Clover’s aura broke. You guys were killing him).

But the point I want to make is… Clover was down in Mantle just like the rest of the ops fighting for who knows how long before they went for Tyrian - considering they were coming back only slightly behind team RWBY and the others, we can surmise only maybe an hour or so they diverted to deal with our little scorpion. It’s also worth mentioning that ALL of our team members have been up an entire night and these fights in c12 happened closer to dawn, considering the sunrise at the episode’s end. They are all equally exhausted.

So to circle back around: Clover got struck with double to triple the hits his own team got - a full team of Atlas specialists. It feels like Clover is the only one who seems to be treated like he’s on Qrow’s level, wherein they really ALL should be at his level. Instead, it’s like the rest of the Ops had to be significantly nerfed to be beaten by Team RWBY.

If you want me to believe Team RWBY can beat them, then you also have to make me believe they can beat Qrow. And yeah, I don’t.

...

Clover never used his Semblance.

Qrow hits harder than ANYONE.

He was also attacked by Tyrian.

And Qrow was in a PLANE CRASH.

Fucking hell, this is one of the worst analysises I’ve read. Yes, including RWDE slock.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch1

Arrival

The brutal murderer V is the newest arrival at Mundus Psychiatric Hospital where you work with the most violent of criminals. Can you help him find peace, or will his machinations pull you into his dark web?

CONTENT WARNING - mental illness, blood, murder, hallucinations, dubious consent, lots of dark thinking.

Word count - 4,261

___________

---Reader---

“Shit, he’s got a knife!”

Five words you never wanted to hear while working in a psychiatric hospital.

They sent you straight into high alert, scanning the lobby and intake area for the threat. Only a few visiting family members and orderlies occupied the room. Still, because of the constrained space it took a moment to find the culprit. Your eyes widened when you spotted the slim figure at last.

A tattooed man with black hair, he brandished the blade before him with a gleeful smile, his green eyes lit with crazed mirth. He sliced at the person closest to him, leaving a line of dark red on her white sleeve.

Fuck! This looks bad…

Yet you didn’t intervene. Instead, you ducked lower behind the intake counter to hide, trying not to draw attention to yourself as you picked up the red phone and dialed the security office. Protocol dictated it, and despite your fascination with the potential new patient you knew better than to ignore the rules. While the line connected, you peeked over the counter to watch the chaos.

The man with the knife had his teeth bared as his green eyes swept the room, searching for something. The three orderlies present were standing between him and the visitors, hands held high in a non-threatening pose. You recognized Kevin and Rob and smirked. They were both experts in de-escalation; that’s why they worked in intake so often.

The third man looked scared, a new face you weren’t yet familiar with. He didn’t hide his fear at all, and the attacker easily picked up on his inexperience. The knife flashed toward him, aimed right for his heart. You held your breath, anticipation flooding your senses as both Kevin and Rob darted forward, each grappling one arm.

Kevin wrapped a meaty fist over the man’s bicep, his other hand applying pressure to his extended wrist as the blade grazed the third orderlies chest. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white and the black-haired stranger’s fingers opened against his will. The knife clattered to the floor and Kevin kicked it away as a nurse came running with a set of restraints.

Over already.

A sigh of disappointment slipped through your lips. Contrary to popular belief, working in a mental institution was incredibly boring. Routine and stability were crucial to patient recovery, and the monotony of it made you restless. Not that you wanted people to get hurt, but a little break in the tedium was nice.

“This is Aaron, what’s the issue?”

“Oh! Uh, Kevin’s got a violent patient restrained in intake. Two minor injuries, but nothing serious,” you replied.

“On my way.”

The phone went dead and you set it back into the cradle, monitoring the tense situation as Kevin and Rob forced the stranger into the restraint system. The crazed man repeated the same words over and over as they tightened the straps.

“A land of sorrows and of tears where never a smile was seen!”

You smiled. This guy would be interesting.

__________________

The second your replacement arrived, you headed for the director’s office. You held up your badge to Lenny with a smile and he waved as he buzzed you past the double gate, allowing you into the administrative wing. Within moments, you were knocking on Dr. Malphas’ door.

“Come in.”

You couldn’t hide your excitement as you entered your boss’s office, taking a seat on the comfortable armchair in front of his desk. Dr. Malphas was an odd fellow, elderly and kind. He was the one who hired you straight out of college, despite the lack of experience on your resume. He closed the navy file before him and gave you a grandfatherly smile, folding his hands over the desk to meet your gaze.

“I want the guy from this morning,” you blurted. He chuckled and removed his glasses, using the backside of his tie to clean them.

“I knew you would. He does seem like he needs your special touch. How’s your case load?”

You hummed thoughtfully, reviewing the patients you were already working with.

“I could hand one or two to Dr. Mustafa, one of his just got discharged.”

He gave the lenses one last wipe and carefully placed his glasses back on his face. They made his eyes look bigger, buglike and you smirked. He knew what they did, and he loved it.

“Make it two, I have a feeling this guy will take up a fair amount of your time. Once he’s stable, feel free to begin.”

You beamed and nodded, eagerly accepting the file he held out for you to peruse. The name on the tab made no sense, and you stared back at your supervisor quizzically.

“His name is V? That’s it?”

“That’s all the court provided.”

Weird.

You stood and inclined your head. “I’ll go get to work. Thanks, boss!”

Dr. Malphas chuckled again and waved you off as you hurried out the door, already scanning the file.

Court ordered admission, patient murdered a family of three. Damn, the kid was only five…

You barely acknowledged Lenny in your rush to get back to your office on the third floor. Over the last few years, you’d developed a reputation for your ability to help the very worst of patients, specializing in criminals with violent tendencies. They fascinated you, especially serial killers. If you used the textbook definition, this “V” didn’t fall into that category since all his known kills had occurred in a single evening.

But I’d bet a month’s salary he’s got more skeletons in the closet. They always do.

You grinned; you couldn’t wait to get started.

__________________

It didn’t take long for you to choose two patients to transfer, and as you gathered the required files in your office, you heard approaching footsteps. Only an hour had passed since V’s arrival; it was probably the orderlies bringing him to his cell. You grabbed your badge and scurried out to watch.

They were easy to spot in the hallway through the glass of the security checkpoint. Two bulky men in blue scrubs dragging a third, much smaller man in white between them. Kevin’s annoyed grimace helped you recognize him, and Aaron was unmistakable due to his mountainous form.  You waved at Ben and he buzzed you through with a shake of his head.

You stepped into the hallway and kept out of their way, content to listen to the man’s growled oaths.

“I’ll destroy you for this. I will flay the flesh from your bones and make you watch, I’ll use your blood as bath water!”

“Sure you will, buddy,” Kevin replied.

V snarled like an animal, gnashing his teeth and writhing against the two men’s tight hold of him. He contorted until his eyes locked on yours, and he froze as if a cattle prod had hit him. You expected him to continue his tirade of threats, but he fell silent and tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brow in thought.

Huh… interesting reaction.

You held his gaze unflinchingly and waited, curious to see what happened next. The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk and for the first time you noticed how damn attractive he was. It was hard to look past the madness in his expressions, but once you did it was impossible to ignore.

What a waste.

You followed the three men without thought, your inquisitiveness too strong to resist. Kevin and Aaron dragged V’s newly compliant body into his cell, strapping his limbs down until further notice. It was standard procedure with a new high secure patient; people didn’t end up in your care unless they were a danger not just to themselves, but to society.

“Now, are you going to cooperate and take these or do we have to sedate you?” Aaron asked, holding out a paper cup with V’s first dose of Seroquel. You watched from the doorway as his eyes narrowed, considering his options.

Please be smart, please be smart, please be smart…

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he opened his mouth obediently to accept the medication.

Yes!

Kevin leaned forward to check his cheeks and smiled kindly when he found them empty.  

“Good man,” he said, then turned to you. “What’s up, doc? He one of yours?”

“As of today!”

“Well, good luck. Hope you can reach him,” Aaron answered. He gestured at Kevin and the two men departed. With V tied down under three levels of restraints, there was no need for them to stay and monitor him. You stepped closer, pulling out the chair from under the desk and plopping down to begin.

“All right… V… I’m Dr. Waras. I’m here to help you get better.”

You paused, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment of your words, but V kept his eyes glued to the pale ceiling overhead. You cleared your throat, but still he didn’t respond.

What the hell? He was talking a few minutes ago.

After another moment of silence, you started to get worried. He hadn’t even blinked. You leaned forward, coming into his line of sight. You chewed the inside of your cheek at the emptiness of his expression.

“V? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

His tattoos were extraordinary and you couldn’t help but glance at the intricate patterns on his arms. The dark lines looked tribal, like war paint in a way. You tilted your head and called his name again, with no result.

You leaned closer, bringing your mouth next to his ear. Even his head was strapped to the bed, the poor bastard…

“V? Hello?”

He’s not dead, is he?

You extended your hand and felt for a pulse, your fingertips pressing into his neck gently. There was a normal rhythm, nothing out of the ordinary. You moved your fingers to check his airflow, hovering under his nostrils as the telltale exhalation crossed your skin. He still hadn’t blinked and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

A catatonic episode. Pretty intense, from the looks of it. Poor guy.

---V---

The scent of blood was overwhelming, but all he saw was white. Where was that delicious aroma coming from? He hoped it was fresh; the color became dull after only a few hours.

“V? Hello?”

Sensations filtered in one by one. Warm pressure on his neck. A thin cushion under him, something wrapped around his wrists and ankles. V struggled to gather his wits, his thinking sluggish and disorganized. The aroma grew stronger and he stifled a moan as the source revealed itself to him – a woman in a white coat, leaning over his prone body. Her fingers were held under his nose.  

Irresistable.

V slipped his tongue past his teeth and between his lips, taking a delightful lick of your fingers with a pleased hum. You retreated with a grimace and pulled a napkin from your pocket to wipe away his saliva. He blinked, savoring the saltiness of your flesh.

I should’ve bitten… damn.

The restraints limited his vision, but every flash of your slim fingers against the white fabric made him want another taste. You tucked away the napkin and opened a thin blue folder.

“R- right. I’m Dr. Waras. Do you know where you are?”

He smirked; he’d rattled you. V reveled in the sense of power it gave him to know only a momentary caress of his tongue had caused such a reaction. His nerves vibrated, anticipating all the fun he could have with you.

What other reactions can I elicit?

He wiggled his arms and legs, testing his range of motion. Only a few inches, far from the distance required. Damn. He’d have to remedy that, somehow.

“Can you speak?”

Ah, I suppose I should play along for now.

“I can. What’s your name?”

You frowned. “I just told you, I’m Dr. Waras. Are you having trouble remembering?”

“I meant your first name.”

You sighed, pursing your lips for a moment before answering. “If I tell you, will you answer my questions?”

V hummed, pretending to think while inside he celebrated his first victory. He hoped you’d prove amenable, but this was almost too easy.

“I will,” he replied with a false smile.

“Y/N. Now, do you know where you are?”

“Y/N,” he purred. He liked the way it sounded, a delightful arrangement of letters. It echoed in his mind, becoming a mantra as he closed his eyes to bask in a plethora of imagined situations where he could say your name again.

You shifted your weight. He wondered if it was from discomfort or if you enjoyed hearing your name roll from his lips. He said it again, testing. A pulse of blood rushed down to his cock as he envisioned decorating your flesh with little cuts, thin lines of red trailing across your skin. He repeated your name again, letting a hint of his arousal color his voice.

You shifted your weight again. He wished his head was free, wished he could see if you were angling your body against the chair to ease the ache…

I think she likes it!

“Hush, Griffon!” he cried, angry at the interruption. Just when he was getting to know you…

“Griffon? Who is Griffon?” you questioned him.  

“Now see what you’ve done? You ruined it! Accursed demon!”

“Demon? V, tell me who you’re talking to.”

The coil of heat in his belly flickered away, extinguished by Griffon’s untimely words. V growled his frustration and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the images he’d conjured. But it was no use, he couldn’t shake his annoyance. He’d lost the precious moment.

“Hey, stay with me. Come on, V,” you said. A warm hand came to rest on his forearm; a gesture of reassurance.

He instinctually tried to turn his head to meet your eyes and growled a second time as he met resistance. Being restrained was infuriating. To limit his freedom, how dare you! He would destroy you for this, no matter how good you tasted.

“If you can calm down and focus, I can take the head strap off.”

He froze, surprised by the proposition. Perhaps you would prove more entertaining than he expected? He revised his strategy and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes. He held his body as still as he could, projecting calmness as convincingly as he was able. It did not come easily to him.

Regardless, you swallowed the bait and reached out to loosen the thick band of leather holding his skull in place. He waited until you pulled aside the straps to lie flat on either side of the mattress, then turned his head to face you fully. You smiled kindly.

Those features would look even more lovely if I twisted them in fear.

“So. Do you know where you are?”

V rolled his eyes. Such mundane questions you asked, what did it matter if he knew his whereabouts? But he had to play the game, at least for now.

“Unless the judge changed his mind, I would assume this to be Mundus Psychiatric Hospital,” he replied.

“Yes. You’re currently in the high secure wing, but depending on your progress we may be able to get you to mid secure. I’m in charge of your treatment.”

He smirked. “Then I’ll see you regularly?”

You shifted your weight again, and this time he could see your motions. He licked his lips.

“Every day. Next question – do you remember what happened in the lobby when you arrived?”

The image of the knife flashing, its tip sinking into flesh and drawing blood sent him reeling. Such a beautiful sight, why did the fools have to interrupt him? Such a pity. It was the first chance he’d had in months to create another masterpiece, only to be wrestled into submission against his will and drugged.

They will pay.

---Reader---

It was child’s play to catch the gleam of pleasure in V’s eyes, hear the way his breathing hitched at the reminder. Not only did he remember, he felt no shame or guilt. No, he enjoyed it. You shivered, a surge of adrenaline flooding your system as you eyed this incredibly dangerous man.

“I remember nothing,” he said.

He’s lying. But why?

“What would it take for you to release my legs? They’re growing stiff.”

You tapped your pen against your lips. With this type of patient, it may be wise to let him think he had control of the situation, put him at ease. Overconfident. Then, he might open up and give you the details you needed to treat him properly. It was a risk, it always was. Completely against protocol.

But if it works…

“Answer three questions and I’ll untie one leg. Another three, and I’ll do the other one.”

Even if he lies, it’s still valuable information.

“Deal. What would you like to know, Y/N?”

You almost dropped your pen at the low rumble of your name over his lips. It truly was a waste, to see such an attractive man like this. Tied up. Caged. He could’ve chosen any other path, but here he was. You sighed, trying to focus. What did you want to know?

Let’s start with an easy one.

“What’s your full, legal name? It can’t be just V.”

He chuckled, his mouth stretching over his teeth in amusement. “I truly couldn’t tell you.”

Clever bastard. He knows I’ll have to waste more questions to get the full answer. Is it worth it?

You pursed your lips, thinking. This stage of treatment was critical. It established the parameters for the duration of his time here, whether he would see you as an authority figure deserving his respect and trust, or if you’d be nothing more than a naïve fool in his eyes.

“Okay. Who is Griffon?”

His smile vanished. It seemed like you’d caught him off guard by your easy change of topic, like he’d expected you to pursue his name. You smirked and waited for his answer.

“Griffon is a demonic bird. He speaks to me occasionally.”

Audio hallucinations, got it. This might be the last time he answers, better make it a good one.

“Okay. Why did you kill that family?”

V bared his teeth and growled like an animal. His eyes flashed and for a moment you thought he wouldn’t answer. His hands clenched and he tugged at the restraints, but at last he spoke.

“They were supposed to be my masterpiece. That’s three.”

You shook your head. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

He sighed, grimacing briefly in irritation. When he opened his eyes again, he looked so different it stole your breath. The anger, the playfulness, the energy from before had disappeared. Only mournful resignation remained. You leaned forward, pen poised to write his response.

“I wish I remembered.”

Huh. I think he’s telling the truth.

You sat back, surprised by the honest expression he still wore. It was clear he was intelligent, and liked to play games. When he licked your fingers, you first saw the gleam of humor tinting his green gaze. The memory sent another shiver up your spine and you rubbed your fingers together to remind yourself the wetness was gone. There was no way he knew how sensitive your fingertips were, it had to be a coincidence.

“That’s three,” V reminded you.

Right. Here goes nothing.

You scooted closer and unhooked the cuff from the anchor, letting his leg have full range of motion. He groaned suggestively and stretched, overextending his knee until it popped. Lips pursed again, you retreated to allow him the room to lift his leg high and stretch his thigh muscles.

“Would you be so kind?”

You shook your head. No way in hell were you letting him dictate the situation.

“Not unless you answer an extra question.”

His leg trembled and he clicked his tongue, but nodded.

“Do you ever find it difficult to concentrate?”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion and you internally celebrated. Such an ambiguous question would challenge him to decide if a lie was necessary. He remained silent for a long moment, long enough that he lowered his leg to rest. You knew the second he decided and watched his pupils to see if they dilated.

“Never.”

Lie.

Still, he never agreed to tell the truth, so you stepped closer to lift his leg into an assisted stretch. His eyes rolled back into his head and he whined, making a sound so lewd you dropped his calf in shock. You pursed your lips as he smirked at you tauntingly.

All right, time to teach him a lesson.

You darted forward and clipped his leg back into place, grimly amused at his growl of frustration as you stepped back again and gathered your things.

“I think that’s enough for now. I’m sure we’ll make more progress tomorrow,” you said.

He laughed and winked at your departing from. “I’ll be counting the moments, Y/N…”

---V---

Once you were gone, V set his mind on planning. He had to escape, that much was obvious. If he remained here to languish, his masterpiece would never be completed.

Unacceptable.

He tugged at his restraints with an irritated growl, testing their strength. The leather was durable and thick, but perhaps he could sabotage the buckles? Assuming he had a moment of freedom to do so… He’d need to be fast. A distraction would help, as well, but how?

He lifted his head as high as he could, straining to get a look at the rest of the small room. There wasn’t much to see. He deduced the existence of bars over the small window based on the pattern of shadows across the plain beige walls. As expected, considering his supposed crimes. Besides the cot, his only furniture consisted of a cheap wooden desk and the chair you had used during your visit.

Not much to work with, pal. You’re gonna need help.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied aloud, rolling his eyes in derision.

How about that cute doctor? She seemed to like you.

“Possible, though it would take a fair amount of time. I’d have to go slowly…”

He fell silent, recalling how cooperative you’d been earlier. There was definite potential there, but V wasn’t one to leave all his eggs in one basket, so to speak. Other allies must be found.

But how to turn you to his side? How to convince you he could be trusted?

Ugh. I don’t have to exhibit docility, do I?

She wouldn’t believe it after the knife thing.

“A valid point.”

So, he’d have to turn you. V truly believed everyone had the capacity to discover the truth that only he seemed to know. Perhaps you simply needed a guide to show you the way?

He smirked, his eyes glittering in wicked amusement. A rush of blood flooded his cock as he envisioned himself teaching you just how much pressure to use when slicing at flesh, the perfect grip for every blade. He licked his lips as he pictured the look of joy in your eyes at your first stroke, discovering the release for yourself. It would be magnificent, ethereal to taste the blood of your shared victims on your lips. He would fuck you until you couldn’t speak in a pool of crimson, your bodies serving as paintbrushes against the canvas of the floor.

He hissed and tried to arch his hips, but the strap over his waist held tight. His cock strained against the rough white fabric of his pants and he shifted his weight, just enough to get a little friction against the head. Enough to imagine how you’d look, licking a mixture of white and red from his length. You’d be so beautiful with streaks of blood left wherever he touched you.  True artistry.

Gods, how he wanted to touch himself. This was such exquisite torture. He wondered if you knew the effect you had on him, if you might even be watching from somewhere as he writhed and moaned, his cock tenting just inches below the accursed strap.

Calm yourself, fool. Do not allow your lust to destroy your plans.

“Fuck off, Vergil!” he snarled to the cold, disembodied voice. The bastard only ever spoke up to insult him.

Or to keep you from self-destructing.

V growled. So many disruptions today! Sometimes being the only one they could talk to was immensely irritating. Once you were able to hear them too, perhaps he’d finally get some peace. For now, there was only one sure-fire way to get Vergil to leave him alone. He smirked and licked his lips.

“Jackpot.”

…fine. Have it your way.

He grinned gleefully, victorious. Yet the interruption had already done its damage; the tent was gone, his cock limp and lifeless once more. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

Soon, I will have satisfaction.

He tugged at the restraints again and sighed. This would become terribly boring without something to occupy his thoughts.

A long roar rattled through his mind. Shadow. She was the most helpful of the bunch, and he smiled at her wise counsel.

“Thank you, as always,” he said. Another, much shorter roar sounded and he focused his mind on the problem at hand.

How to show you his reality, the true reality. It would shock you if he wasn’t careful, to rush the process would spell disaster. Patience was a struggle, but he needed to try. Subtlety had a higher chance at success, and his masterpiece was too important to allow failure. 

~~~Next Chapter~~~

[for-bucks-sake]

It’s A Love Story.

A/N: I snapped, you guys. I just snapped. It may seem weird at first but,,please. Bear with me.

She was just mesmerizing in the moonlight. Arms wrapped around his shoulders in a gesture that would seem romantic to any stranger walking by - Two young people sharing their love in the middle of a war - he knew it was nothing but a sweet act of a friend. Something that blended so naturally in their relationship; small touches and smiles that although were meaningless, meant everything in the world.

“I don’t see what the problem is!” Wearing her short, thick heels made her reach a near eyes level with him, and staring into those baby blues wasn’t easy, for sure. “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know there’s a three and a half million of us here?”

“Well, I’d settle for just one.” Steve looked back at the woman walking beside him, her chin tilted up and a smile brighter than the lights decorating the Science fair they were headed to. She was scared. Terrified even. How on brand of her to mask her face with feign confidence just for his sake. “I can’t believe they’re takin’ you.”

“Yeah, me neither. But, you know, they’re practically taking everybody these days.”

“Not me.”

She sighed, they have had that conversation more times than she could count, “It’s because going there would be like committing fuckin’ suicide Steve. Not like, just straight up killing yourself.”

Steve inhaled, a quick answer nearly rolling off his tongue before he decided otherwise, catching a glimpse of an ill expression on her face, “let’s just...let’s just forget it, ok? It’s your last night. We should enjoy it.” - “Please tell me if she’s alive, sir. B-A-R-“

“I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.” 

It was as if his heart sank down to his feet, his throat suddenly drier than the driest desert, and everything seemed so, so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to her. Not right now.  - An awfully suspicious man hurried down the hall, only stopping when he saw Steve. His gaze was disturbing, blood freezing. Watching intensely at him not with defiance, not even fear, but admiration. 

The small man glanced at the room he just left, ultimately deciding to escape when he saw Steve sprinting towards him. He could easily catch up, of course. But Steve heard something, it was small and uncertain, but it was something. And if that man decided that this room was worth coming back to in the middle of a riot - he should at least check it out.

Ignoring what could have been an easy catch of a man that probably would’ve been a great source of information to everyone back at the base, he then chose to follow the voice. He wasn’t there to take prisoners, after all. He only did this to find-

“Bucky?  Oh my god.” And just like that, he could breathe again, and if she wasn’t restrained to that bed like an animal, looking like she had seen a ghost, he would’ve kissed her right there and then.

“Is that…”

“It’s me, it’s Steve.” She looked like she was dreaming, staring into the abyss like she saw right through him.

“Steve?”

“Come one.”

“Steve.”

She got up, still deeply fazed, but it was really Steve there. He grabbed her face for a moment, holding it between his large hands but immediately letting go. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but it couldn’t be now.

“I thought you were dead.” He said instead, bringing his palms to caress her shoulder and  hoist her up from the table when a large bomb exploded too close to them.

“I thought you were smaller.” - The bar was dusty. Small particles of nothing were carried lazily by the air, and her first thought was that she felt just like them, moving around without real purpose, not even flying because she lacks the ability to navigate. The air is just too powerful.

Her second thought was that she was being too philosophical for this time and place, and that this joint desperately needed to be cleaned. Of both dirt and men. If she sees another hungry gaze scanning her top to bottom she might start a goddamn brawl.

Steve appeared around the corner, sporting a wide grin that dazzled her even under the unflattering light. She still had trouble recognizing him in that new look; so being used to search for the smallest man in the room, she often missed the biggest one. At least his smile stayed exactly the same, dare she even say it gotten bigger. And that smile could only mean one thing.

“See, I told you. They’re all idiots.”

“How about you?” Steve sat next to her, arms crossed on the wooden counter, “you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no.” She pursed her lips and smirked, doing anything to avoid Steve’s eyes, “that little guy from Brooklyn, who was too dumb to run away from a fight.” She swallowed and finally looked up, a smile less wide but more genuine, “I’m following him.”

Steve was held captivated by the fading blue inside her eyes, the tortured expression heaving on his chest when he realized that for once in her life, she couldn’t pretend to be okay for him. He glanced down instantly, the corner of his mouth twisting up as he sighed, fully regretting his request.

She nudged his shoulder, reading his face all too well and letting him know it was okay with the only way she knew, “but you’re keepin’ the outfit, right?” - “Hang on! Grab my hand!”

The wind screamed in his ears, gravity nearly wins and the taunting of the rapid air shots drove him out of his mind. You’re not gonna make it. It said. You’re not gonna make it and she’s going to die, because of you.

He shouted to Bucky one last time, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as the metal rod she held so dearly suddenly began to give in to the pressure. Steve forced himself to move closer, nearly losing grip himself as he reached down as far as he could when one end of the shaft tore off from the train, surrendering to the power of the wind. The other end creaked one more time, and then she was too far from him, hanging violently by a thread that failed her miserably.

Steve had no choice but to watch his best friend’s face twist in fear as she fell down to the clear mountains, her hand still reaching for him.

Everything around him turned into white noise except the small figure that seemed so foreign over the spotless background. She almost looked like she was flying.

It wasn’t until Steve lost sight of her that he realized his grasp is so loose he’s nearly falling himself. - Since the moment a metal hand smashed their window and kidnapped their hostage from a moving car, everything started going south. Well, even souther than it was to begin with. 

And now, Steve was caught in one of the most intense, demanding fights he has ever fought while being shot at by multiple people he once considered colleagues. Natasha was injured, he didn’t know how bad it was and he couldn’t afford checking on her.

And that man, that man he fought was incredibly strong, and more importantly, he used Steve’s strength against him. Flipping him over like he was nothing and snatching his shield from his hands, blocking every single punch Steve threw at him. He had never seen anything like it.

Just when he managed to gain the upper hand, to get his shield back and block that god-awful arm that gave that, thing, too much advantage, he tore his mask off. Her, mask off.

Bucky rolled on the hard asphalt but didn’t hesitate for a second to get up again, turning around with her face exposed. She looked at Steve with eyes that were lacking any expression. Flat and empty with no hint of recognition. Almost like the day he found her in that Nazi facility. 

Everything stopped again. Like it happened every time he saw Bucky; his surroundings quieted down and the only noise he could possibly hear was the loud ringing in his ears. Only there and then Steve realized how desperately he missed her.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” - She was wearing a black dress. Looking beautiful than ever with her hair neat on her shoulders. Light years from how she looked today. He supposed it didn’t matter, because it was still her, he was certain.

Today he fought the same Bucky that told him she’s with him till the end of the line. That saved him when he was completely alone. That made it very clear she was his family. That was the Bucky he knew, not the one that tried to kill him. Even being encircled by collapsing chunks of metal burning with fire and three bullets in him he didn’t fail to remember that.

“I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.”

“You’re my mission.”

“Then finish it. Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.” 

Something clicked inside Bucky’s mind. Maybe it was the glimpses of a forgotten key hidden under a brick or just the bruised face that in another life, she spent hours fixing with impromptu bandages and boiled water. 

Whatever it was, something primal and raw screamed frantically at her to stop what she’s doing. Because what she was doing was, for some reason, very, very wrong. - Steve’s heart squeezed inside his chest as he entered the small space he could barely call an apartment. 

Bucky didn’t have much. A few improvised shelves made of wood and bricks piled on each other and a mattress that simply laid on the floor, one single pillow on top of it. He scrunched his nose disapprovingly, no one deserved to live that way. Especially not her. 

Steve scanned the place again and stepped forward, a book with a hard, black cover caught his eye, similar to the ones he saw on the stand to his right. He moved it gently, letting the chocolate bars on top of it slide down as he opened it at the last marked page.

The notebook was well kept, but clearly very used. Steve could tell it was read many time before, the pages worn and overcrowded with words and side notes and pictures. Most of them his own. 

He realized he stared too long into his own eyes when he felt a presence behind him, Steve decided to turn around as he considered it a good sign he wasn’t dead by now.

“Do you know me?”

“You’re Steve.” Her hair was longer now, and the black cap did nothing to mask her piercing eyes. Under all that, she was still herself, “I read about you in a museum.”

Steve nearly huffed and set the notebook to his side, letting her know he read it, “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

She was stiff, uncomfortable in her own skin, almost afraid to speak the next words out loud, “I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planing on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart.” She said, eyes burning up as she pushed down tears, “good strategy.”

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

The both of them could clearly hear the footsteps approaching behind the door. Mean sounds on innocent floor that were getting closer and closer by the second. The only sound she could focus on was the way her long lost nickname fell from Steve lips so naturally. 

“It always ends in a fight.” Bucky sighed, looking physically pained to say that.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Because I know you.  Because I remember you. Because you’re Steve. Because…I love you.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” - She looked so soft in a white tank. It was the simplest thing, but Steve nearly hugged her one more time before she was gone again.  It was time for him to pretend to be okay for the sake of her, since she so obviously wasn’t.

Her arm was gone, she could barely bring herself to smile, and Steve hated everything about it.

He wanted her to stay with him, to let him take all her bad thoughts away, to kiss that freckle on her collarbone that he noticed the day he met her. But, for years Bucky was stripped from any right she had on her life. Now she was finally able to make a decision that is good for her. 

Steve couldn’t possibly take it away. - “Steve…”

He thought he’d be numb to this by now. How silly of him.

Losing Bucky hurt like the first time, it came crushing down his chest like an airplane, heavy weight physically grounding him to the dirt and taking away his precious ability to breathe. She was lost, again, and he had no choice but to helplessly watch her, again.

They’ve lost each other countless times by now, yet somehow, the world brought them together. And Steve managed to waste every single opportunity he was given. Every single one. That’s the only thing he could think about, sitting on the dirty ground and clutching what used to be the love of his life.

The dust floated away from his fingers as his mind replayed the sight of her falling to her knees and disintegrating away quicker than he could register. The way she muttered his name just before disappearing will hunt him for a long time. - She was standing next to Sam, gesturing him to move forward into a future she knew he deserved.

Steve handed him a brand new shield, and Bucky nodded when Sam looked back, searching for reassurance and validation all at once.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Well,” Steve beamed, stepping down from the machine and onto the ground, ”after I put the Stones back, I thought...maybe I'll try some of that life that Tony was telling me to get.” He glanced at Bucky, smiling shyly and looking down again.

Sam glanced back one more time, confirming what he always knew when he saw the red blush coloring Bucky’s cheeks. He smirked, nodding at the both of them.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s why it’s yours.”

Steve once swore that if the world would be kind enough to give them another chance, he will not waste it. So, even though it was a love story that’s been spread through decades. Steve didn’t have the patience to wait a single second more. “I love you.” He said, grabbing her by the waist and burying his head in the crook of her neck.

His breath was warm on her skin as she squeezed him closer to her chest. Her eyes nearly reaching eyes level with him.

“I love you, too.”

----

A/N: I’m merely trying to prove a point here. If you think what you’ve seen on screen is not the same thing you just read, then, you’re in for a surprise buddy.  What would happen if Bucky was a girl, a woman. Would that validate their relationship more? For some people I think that’s the case. 

They could’ve had the most powerful love story in all history. What a shame they’re both men and Marvel already has Gay Joe Russo to fill that square.

[ua-miruko]

[9/21]

@ua-flameheroendeavor

Miruko bangs hard on the door of the Todoroki estate. Honestly, she has half a nerve to just kick the thing in and hunt the man down herself, but - this is meant to be a calm sort of confrontation. It's supposed to be - well, there isn't really a plan. She just wants to look at the man who is supposed to be a savior and a symbol of hope and peace to the world around them and ask him how the hell-...

...

Her fist bangs harder against the door, frustration and anger rising.

The door swings open rather violently. On the other side, Enji stood, already glaring down. The half of his trimmed moustache not destroyed by the scar already alight with a flame, his annoyance written on his face.

However the expression of rage was quick to dissolve into one of perplexed confusion.

"Miruko? What are you doing here?"

Having heard him coming, Miruko, steps back as the door swings, eyes narrowed in matching annoyance. Hers doesn't fade when his does, though, her hands on her hips as she continues to glower at him.

"Wanna talk to you. You gonna let me in or are we havin' this conversation out here?"

Enji frowns deeply. That tone was a dangerous one. She was normally an aggressive woman, but never directed at him. As he stepped aside, he wondered if he rather she kept making advances towards him over this.

After she crossed the door he shut it. "Leave your shoes outside after we cross the garden..." He mutters quietly, keeping an eye on her frame.

She ignores him, following him inside. Miruko had gone straight from the Police Headquarters to his house, anyway, and she had no intention on taking off any part of her costume. He could deal with it.

"..." For a rare moment, she's silent, jaw clenched as she tries to find words for her boiling thoughts. All she can think about is everything that's been confessed to her in the last twenty four hours. Because of that, she doesn't do more than just following his lead, waiting for him to inquire for more about what this all was about.

Enji walks up to the door to the house, and stops. He considers it, then turns. As Miruko makes no move to reach for her shoes he sighs, crossing his arms.

"So. What is this all about?" He asks warily, squinting at her, jaw set. The garden was safe enough.

Miruko glares around the garden for a moment, hating it for its beauty. How deceiving it is. It's such a huge, quiet home he has. It's so hard to imagine it being filled with so much... violence.

"Shouto and I have been talking," she says slowly, gritting her teeth. It's not actually as easy to voice as she wants it to be. "Wanna guess what about?"

His face is an impassive mask of grumpiness. She could have been talking about the weather for all he demonstrated. Enji had a growing suspicion, and a growing worry about the topic of their conversation. But he, naturslly, wouldn't let it show.

He had a reputation.

"No. What was it?'

She huffs at that, irritation only growing. She doesn't want to be the one to say it. She doesn't know what she was expecting, because it's not like the man would burst to tears and admit everything in some passionate confession. Endeavor must have been dodging this kind of bullshit for years. After all, it's not like there was never rumors. Or assumptions. His image was bad, people loved to fucking speculate. She always believed in him, despite that.

Fuck.

"Shouto..." Her jaw clenches more. "Have you ever hit him?"

Ah. He figured as much. Though it wasn't like Shouto to broadcast that to people. As it stood, no one knew but their family.

"Is that what he told you?" Enji questions, reaching over to smooth a hand over his jaw, scratching the growing hairs gently.

Her eyes seem to spark with fire, they fill with fury so fast.

"Are you about to tell me something different?" she demands, anger so barely restrained in her that she shakes.

He exhales. It sort of smells like smoke. His eyes are tired, and have some sort of emotion in them she can't quite put her finger on. Its distant, and incredibly sad.

"Would it matter if I did?" He extends a hand to the side vaguely. "To me, it seems it wouldn't. You've made up your mind on the truth."

"So you think he's LYING?"

Miruko advances a step, fists clenching at her sides. Losing control of herself, but she doesn't even care. Why even spare him for a second?

God, she really thought she was starting to know him-

"I've seen that kid be so fucked up inside about all this, and you're really gonna act like- what, that he's making it all up for attention? God. You're so full of shit---" In a lightning fast reflex, she suddenly rears back and aims an explosive kick right into Endeavor's gut.

He's not on his guard - he's just tired.

The kick connects and he barely has any time to double over for protection- the massive impact sends him flying. Enji collides against the hardwood door and it shatters under the strength.

He flies inside his own home and has half a mind to throw his arm out. He catches a hand on a corner to not destroy everything with his trajectory and skirts to a halt.

He coughs, doubling over for real this time. He heaves for breath, and glares up at Miruko, shadowed blue eyes blazing. His hair combusts in a quick crescendo.

"..."

It doesn't make her feel better. In fact, it only makes the anger worse.

Miruko stomps after him, the floor splintering under the first step she takes into his house. Her vision is tunneled, focused only on him, but she can't help but feel her senses still attuned to her surroundings. The house around her, the home that has soaked up so much blood and lies. She wants to tear down every scrap of wood and paper in the place until there's nothing left of what she now sees as a cage.

"..."

She watches his familiar fire blaze upwards, already moving into a fighting stance. "What? Got nothing else to say, bastard? Fuckin' out with it! Try and tell me I'm wrong again!"

He stands straight, little by little, and his whole face is alight. The typical Y of fire over his chest and stomach is also alight, scorching the fabric of his sweater and burning it away.

"Or what? You're gonna fight me, Miruko?" He snarls, eyebrows furrowed and eyes piercing. "What do you want? There's nothing left to say when you already know the truth!" 

His right fist is covered in flames.

"What are you going to do? Going to expose me? Gonna make Shouto do it?!" He bares his teeth at her, gritting them. "That won't help ANYONE!" 

In his anger he flings the fireball at her chest. Its fast like a baseball, but if she dodged, it would go outside and probably hit the pond.

A chill passes through her, watching that fire spread. It's fear, instinctive and fast, but also the addicting and fiery adrenaline of a battle. Every muscle in her body tenses, ready, a grimace of a grin on her face as it spreads to his fist. She wonders, only has the time to wonder- just how often Shouto, and even Touya, has witnessed the same fucking thing.

The fireball flies.

She's out of the way in a second, bounding away towards the wall and ending in a crouch against the floor. One of her ears, the closest to the attack, is singed, though she doesn't seem to notice or react to the damage as she rises to her feet again.

"No," she agrees, considering his words. "It won't."

Miruko starts to march closer to him, feeling how much hotter the air gets the smaller the distance between them is. "Exposing you won't help anyone. It'd just drag all this pain out. And Shouto doesn't need more pain from you."

She stops short, right in front of him. His flames just barely graze her, the distance is so short. She notes his heat again, the way it threatens at her skin, trying to tempt burns into it even as her own temperature, aided by her quirk, tries to ride to match it. Her eyes raise up and up, trying to meet his.

He's so... unrecognizable, like this.

"... I'm just going to make it so you can't hurt him anymore," she finally says, quiet and calm, waiting. For an attack, a response, something.

Its bright, and its scorching. His shirt is in shambles, cinders falling to the floor, standing there now shirtless.

His furious eyes glare holes into Miruko's skull, but her words allows her a moment of respite.

"..."

The fire of his chest slowly diminishes and extinguishes itself, leaving only the red hairs. He exhales, pure smoke against her face.

"I haven't laid a finger on him in years." He says finally, rough and tired. "Its probably been over 5 years or so."

Miruko twitches at the smoke, ignoring the way it suddenly tries to choke at her lungs. Her ears twitch, a jerk of pain hitting her at the light burn.

"I don't care," she hisses between gritted teeth. "I don't care if you only did it once or five times or a million. He's still scared of you. He told me he-"

She stops, looking away from him. "... I'm not gonna allow it."

He sighs. He raises a hand, pressing its heel against one of his eyes. The fire of his eyebrow extinguishes.

"So, what have you come here to say." He demands, fire subduing on his jaw and cheeks. "Are you here to inform me you're taking my son away? Are we really going to do this?"

antimonoma@fuckyou.comLast Monday at 3:04 PM Miruko's ears flatten against her hair, shaking slightly. There's a low, low sound in the back of her throat as her eyes turn back towards him - a soft, animalistic growl.

"You gonna stop me?" she challenges, the only confirmation she decides she'll give him. "'Cause now's your chance to."

"What you're suggesting is ridiculous." He grumbles,  and crosses his arms over his naked nipples. He suddenly feels very bare in front of a feral rabbit woman. "Its my son. He barely ever comes home anyway."

"Then you won't miss him." Unbothered, she only continues to stare at him with her angry red eyes. "He's my intern. I can instate whatever I want as part of our internship. If you're so bothered, we can bring it to court."

It's a threat she hadn't even planned to make, falling from her before she can stop it. But she doesn't flinch away, watching him to see if he'll back down - or start the fight up again.

"Careful what you wish for." Enji snarls, uncoiling his arms. He looks massive in contrast to her. A single flame erupts on his hair, and he slaps his own head to extinguish it.

"You think you'd be doing a great service to Shouto, taking to court. But what about my other two kids, huh? Their mother?" He huffs, smoke coming out of his nostrils. "Will they share the same good luck or fall to ruin?"

He keeps his stance. "I know what I've done. And I regret the course of my actions, but the past can't be changed! The least I can do is atone."

Miruko's eyes watch that little flicker of flame pop up and out before rolling her eyes, only clenching her fists again. She may be - protective, perhaps even a little attached to Shouto, but that same empathy doesn't extend to the rest of the family yet. She doesn't want them to go through that level of hell... but to get her way? She wouldn't hesitate. And she doesn't take back what she says, her glare refusing to weaken.

"You don't need Shouto here while you sort your shit out," she spits. "He doesn't want to be near you. The kid doesn't deserve to be living in constant fear, okay?"

"If you damn Shouto's siblings and mother, I know you're not really doing it for him - he has always cared for them." Enji states, glaring her down. He can feel her hubris, dripping venomously with every word she spits at him. This is a snake in rabbit skin.

"He already hardly hangs around me. What more do you want?"

Another roll of her eyes. Whether or not she has folded in that regard is impossible to tell from the outside. Though, internally, she knows he's right.

... Didn't matter.

"I want him to have a safe place to go to. While he's avoiding you." She shrugs. "So."

"If that's what you want, you didn't have to fucking kick me." He scowls, and turns his back to her. However, he sets his shoulders on fire as he retreats inside - a warning. "You can have him on weekends or whatever. He can't run from me forever."

"You threw a fucking fireball at me, you don't get to say shit."

Her retort is automatic, almost playful, vaguely reminiscent of the banter they used to have. But his last words leave a bad taste in her mouth, a chill running through her again that seems to taint every inch of her.

God, how things change.

Glancing back towards the damage they had created, she shrugs. "Better get your ass to HQ soon," she calls after her before heading off to show herself out. She didn't want to be in that place another moment longer.

"Yeah, after I get my door fixed." He scowled, retreating inside to take a painkiller and get new clothes, not to mention call a repairman. As soon as Miruko was out of his house he exhaled, shoulders slumping. 

His eyes closed, he thumps his forehead against the nearest wall. He knew this was coming, eventually. He didn't expect it to be this way. At least, it went better than expected.

[sweetsweetnathan]

Top five favorite characters.

This is definitely a question that will reveal a lot about me, so I hope that’s what you’re looking for ;P It’s going to get really fucking long, so I’ll store it beneath a cut so it doesn’t destroy anyone’s dash.

I’m doing these in ascending order, so #5 is least most favorite and #1 is most most favorite. I feel it’s important to say than since #5 is a character that is going to make a lot of people roll their eyes (as is #4, frankly).

#5 - Holden Caulfield from the Catcher in the Rye

Waitwaitwait, don’t leave just yet! I have tried to explain why I like this character to people I go to school with, and they barely let me finish a sentence before reminding me that he’s a whiny brat with well-off parents who spends the whole book wallowing in self-imposed misanthropy. 

These are not the reasons why I like him!

Although I do feel it’s worth pointing out that he’s barely more than a child (he’s 16, which is the age of consent where I’m from, but by no means “adulthood” anywhere), lost his younger brother at an even younger age, witnessed a suicide, and he does in fact live in a world that is extremely alienating to people who are opposed on principle to conformity. But even these are not the reasons why I like him! I like him structurally, as a character in a book, way more than I like him as a person. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that the book doesn’t want you to like him. It wants you to pity him.

Allow me to share a passage with you to explain myself better:

Anyway, I kept walking and walking up Fifth Avenue, without any tie on or anything. Then all of a sudden, something very spooky started happening. Every time I came to the end of a block and stepped off the goddam curb, I had this feeling that I'd never get to the other side of the street. I thought I'd just go down, down, down, and nobody'd ever see me again. Boy, did it scare me. You can't imagine. I started sweating like a bastard—my whole shirt and underwear and everything. Then I started doing something else. Every time I'd get to the end of a block I'd make believe I was talking to my brother Allie. I'd say to him, "Allie, don't let me disappear. Allie, don't let me disappear. Allie, don't let me disappear. Please, Allie." And then when I'd reach the other side of the street without disappearing, I'd thank him.

Holden is a kid given to sudden panic and fatalistic thinking. There’s something in his subconscious telling him that his life is fragile, that it can be taken away at any moment. Suddenly everything can change and what you thought was safe and innocent can be threatened and defiled. This is an existential crisis without a readily apparent inciting incident (though it has one, we’ll get to that). The Catcher in the Rye isn’t a story with an especially noticeable structure-- we’re not on a journey to destroy the One Ring, blow up the Death Star, or defeat any villain really. Holden is trying to get home. The obstacles he encounters aren’t necessarily trying to stop him from doing that, but they’re obstacles nonetheless. Why? Not because the universe is conspiring against him, and not because there’s an all-powerful villain threatening him with destruction. The obstacles come completely from Holden himself.

So why is it that the Catcher in the Rye can get away with this? On paper a character piece about someone taking the long way home one shitty night sounds like the description of countless Creative Writing 1 school projects, not literary classics. How does Salinger make it work?

The answer is in the prose itself, which like the obstacles is possessed entirely by the main character. Let’s examine this passage:

My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. He was left-handed. The thing that was descriptive about it, though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat. He's dead now.

Look at each sentence: “My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder’s mitt. He was left-handed.” It’s obvious after reading it that he’s talking about his dead brother in past-tense. What’s the big deal there? He talks about the whole damn story in past-tense, because he’s telling it long after it happened. How is this significant?

Well, the last line is “He’s dead now.” Not “He died”, but “he is dead”. So the whole book we’re reading past-tense lines. But this one, out of all of them, is present-tense. And because of that sudden shift we regard it differently. Allie’s death isn’t something that happened in the past. His being dead is something that’s happening in the present. It’s the reminder that this is a story Holden is telling, which solidifies the illusion that Holden is real. Holden is not real-- Salinger, the writer, is real, and Holden is made up. But when Holden has the dimensionality of having both memories of the past and feelings of the present, he seems more real than another, living person. It illustrates the beauty of prose writing: Movies can give us spectacle, and visuals which evoke emotional depth that words can’t. Games give us agency and interactivity to act as ourselves or as someone else in a situation that is alien to us. Prose gives us no visuals, and affords us no agency. What it gives us is the opportunity to see the world through someone else’s eyes. And Holden Caulfield will always be one of my favorite characters for exemplifying that.

#4 - Luke Skywalker from Star Wars

After all that, Holden is beat out by Luke? 

Yes, but listen: Holden I like for professional reasons. Luke I like for personal reasons. See, I have some anger problems. The causes are as numerous as they are complex, and not very interesting. The bottom line is that my emotions are pretty untrustworthy. I actually dislike when people say that a space is dedicated to letting people feel their feelings uninhibited. What if my feelings are violent and hateful? What if without inhibition, I become the kind of person I hate? I have seen things that I wish I could unsee, things that I hate. Being told to let go of that hate feels like being told to permit evil to exist in the world. I cannot abide that. There are certain behaviors that I will oppose no matter the situation. Through this I put myself in an awkward situation: Everyone who doesn’t feel this way begins to look complicit in the wrongdoings of the world. Focus too long on what makes you unhappy, and happiness seems like an unnatural luxury. Feed anger too much, and you forget how to feel anything else. This is what’s called the “Dark Side”.

Luke struggles against the Dark Side. How could he not? His family was taken from him by a system that exploits and murders with impunity. He took the fight to his enemy and destroyed their greatest weapon-- but they’re still not defeated. In the Empire Strikes Back, Luke is terribly impatient to seize the powers of the Jedi. He wants to win. He wants the Empire destroyed. Anything in his way is wasting his time.

When we see him again in Return of the Jedi, he is as close to the Dark Side as a person can be. He walks into a gang leader’s palace, strangles his guards, mind controls his adviser, and pulls a gun on said gang leader. When the gang leader takes offense to all this, Luke promises him death if he doesn’t submit to Luke’s demands. Luke is indulging in every wrathful instinct he has. But he knows that what he’s doing isn’t right. He meets Vader and the Emperor expecting to turn Vader away from this same behavior, but the Emperor has concocted a situation where only might can make right. 

If I was given the opportunity to decide between offering patience to the evil people I’ve met, and killing them without consequence, I don’t know if I’d make the choice Luke made. His story is fantastical, but to me it feels very real. It’s a story about finding balance. One has to act to stop bad things from happening. But one must also restrain themselves, or become one of those bad things.

#3 Guts from Berserk

So I just talked about anger problems and the Dark Side and all that, so you’re probably thinking, “Oh, Guts is that, but just like...more.”

And okay, that’s a little true. A find that in Guts a lot too. But similar to Holden, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate the literary structure Guts is constructed with as well. None of his empathetic qualities would mean anything without this structure. If he’s not going somewhere, then he is just the angry, violent stereotype of a manly man that solves all his problems through violence that people stereotype him as.

So let me introduce you to Booker’s Seven Basic Plots:

Going to an art school has resulted in me feeling that it’s necessary to spend some time justifying the existence of a textbook about structure. So I’m going to detour away from Guts in order to do that.

To keep a literal textbook’s worth of storytelling analysis very short, the seven basic plots are not meant to be the only plots that should exist, or even the only plots that do exist. They are an incredibly versatile sets of story frameworks. Allow me to explain by comparing two stories that share one of these seven plots: Crime and Punishment and the Catcher and the Rye.

These two stories are “Rebirth Plots”, and Rebirth Plots are comprised of five elements:

Falling Stage: A young hero or heroine falls under the shadow of the dark power.

Recession Stage: For a while, all may seem to go reasonably well. The threat may even seem to have receded.

Imprisonment Stage: Eventually the threat returns in full force, until the hero/heroine is seen imprisoned in the state of living death.

Nightmare Stage: This continues for a long time, when it seems like the dark power has completely triumphed.

Rebirth Stage: But finally comes the miraculous redemption, either by the hero (if the imprisoned figure is the heroine), or by a young woman or child (if the imprisoned figure is the hero).

Crime and Punishment and the Catcher in the Rye are both Rebirth Plots, but they focus on different aspects, and are thus completely different stories. Most of Crime and Punishment is the Recession Stage, where the main character has gotten away with his crime. Contrast Catcher in the Rye, where the Recession Stage ends basically as soon as he leaves his school, whereupon he spends a short time in the Imprisonment Stage and everything until the last chapter is the Nightmare Stage.

So even though the Seven Basic Plots presents an outline, it's not an outline meant to exclude strange stories that don’t fit it. Quite the contrary, it’s designed to include radically different stories, sometimes within the same categories as more traditionally-told ones.

So with that in mind, what story does Guts find himself in? Well, that’s the exciting thing: Guts is so incredible because he goes on every kind of adventure.

Overcoming the Monster - This is Guts’ story when Casca is captured by the Holy Seein the Conviction Arc. He has to fight against a whole society built around zealous hatred-- zealous hatred that mirrors his own obsessive pursuit of Griffith.

Rags to Riches - The first third of the Golden Age Arc is famously this kind of story, as Guts goes from a nameless mercenary to one of the most famous commanders in Midland, making friends along the way and overcoming his apprehension towards close personal connections.

The Quest - The journey to cure Casca of her trauma during the Fantasia Arc is a very long version of this kind of story. Guts gathers allies, teaches lessons, and watches the world change around him, as he changes as well, allowing his heart to soften again.

Voyage and Return - The Black Swordsman Arc and the beginning of the Conviction Arc sees Guts gallivanting around Midland killing demons, only to return to Goto’s cabin to find Casca has departed due to his own failings.

Comedy - The middle of the Golden Age Arc is this, with Casca and Guts falling for each other as he begins to develop into his own man separate from Griffith.

Tragedy - The end of the Golden Age Arc, which I would feel bad about listing here three times if it wasn’t fourteen fucking volumes long. Here Guts loses every connection he’s made over the years, then finally loses himself as he chooses to pursue vengeance rather than stay with Casca. 

Rebirth - The whole of Berserk is a Rebirth Plot on many levels. To start with it’s Guts’ shift from the antisocial Black Swordsman to a symbol of hope in a world overrun with demons. For the world of Berserk it’s a change from being centered around an Idea of Evil to believing in something Good.

Guts is a fascinating character for how he changes again and again, yet still stays the same. 

And Unlike Luke, Guts does sometimes fail. But despite the fact that he fails, he finds chances for further redemption. This is because despite every awful thing he’s been through, he still goes on fighting. There’s this brilliant moment when Guts is a child, where he’s run away from home after killing his abusive foster father in self defense. Guts is surrounded by wolves, injured, and starving. He tells the wolves to kill him, because he doesn’t want to live anymore. And yet when the wolves attack, he reflexively defends himself. Even as he wants for death, there’s a part of him that denies it. He wants to go on living, no matter how bad things get. There’s a lot of strength to be learned from that.

I hope Miura will live to see the series end. The character has been at war for so long, and he deserves to put down his sword and live in peace.

#2 Conan the Cimmerian

Let’s take a detour from all my personal issues and literary analysis to talk about the wisest character on this list. It might not seem so, but the original Conan stories by Robert E. Howard are some of the most brilliant and insightful works of fiction ever published. 

Holden Caulfield gives us a realistic look at a troubled teenager. By viewing this teenager’s uncensored thoughts on the world, we’re allowed to see the world through his eyes. Doing so teaches us a lot about ourselves, and what we discover isn’t always so attractive. Conan is similar. Conan hails from Cimmeria, a gloomy and unforgiving land. There is no civilization in Cimmeria. Its people are tribal and nomadic. There are many different languages and ways of writing, no currency, and scarcely any agriculture. But Conan’s story does not take place in Cimmeria. Conan’s stories take him all over the world of Hyboria, which itself is essentially a pre-historic earth, where he explores the cultures of all the “civilized” nations. This, more than the violence, adventure, or lurid depictions of women, is what makes Conan worthwhile to me.

Allow me to share with you a passage:

Conan has seen how people behave when there are no rules imposed on them. He knows how cruel they can be, as well as how kind they can be. More than anyone Conan knows the dangers of civilization, how its rules and customs and trappings might convince a person they are good when they’re letting their fellow man starve, or that they’re bad when they’re committing violence against someone whom the rules of society declares above reproach.

Conan brings a perspective to things that is sobering and unique, and looking at things through his eyes helps a person see humankind not as one divided by lines on a map, but as a singular entity which expresses itself in many different forms.

#1 Eren Jaeger from Attack on Titan

Gif source: https://weheartit.com/entry/214956834

Anger, Dark Side, hopefulness, blah, blah, blah. What makes Eren so special? What makes him more special than Guts?

Let me tell you something personal about me: I have a best friend. And contrary to all my expectations growing up, it’s a person who considers me her best friend right back. 

She is the only person I know that I consider my intellectual equal (arrogant statement, totally true). I love her immensely. Indescribably. Just like, a fucking lot. We express this love in a lot of different ways. To begin with, we talk all the time. Almost every day, for hours. We share with each other the things going on in our lives, our thoughts, our opinions, the games we play, the movies and TV we’ve seen, our desires for the world, all of it. She is the first person I ever talked to about some of the stuff I experienced in my childhood. 

In short, she is pretty special.

When she watched Attack on Titan for the first time it was I who showed it to her. We watched up to episode 11 on that first night, and the rest of the month she texted me her reactions to the events of the first and second season. As she watched she got really enamored with Mikasa, as Mikasa is a lot of what she would like to be in life (capable, dedicated, beautiful, six feet tall, etc). But of Eren, she said that he reminded her of me. In fact, she said that she started to just look at Eren as me-on-the-screen, and when Eren would do something reckless or talk back to someone, or give a crazy-sounding speech about what he believed in, my friend told me she’d say “Classic Nathan [<--- my real life name]”. Naturally I appreciated this quite a lot.

There is a quality among the great heroes of literature, both from the east and the west, that Eren exemplifies in spades. While Eren has a tendency towards action that makes me admire him and a defiant nature that makes me envy him, his most powerful quality is his immense capacity for hope. You can see this represented in every character on this list in some form or another. Holden hopes against all reason that his sister can be saved from the falseness of the world. Luke hopes that a person can turn from the Dark Side. Guts hopes that life is worth living, even if it’s shown itself to be nothing but suffering. Conan’s hopes are the most justified, as he places it in the vastness of the world, and the world can’t help but satisfy him. 

Eren hopes that the titans, insurmountable as they seem, can be defeated. He hopes that the world, tiny as it may seem behind the walls, can be explored. He hopes that people will listen to him when he speaks. He hopes that when he fights for what he believes in, he won’t die. He hopes for so much, and no matter how much is on the line he is ready to fight for those hopes, and to deny anyone who wishes to restrain him.

And my best friend told me he reminds her of me.

I’m not saying she was right. I’m not as strong as Eren. I’ll shut down socially when I’ve judged people to be dumb, evil, or boring. My hope doesn’t carry me over every mountaintop. Not that it does that for Eren; part of what I love about watching his story is that he struggles and falters. Hell, he dies in his first engagement with the titans.

But like Guts he keeps fighting.

Like Luke he struggles against his lesser qualities.

Like Holden he has a viewpoint of the world that leads me to consider myself.

Like Conan he is different from everybody else, but still believes in himself.

And that’s all I want to be.