#but killing a single guy seems very intimate and cruel too??

[i-spilled-my-soup]

ive been mulling this over and i dont think theres gonna be proper plague will for a while . i dont really know how to draw lungs collapsing or veins contracting or a heart stopping or an appendix going kaboom or proteins denaturing or. yknow. bad stuff in da bod. um. i ca give you a dude in a dramatic pose with angry face and smoke comin out his head??

[jaemlynscharacters]

(This post contains OMITB S1-3 spoilers.) I really hope to all the gods that they're going somewhere with this because:

(Buckle up!)

A) My sister thinks Joy will be the murderer in the future and I just really hate the idea of that happening to Charles TWICE (especially after Joy told him she initially thought "this man dies alone"). Come on, let's please not make it a JOKE that Charles is MEANT to be alone because he's only attracted to murderers. That's cruel. Please tell my sister that. B) I just don't understand Charles feeling so sorry for this fish that he carried it around with him, but as far as we know he never tried ONE SINGLE TIME to try to get Joy back.

He just thinks that if Joy decreed it, it must be. His life is the glass pitcher that Joy put him into.

He can't even cry about it. It pisses me off, honestly, because he is SO proactive in other ways. Like when Jan was trying to kill him, in his own mind he was being a hero, helping to bring her down. When it came down to it and they needed to record the police interviews in his dressing room, he managed to make it through his entire song without going to the white room or making an omelet. Any time they need pictures of people for the murder board, he pretends to take selfies so they can get them. He defended Mabel when they caught and followed her with "tie dye guy" ... but he questioned whether Joy was the murderer and was afraid to ask her about it?

WTF, Charles?

That just seems a little bit out of character to me. ... Except for one thing -- it wasn't JOY's integrity that he questioned. He questioned himself -- his ability to choose a partner, his ability to interact with people. It was never Joy he didn't trust. It was himself. Just like Sazz says, in so many words. The Jan situation must have really thrown him.

Some people here have said that they felt Joy was trying to change Charles into a person he just isn't, but I disagree. It seemed to me that Joy accepted his faults. In fact, she listed how she looked past several of them right before she left. She was very considerate of his needs when they moved in together after MONTHS of dating and made sure to ask him if he felt "it was too much" aka "Are you overwhelmed by this?" She knew being that close would be a huge change for "Charlie" and she was thoughtful and careful about it until he assured her it was fine.

And to just BELIEVE him when he assured her, and not question whether he was in denial or lying, showed that she had faith in him to tell her the truth.

Maybe she was overly optimistic or even naive. I think she realized that later.

When she found out... - That he had questioned whether she murdered Ben.... - That he had ACCIDENTALLY proposed to her and never admitted it, even through all the wedding planning.... - That Charles had talked to not just Sazz but also Oliver and Mabel about her behind her back.... ...all while she's the one he's in an intimate relationship with, she's his chosen partner, he climbs into bed with her (often twice a day), she's the one that he should feel most comfortable confiding in when he's questioning the world ... THAT BROKE HER HEART.

It wasn't just a matter of Charles not being open. It was that while all that was going on, while they made plans about aisles and decorations and where they would get their wedding cake, he questioned her, and therefore their relationship was not as solid as she had been led to believe.

And for that matter, what kind of best friends convince a guy who is in a seemingly happy relationship that he would be happier alone?

For the sake of his play, Oliver literally convinced Charles to break up with Joy, and we know the rest of THAT story, Matthew Broderick. When the breakup finally did happen -- after Charles realized he did not want to be alone -- neither Mabel or Oliver offered any comfort, encouragement, or much sympathy. I think they were glad to see Joy AND joy go, which is entirely unfair in that 1. they encouraged him to be with Jan, 2. Mabel has had at least 3 relationships, and 3. Oliver is in love with Loretta (and she looked far more like the murderer for a while than Joy ever did).

It's one thing to not want competition for your best friend but Joy didn't seem to ever discourage the OMITB obsession or murder investigation. Yes, she thought it would be good for their relationship when Death Rattle ended on opening night, but once Death Rattle Dazzle was going strong, she not only tried to help Charles get through his patter song block but even helped Ben with his makeup on opening night -- without a single complaint.

All three of our heroes or antiheroes in this show are deeply flawed, even horrible people sometimes, and that's why we love them.

But in conclusion of point B, Joy is the victim in all this. I think she truly loves Charles and MIGHT be the only person in existence that really sees him and wants what is best for HIM -- him as an individual. And all she wants from him is that same consideration.

She saw the winks in the mirror and the kick in his step years ago. What does he see in her?

I am just so aggravated at that entire situation!!

And finally

C) President McKinley. The fish is a parallel to Charles, obviously. He is "meant to be alone." Charles feels so sorry for President McKinley after Joy leaves, and identifies with him so much, that he worries and carries the damn fish around with him and tries to find him water when he thinks the bag is leaking. I don't think the bag was even leaking. Do you? I think maybe that was Charles's psychological way of crying and releasing his grief. (Let's not even try to get into the symbolism of a toilet or being trapped in a room with a smoke/fog machine.)

Why in the world is that fish's name President McKinley? "I always wanted to be friends with a president but this one is a bully." What?

The real President McKinley was a controversial figure. He took a pay cut when he stopped being a lawyer to be a politician. He also furthered American imperialism. He was staunchly against slavery and fought in the Civil War. And he also did very little to help black people who were being harassed and attacked in the USA during his presidency. He defended a group of striking miners against their mining companies and all but one of them were acquitted.

And President McKinley was MURDERED. But he also called off the mob that might have killed his assassin. He has an interesting story, and I find it very interesting that of all the presidents, Joy named her fish after him.

What's that about?

In conclusion, there are so many reasons for this story between Charles, Joy, and this fish to be headed somewhere. And this is the kind of stupid detail I get hyperfixated on and it ends up making or breaking a show for me.

Don't disappoint me, OMITB!!

Okay I’m finally watching omitb season 3 and it may be the sleep deprivation talking but charles’s dumb loser ass truly loving and completely failing to care for his breakup fish is like. Doing something to me. I’ve nearly got tears in my eyes right now he’s such a pathetic old man

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 21: 3x04 And the Children Shall Lead

Okay, I’m finally going to write up my thoughts on And the Children Shall Lead. I think I’m (mostly) over all of my excessively-strong emotions about this ep lol. Maybe going through my notes will bring them back. Or maybe not. I’ve felt very tired and uninterested in everything today so it’s hard to tell. So far the process is not going well: tumblr ate my first attempt at a post, like literally I wrote a few lines, clicked to a new tab, and when I clicked back the post was empty so thanks for that, and I keep on just generally not being interested in the task. So, we’ll see.

The tl;dr is that I don’t see why this ep is considered one of the worst. I actually really liked it!

Single-color jumpsuits: the fashion of the future.

Another old Kirk friend! (This isn’t even important lol; it never comes up again or matters that Kirk knew this guy, but we must always be reminded that he is the best networker in Starfleet.)

“He’s dead, Captain.” Not “he’s dead, Jim”?? Sounds wrong.

“The enemy within.” I thought that was a S1 ep?

Ah, another bunch of creepy kids. In pajamas this time, apparently.

Kirk is not having fun being the center of their creepy little rhyme.

RIP to McCoy but my diagnosis is “alien shenanigans.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Kirk.” Such a polite little alien.

McCoy corralling the kids

This sounds a lot like Miri, except purposeful—something targeted all the adults but left the kids, just like the virus in Miri affected all the adults, but not the kids.

…A disturbance in the cave!

Lol at Kirk’s anxiety face. I feel you, man.

Spock’s never experienced anxiety? My first thought is ‘sounds fake’ but actually… maybe he really hasn’t.

“There has to be an explanation.” This is the MOST Jim line.

I like these kids. They’re actually pretty cute. Also love Kirk trying to relate to the kids.

Where are they? Is this Sulu’s greenhouse lol? I love it. They should have used this set more.

“That place is for adults.” Gotta say, I wrote this down but now have no recollection what it actually refers to. The bridge? I think it’s the bridge.

Are they performing witchcraft? Intriguing.

“Friendly angel”—nothing creepy about that at all.

Got a little alien cult going on here. Every time I feel anxiety from now on I’m going to assume it’s an alien cultist nearby.

“We’ll pursue this in my quarters.” Wink wink.

Can’t fool Uhura.

Never mind. Yes you can.

For someone who wanted the kids guarded all the time, Kirk sure was ok with them just traipsing around the bridge. I mean the guards are at the door but like…they’re only at the door.

Never really thought about how there’s apparently an…engineering component... to flying the ship? I don’t know, I don’t really get it but it’s cool.

"Evil does seek to maintain power by suppressing the truth." Damn. Great line.

BAND OF MARAUDES. That’s a cool backstory for the dead alien society. Basically, they’re ghosts. Greedy ghosts. Alien ghost pirates.

Great triumvirate scene. McCoy want to protect the kids and Kirk’s like “…but the ship, though?” Which is fair!!

What does the ghost want? Um, a ship to maraud in, were you not listening to Spock’s exposition of the back story?

No don’t beam anyone down!!

Love any time Spock pushes someone else out of the way so he can man the transporter. He’s somehow the second-best expert on it on the entire ship.

Eeek, low-key gruesome death there. Look, I know that this is one of the scenes that haters love to point out as a reason to despise the episode but I personally don’t think deeply enough into the transporter situation to wonder how much information they have or assume before they beam people anywhere. Also…weird alien stuff is happening, guys. Just attribute it to that. Also also, if you’re gonna nitpick like that, be prepared to hate all of TOS.

THE KIDS STOLE THE CAR.

“Sulu, what did you to do my ship?”

Uhura’s watching this little witchcraft scene from the background like ‘aw, so cute.’

“Call upon their beasts.” Metal.

“Go to your stations.” This little kid is a future Captain in the making.

SPACE KNIVES

Kirk's like "Oh no, my crew is deserting me, I'm gonna have to fly the whole ship by myself AGAIN.”

“Captain, why are we bothering Starfleet?” Et tu, Spock?s

How did they get to Spock? He doesn’t seem scared of anything…more like he’s under the influence of a general hallucination, like the others seeing the planet on the screen even after they left orbit.

I remember this part, with Kirk freaking out. Spock doesn’t like it one bit.

He’s just being a littttle Dramatique.

Cannot believe that all Spock has to do is say “Jim” in a quiet, intimate voice and Kirk is immediately okay. Just let it out of his system, grabbed onto his friend, heard his own name, and the beast is defeated.

“My Vulcan friend”? Lol.

Kirk’s face when he realizes they’ve got Scotty too…

“Go away or we’ll kill you.” That was legitimately creepy. Scotty gone rogue.

Aw, Spock was worried about him again.

“Without followers, evil cannot spread.”

“Where did you hear this order, Chekov?” / “The voices in my head.”

It’s interesting that Kirk and Spock can’t be manipulated—perhaps because they have each other?

Enough of this—fight time!

That guard sounded like he really liked that nerve pinch; he was kinda moaning as he went down.

“Spock, corral them to their rooms.”

Outta the chair, brat.

Is Kirk going to defeat the alien evil using logic?

Summoning the “angel” by using the old recording is very clever.

When did they decide to start calling him the Gorgon?

“It lost its power in the light of reality” = “I looked into Spock’s eyes and knew myself again.”

HE IS GENTLE. It’s true and you should say it.

And he doesn’t even dispute it. “AND we are ALSO very strong.”

"You are full of goodness. Such as you cannot be changed."

So the girl is Jankowski.

This is very Candyman. The alien needs their belief to live. When they cease to follow him, he literally disappears.

Honestly, this whole alien scheme starts to look equal parts silly and sad, trying to call the crying children "generals.” They’re babies!

McCoy loves to see children in tears lol.

Kirk just hands them all off to McCoy, like ‘well, my work here is done.’

Okay, now we reverse course to pick up those stranded security guards still on the planet, right? Right? No? Okay, guess not.

Uhura, immediately ready with the paperwork lol. Now IS the time.

The end!

Now to try to interpret all of my other, more general notes.

The way I interpreted Spock being able to defy the mind control was that he was affected by Kirk. Because he clearly was affected, but then when he saw Kirk starting to freak out, he looked concerned, and then got them both off the bridge—he had a breakthrough of clarity long enough to understand he needed to get off the bridge. Then he’d be away from the kids, and they wouldn’t have as much control, and he could snap Jim out of it, too.

Like I’m sure his Vulcan resilience could easily have been part of it, too, but that resilience wasn’t enough to keep him from being affected at all—and of course they could have easily written it that way—and it seems obvious that his moment of clarity was caused specifically by watching Kirk starting to lose it. There are so many shots of him specifically watching Kirk and the guard.

The K/S vibes were so strong. Spock was so protective, then they get in the lift and Kirk basically clings to him. All he has to do is say Kirk’s name and Kirk is fine, which is basically the power of true love. And then even outside of that scene… for the whole rest of the ep, they’re a duo. It’s not just Kirk against the Evil of the Week, it’s Kirk and Spock, working together at every turn. Neither of them could have done it alone.

it's a pretty classic trope, in fact, especially in s1, to have Kirk all alone, abandoned by all...where he's the last man standing, the one who has to run the whole ship and save the whole day. Naked Time, This Side of Paradise, and Trouble with Tribbles (kinda) all come to mind. But this time he has Spock! You see the progression of their relationship in that.

I really enjoyed this episode in general. Lots of classic tropes: creepy children; surprise alien; old alien society not as dead as we thought; Kirk has to run the whole ship by himself (with Spock); heroic!Kirk saving the day… It has it all. It’s clearly revisiting some older themes and ideas, but in a sufficiently unique way that it doesn’t just seem like a rehash of an older plot. In some ways, it felt like a Classic S1 episode to me. It has some Miri elements, some Charlie X elements, some Naked Time elements…

I literally don’t understand why it’s so disliked.

Skimmed the wiki and the only specific criticism in there is that Kirk shows an “unmistakable hostility to the children.” Well first of all, he doesn’t. He might not have the best manner with them, but why should he? He’s certainly not mean or cruel to them. He recognizes they’re a danger to his ship, and to the whole planet of Marcos-12, which by the way is objectively true, but that’s not being hostile. McCoy is the one who represents ‘exclusive care for the children’s welfare’ in this ep, but he CAN do that, because he’s not the Captain. He represents that perspective, he gives his opinion, which is both his job on the ship and his role on the show, and then Kirk takes that into account while doing HIS job, which is running the ship. McCoy would have literally let the kids take over their ship and conquer the galaxy as part of their grieving process lol. Kirk was right and I should say it. (Also btw he understands that killing the kids might be an option—but he obviously doesn’t actually do it.)

I actually think this ep is a great example of the triumvirate functioning--McCoy reminds Kirk that the children are just traumatized children, and Spock reminds him that he's responsible for 400+ people on the ship, and Kirk makes the decisions that vanquish the evil, save the ship, and free the kids.

And look, even if you don’t like this episode, you’d have to argue very hard to convince me it’s the WORST, as in worse than Spock’s Brain, worse than The Alternative Factor, worse than Assignment Earth (not even a real TOS ep!), worse than The Omega Glory.

Some stuff I actively liked: the concept of the alien taking over the children specifically (both creepy and…kinda makes sense? That they’d be vulnerable); the message that the followers of demagogues can be both truly dangerous and objects of sympathy; the backstory of the evil empire of pirate aliens—and how greed doesn’t die; the witchcraft aesthetic, ESPECIALLY when paired with the kid antagonists, since kids are so into that like chanting, incantations, rituals thing; that the ep used every single main character (when was the last time a TOS ep did that?). Also I thought the kid actors did a good job!

The theme about the authoritarian and the cult followers was actually quite resonant, I thought; inevitably made me think of Tr/ump and his Tr/umpies. Just like in this episode, you must have some kind of… if not sympathy, at least willingness to do the hard work of deprograming and then bringing them back to the fold, or else the country is never going to heal and it’s never going to be able to go forward in a positive way. It might not go forward at all! But fuck it’s hard to have that sympathy; they’re so abhorrent. Here, you see the terrible things the kids do, and yet sympathy isn’t so hard, because they’re kids. You see how much they are victims/pawns also. And so in that sense, Kirk’s ability to deprogram them is comfortingly optimistic—a little bittersweet, as TOS often is, because the kids have done horrible things and seen horrible things and now they’ll have to live with it, but comforting nonetheless.

I can’t even think of that many things I didn’t like in the ep. Mostly just nitpicky things. Like, was McCoy a little inconsistent in what he thought should be done with the kids? Yeah, but we get the general idea. Did Kirk drop the ball when he let them hang out on the bridge? Yes, especially as he knew how dangerous they were at that point, but I actually don’t mind it so much because they’re kids—it’s understandable that their true dangerousness didn’t fully compute to him. I don’t see that as a mistake or sloppy writing tbh. And was it an amateur hour mistake to beam two people into space? Yes, but it made up for it in being creepy and upping the stakes of the ep.

I guess I could see how the fist gesture could be seen as a little silly. But the other option, having them speak rhymes each time, would have been distracting—and probably also looked silly! Also, as my mom pointed out, it looks like a kid’s game (sorta like the start of rock paper scissors) so it fits appropriately with the theme.

I really liked how they wove in the aesthetic of kids’ games, kids’ manners of playing, into the narrative. Kids can be really creepy! They like creepy things! So the ring around the rosy rhyme at the beginning—a quite disturbing chant, of course, about the Plague, that is also very commonly sung by actual kids—foreshadows the summoning chant that brings the alien to them. It’s all of a piece. And just like the rhyme is just a rhyme, and they don’t know the real meaning behind it, they probably also don’t fully understand the meaning of the summoning chant or the alien that comes with it. It’s all one big game to them.

It’s interesting that the alien seemed to play off their desire both to punish their parents for working too much ("they like the planet, they're always busy") and to have freedom from parental rules (how they react to any instructions from adults, the alien's promise that the whole universe will be their playground, etc.). He really picks their sore spots as kids specifically and turns them into his “generals” accordingly. Like all kids, they don’t think too much about the larger consequences of their game because in some ways, it really is all just a game to them.

I liked how the episode characterized Kirk’s ability to interact with kids. He’s not bad with them at all, but he’s not like McCoy or Chapel either. He “wants to communicate with the future adult in the kid,” as my mom put it, which is perfect. He doesn’t exactly treat them as mini-adults—he doesn’t say inappropriate things to them, and he does simplify his language and his ideas for them—but he does treat them very seriously. And he’s probably best at one-on-one interactions like with Tommy. I think this makes total sense for his character: he doesn’t have kids (David aside lol), he doesn’t have younger siblings, he doesn’t work in a place where he’d see other people’s kids, he doesn’t get to see his nephew much, etc.

…Okay those were all my notes. I know I had other thoughts that were a little less scattered later, but… I’m tired. And most of it is probably in here in some form or another. I also found a list of, like, actual critiques of the episode, and I was considering going through them and addressing them all, and I might still do that. But I think that’s for another day.

[spirit-science-blog]

The Dark Crystal

So I know this series is called Hidden Spirituality but as many of you in the comments have pointed out… At some point we have to be honest with ourselves and acknowledge that especially with some of these movies, we really ought to name it “Obvious Spirituality”, and the Dark Crystal is definitely one of those kinds of films.

Also - let it be known that this episode will specifically be exploring the original film of The Dark Crystal, we are not going to be getting into the Netflix Prequel Series at this time, although I’m certain that it would make for some great content. And to that end, Spoiler Warning, but you knew that already, didn’t you?

So in essence, The Dark Crystal is basically an hour and a half long magical adventure through a world of mysticism, alchemy, and astrology - in a world entirely different from our own, and yet a beautiful reflection of our own inner consciousness.

The story begins by describing that a thousand years ago, there was planetary conjunction that brought about great change. The narrator describes that the great Crystal cracked, and a single shard was lost, creating chaos. This is a spiritual reference to our own collective consciousness and our relationship with the eternal oneness, in the sense that we ourselves have been disconnected from the greater whole. It also seems to be subtly relating to the fall of Lucifer or the idea of a fallen consciousness. In the Bible, Lucifer was said to fall from heaven, becoming separate from the Oneness and creating evil in the world. It is when the great crystal cracks and the shard is separated, that the Oneness becomes fragmented, and two races appear, the Skeksis, and the Urru, but the film simply refers to them as Mystics.

When this happened, the evil Skeksis took control of the crystal castle, and this is also related to us today in that there are those in power today who wield it for evil or selfish purposes, which is the nature of the Skeksis. We also hear the line that the Crystal hangs above a chasm of Air and Fire, both of which are alchemical forces relating to spiritual and mental energy, there is no water or emotional energy where the Skeksis are. There are - however, Sacred Geometry and other Alchemy symbols all over the crystal castle.

Now, it is only at the end it is revealed that the Skeksis and Mystics were originally one species, the UrSkek, these wise alien superbeings, who created a symbiotic relationship with the crystal, but that in their arrogance they unwittingly caused the crystal to crack, splitting themselves into two lesser states, the Skeksis, and the Mystics.

This is a Qabalistic lesson in the Tree of Life too - for the Urskek represent the path of harmony, aligned in the middle of the tree, and who made a mistake on the journey, causing them to polarize to an extreme on the left and right-hand path. The path of severity, and the path of mercy.

The Skeksis become the path of severity, being cruel, intense, sharp, and violent. The Mystics become the path of Mercy, who lives in a dream of natural peace, rehearsing the old rituals with forgetfulness, and the ancient wisdom is almost lost.

Another way of looking at these races, however, is as two aspects of our selves. The Skeksis are our lower self, the survival-based fear-driven mentality that compels us to act in selfish and cruel ways to one another, where the mystics are our higher selves, but who are often so gentle and soft that it’s nearly impossible to hear or understand what’s really going on with them. Thus, when they are harmonized as the UrSkek, they describe a unified being, the higher and lower selves united in the heart.

However, we must also acknowledge then that since they are two sides of the greater whole, there are qualities of Skeksis that are not actually bad. Qualities like sharpness, passionate intensity, or generally being opportunists, are qualities that do value in the world, such as mental sharpness, or passionately being engaged in something meaningful - however, the challenge with the Skeksis is that these qualities are all paired with cruelty.

And likewise with the Mystics, while we look at them as the good guys, and certainly, they are - they are slow and forgetful, they don’t care much for anything other than just doing their old rituals even though they have mostly forgotten them. There’s a beautiful lesson here is that Truth and Wisdom come when the darkness and the light dissolve into One.

Now, The Dark Crystal also speaks to us in another way, reminding us of our place in the world and society right now, in that we are in a time of great change. The narrator explains at the beginning that the time of testing has come, for it is time for the world to heal, or to pass into a neverending realm of darkness. This is explored by the nature of prophecy, and how prophecy comes about at all.

You see, the Dark Crystal explores the idea that the astrological movements of the celestial bodies have an energetic effect on the world, just as we today understand that the gravity of the moon has an effect on our emotional states. The Dark Crystal explains that by understanding the movements of the celestial bodies, they could see patterns and cycles that reflect events that take place on the planet, and that a thousand years ago there was a conjunction of the 3 suns, and that when it happened again in another thousand years, we would either pass into a time of healing or neverending darkness, depending on the outcome of the events.

We see this elaborated further by Aughra, who explains that the conjunction simply means a time of change, sometimes things get better, sometimes things get worse. It’s not that the Astrology determines these things, simply that it is a reflection of the times of transformation, cycles, and these changes happen in the microcosm as well. Aughra says that it’s the end of the world, or the beginning, end, and beginning - same thing. I swear, she was probably this close to saying “As Above, So Below” before the beetle-borg rush in...  That’s what they’re called, right?

Now, on another level, this movie is just riddled with truth bombs in just the best way, and sometimes these lines are so fast that you only catch them if you’re already attentively aware of what’s going on. For example, when Jen first meets Aughra, she asks “ “Who sent you?” “My master” “where is he? Somewhere around here?” “he’s dead” “Hm could be anywhere then”.

Honestly, it’s such a funny line, yet it really aligns with so many ancient wisdom teachings that say when we die, our consciousness, the energy of our being merges with everything, and can move freely throughout existence.

But the best, deepest truth bomb in this movie, and honestly is in the running for the deepest truth bomb in ANY movie EVER- is this one!

*Oming at their face scene*

Maybe laugh about it.  

Now, of course, this movie revolves around the characters Jen and Kira, who go on the adventure to restore the shard to the dark crystal. We discover that when they touch, they engage in a telepathic connection of sharing their memories, which they call dream fasting. While their experience was very intense and visual, we do see this happening in subtle ways on earth, when two people who share a deep soul connection meet - they feel as though they have known each other all their lives, or have this deep intuitive and seemingly psychic connection with each other.

Now, throughout the film, there’s a bunch of adventure and drama and what have you but lets a laser in on the ending for a moment. Jen restores the crystal, and the mystics and skeksis merge together. However, Kira has been killed in the process, and as she lay there fallen in Jen's arms, we have yet another deep and profound truth-bomb.

The newly restored Urkeks say to Jen: Hold her too you, she is part of you as we are all apart of each other. BOOM! I mean, does that even need elaboration? Well, in case it does - scientifically today we actually can identify that all of us are apart of the same quantum energy field that makes up all things and that our energy is intimately intertwined and connected, and at this energetic level, there is no separation between us, even if we feel that there is. Further, this scene demonstrates the power of love to create and build those connections, because it is through the wisdom of the Urskeks and the Love of Jen that restores Kira to live.

Finally, our last truth bomb - The urskeks leave us with the restored Crystal of Truth, and remind us clearly, to make your world in its light. This is a powerful lesson and reminder for us all, that we must learn to embody the light of truth and to make the world with the wisdom we gain from its glory.

[cake-writes]

Fire Breather (Part Three)

Pairings: Steve x Reader x Dark!Steve, Implied Steve x Peggy

Warnings: Deceptively Dark!Steve, Endgame Spoilers, Violence, Angst, Alternate Timeline, Reader Has Powers, 18+

Summary: It all made sense now why he wanted to go alone, why he’d been so distant with you lately. Steve had planned this. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision like yours. And yours, well – it changed everything.

Part Two / Master List

Well, you couldn’t really say that you didn’t expect it.

The compound’s lock-up facilities were small, spotless, and not-at-all comfortable. The walls were a pale grey, and the lighting was harsh, fluorescent. There weren’t any bars on your cell, because instead, what kept you inside was a thin shield of energy that was supposedly even stronger. You knew better than to test it out.

Only after you were locked securely inside did you finally try for some answers. Bucky was alone and fiddling with the control panel, probably inputting some information so that the others were alerted to your containment. You were surprised he even knew what he was doing; he'd never been the greatest with technology.  

You let out a long, exhausted, pointed sigh, but he ignored you. Of course he did. You'd just have to say your piece anyway.

“I fucked up, Buck,” you told him, taking a seat on the hard mattress inside your cell. Your voice was rough from crying. “I know that. It was stupid. But I came right back, right? It’s not like I—I killed someone. Right?”

Bucky continued to ignore you up until those last few words, and then he shot you a look: dangerous, dark. It made whatever other things you planned to say shrivel up and die in your throat. In that moment, to you, he was as cold as the Winter Soldier he once was - not the friendly, taunting Bucky you'd come to know and love like family.

At your stunned silence, he slowly turned back to the computer in front of him. Minutes passed in silence as he typed – something. You weren’t sure what. You wanted to defend yourself, get it documented, but you didn’t know what to say. Bucky had done worse things than this. You thought that he of all people would understand, and he was supposed to be your friend. 

Your wrist was marred with dark bruises, but you knew that it would pale in comparison to whatever horrors lay upon your aching upper arm. Your sleeves were too tight to roll up and check on it, and you couldn’t really take your shirt off here, so for now the damage would have to remain a mystery. You were scared to see it anyway. You’d always known that Steve was strong, but until today you’d never had that brute strength directed towards you.

“Why?”

At Bucky’s sudden question, you looked up from your bruised wrist and over to him. He was standing in front of your cell, now, finally giving you his full attention.

“You know why,” you told him, voice wavering just a little. “He left.”

“Who left?”

As you studied Bucky's face, you saw determination, doubt, and judgment – and not a lick of sympathy. Whether he didn’t know what you were talking about or he was purposely being cruel, you weren’t sure and, frankly, you didn’t care. Either way, it hurt.

“Steve did. For—” your voice cracked, then, “For her. Why even make me say it, Bucky? Is that supposed to be some kind of punishment?”

He eyed you for a moment, entirely unreadable, before he switched gears. It didn’t look like your words had affected him at all, which made you feel even worse. “Who are you working for?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. None of this made any sense. “What? I work for Tony. We both do. Or, well… we did.”

Before he could ask you to elaborate, the door slid open and another person strode confidently into the room. Natasha. A sigh of relief escaped you when you saw her.

“Nat,” you croaked, offering a pathetic little wave. “I sure screwed everything up this time, didn’t I?”

Natasha’s lips were pressed in a thin line, and when you spoke to her, she froze for a split second; then she shot a sharp glare in your direction. You shut your mouth and slowly brought your hand back down to your lap, chewing your lip.

No one could stand the sight of you, it seemed. Not even her, and her morals were the most ambiguous out of anyone.

Had it really been so terrible, what you did? It was stupid, sure, but harmless. No one had been hurt, and you’d come right back. That wasn’t what you intended to do, of course, but that was what happened. Was all of this vitriol really necessary? Was a fucking jail cell really necessary?

“You weren’t kidding,” she said to Bucky, her face an impassive mask as she walked over to the control panel. “She’s good, I’ll give her that. I can even feel it from here.”

There it was again. They were talking about you like you were someone else. Steve had done it too.

Bucky went right back to ignoring you, joining Natasha at the panel. “Look at this. I don’t get it.”

Natasha frowned, tapping on the screen a little harder than necessary. “There’s no way it’s a match. It has to be a glitch. We all saw—”

Unfortunately, she was cut off by Tony’s loud, booming voice echoing throughout the room over the intercom. “Meeting room. Now. Let's go, chop chop.”

You stared up at the speakers in the ceiling, humbled by the sound. Tony had met his untimely death just a few days ago during that final battle with Thanos. It was just like him to make some recordings of his voice. How clever.

Steve placed the unfamiliar cell phone down in the middle of the meeting room table.

“You’ve all probably heard by now, but it looks like Hydra’s trying out some new tactics,” he told the group without even a hint of emotion. “Even had me fooled.”

Then he hit the button on the television remote to show you pacing anxiously in your cell.

An audible gasp escaped Wanda at the sight, but every single person in the room shared the sentiment. Only a few of them had actually seen you prior to this moment, but it came as a shock to everyone.

“How is she here?” Clint’s doubt was evident in his voice. “She’s gone.”

Steve gripped the back of an empty chair so tightly it nearly broke. “I don’t know. It’s gotta be a trick.”

“Whatever it is, it’s advanced,” Natasha stated. “Even FRIDAY recognizes her.”

Tony rolled his eyes and gave her a skeptical look, shifting in his chair. “Come on, guys. FRIDAY’s too smart for that. She wouldn’t fall for some stupid trick.”

“We did a full body scan, Tony,” Bruce told him, sliding a tablet over to Tony for him to take a look at the results. “We tested her DNA. It’s all a match.”  

The room went silent as Tony skimmed through the data. That was, of course, the moment you started to hum to calm your nerves. It was almost inaudible, but Steve noticeably tensed up at the sound. That song in particular was entirely too familiar.

Sam wasn't the only one to see his reaction, but he was the one who switched off the TV to spare Steve at least a shred of misery. “What do we do? If it’s not her, then—”

“It’s not her,” Steve snapped at him, betraying his otherwise calm demeanour.

Sam winced, holding his hands up in defense. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”

“She played dumb when I talked to her,” Bucky spoke up thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest. “Said something about Steve leaving her for another girl. Didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

A flash of hurt went across Steve’s face, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted him. “I don’t believe her.”

“What about her phone?” Wanda asked, nodding to the device on the table. “That's hers, isn't it? It looks kind of weird.”

“There’s not a whole lot on there,” Tony answered. “She’s got a contact named Steve, because of course she does. Lots of phone calls. Texts, too. I saw a bunch of stuff I really wish I hadn’t.”  

Bruce groaned in exasperation, “Tony.”

“Take a look when you get a chance, Cap, she’s been really—” When Tony realized he was being glared at by a good portion of the team, he cleared his throat and continued, “Thorough. Anyway. The phone numbers are the weird part. They don’t actually exist. Might be some sort of code. FRIDAY’s analyzing them now.”

He chose not to mention that even he didn’t recognize the technology in the cell phone. Even Wanda had noticed that it looked a little strange, and while it was extremely similar to what the team used, there were small, almost imperceptible differences inside that only he had found. 

Not only that, but some of the intimate photos he’d seen were explicit and very clearly involved Steve. How - if - they’d been doctored, he wasn’t sure, but he purposely planted the seed so that Steve would look into it himself. Tony certainly didn't want to look at them again; it made him feel like he was intruding on something way too private and intimate.

“If you go to talk to her,” Natasha began in warning, “and I highly suggest that you not, just know that’s she’s good. Manipulative. She joked with me just like she used to, and her powers…”

Sam took a good look at Natasha and found that she seemed uncharacteristically bothered by it all. “What about her powers?”

“She’s sure as hell got ‘em,” Bucky responded uncertainly. “Somehow. Had me sweating in seconds.”

“Lock-up is freezing, too,” Natasha added. “It's like there’s a wall of cold air as soon as you walk in the door.”

“Oh, great!” Tony excitedly got to his feet. “That’s fantastic.”

Wanda eyed him warily. “How?”

Tony just grinned at her. “It's a good place to start.”

Part Four

Tags: @patzammit

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Vigil oneshot in which Vigil recuperates and Bandit is detrimental? (Rating M, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of torture, ~3.9k words) - written for @blitznbandit as a Christmas present 💞💞 I didn’t mean for it to get this dark but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Best wishes and Merry Christmas! :)

.

He returns fragmented. Having lost pieces along the way, parts of him damaged, he’s less than before. Less human, less capable, less trusting. A few chunks were beaten out of him, knocking others loose in the process and therefore he’s hesitant to ask for help in patching the holes, in case someone isn’t careful enough and makes it worse.

Though it doesn’t feel as if it could get any worse.

Visual representations of his state adorn him, discolouration of skin, tears, cuts, attempts at extracting the highly sought-after information through his outer shell though they didn’t manage to pull it out of his flesh. They tried, however. Most of it is unnatural, he supposes, frightful even, renders him fragile-looking when his mind has never been as stony as it is now. He won’t break, might splinter and chip in places, but he won’t shatter. He hasn’t so far. He’s not going to now.

Dokkaebi cries. She just stands before him and lets tear after tear roll over her cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her sobs and he’s lost, misplaced his script on what to do now, how to react, and there’s no teleprompter or anyone taking charge, so they stand there: Dokkaebi crying and him fighting one of the waves bringing blurriness and further detachment which have become so intimately familiar to him by now. The whole scene might as well be a video on a screen, despite the fact that the wet ground smells of grass and cool air surrounds him.

The scenery changes, someone pulls the slim woman away and another silhouette by his side gently leads him across a canvas of places, all of them unreal and not registering in his head though less shrill than the sterile, smelly white ones in which he spent … an undetermined amount of time. He doesn’t know which day it is.

Voices underwater pose questions his subconscious knows the answer to and therefore he’s able to keep up a semblance of normalcy while his thoughts repeat the endless litany of wanting to sleep. Wanting to go home. Wanting to feel safe again. Wanting to remember what it’s like to feel. At certain points, there’s absence of sound and it makes him itchy, raises his alertness without contributing to clearing his mind and thus leaves him skittish, so it’s no surprise than he flinches violently at a small touch. He’s up on his feet immediately, turned towards his threat who isn’t a threat at all, he knows this person, can conjure up their image in his head yet couldn’t tell who it is or from where he knows them. Relaxing is hard when he’s not sure of the identity of this person, but the guy in scrubs – it’s a doctor – no, it’s Doc – says his name, Gilles, and it could be someone or it could be no one.

His fight response has been triggered and so his system is painfully vigilant even when he’s suddenly sitting down again and he idly wonders whether he’ll ever feel like anyone at all again.

.

He’s a foreign body, bumbling uselessly and getting in people’s way while they, somehow, he has no idea how, go about their lives. Imitating them is impossible as simple interactions drain him to a worrying degree, so treating his own existence as an inevitable misfortune with which all of them are stuck seems to be the only alternative. If speaking wasn’t such a chore, he’d apologise the whole day. Keeping out of sight and turning himself invisible is his preferred course of action even if it means some people startle at him walking into their peripheral vision as if he was a ghost.

By now, he’s begun to sort experiences into boxes. Not being able to trust his own memory is at best unpleasant and at worst wholly disorienting and disturbing, so he endeavours to fill the gaps and shave off excess. Some of it undeniably happened as he’s carrying the proof on his body, even if he doesn’t recall a blowtorch, while other details are strikingly vivid yet make no sense. He was held underground, not in a forest and still, he feels thick, wet leaves caress his skin and branches snap under his sole. No, there were no windows nor any indication as to his location, the photos show him what he might’ve seen in a film once yet nothing he recognises. But he drowned. In the dry cellar, forbidden to wash himself, every drop sacred, he could’ve drowned. It certainly felt like it and the cruel irony of wanting to drink it all, the knowledge it won’t kill him didn’t make it better. He’s started exclusively taking baths. He doesn’t like the feel of water on his face.

Compartmentalising helps, albeit it’s a double-edged sword as it further alienates him from those who appear to need him most. The causality of it is puzzling as he’s fine by himself yet it’s others who seek him out nonetheless, require assurances and an affirmation that they’re doing all they can. They’re the ones needing a pat on the back but he unlearned it all, so all he earns is concern at his empty stares. He begins avoiding them, the only exception being Blackbeard – the American’s voice is unimpeded by his silence, penetrates the sound barrier erected in self-defence and fills his head with words, phrases, ideas which resonate with something forgotten inside him. Blackbeard is familiar and calming and no one would guess he’s talking to a husk with how animatedly he gestures and slowly, slowly, his utterances begin to develop meaning.

.

Vigil starts healing. It’s a multi-faceted process and accompanied by a significant amount of itching, both outside and inside. His senses return to him in a more conscious fashion than simply identifying potential dangers in his vicinity and his body’s ability to obey improves though it’s still held back by overpowering fatigue; at least there are no more dizzy spells or involuntary movements. Not as many anyway. The variety of injuries invite him to scratch, especially the blisters and the scabs, the freshly opened ones – usually a result of carelessness or a motion too extreme – send out white hot, pulsing signals impossible to ignore. He becomes intimately familiar with every visible piece of writing in Doc’s office as he reads it over and over and over again. Reading anything other than single words and simple sentences is too much.

His sleep is restless and the source of most of his frustration as the exhaustion turning him sluggish and numbing his limbs is omnipresent yet relief unattainable. Sometimes, he wants to scream and thrash, pound the mattress with his fists because it’s so unfair, he’s tired, it’s dark, why won’t it work, why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work – furious, he feels pressure on his eyes and gets up, resists the urge to put his fist through something and walks until he’s light-headed, tries push-ups on his elbows, feels stitches and bandages pull on his skin. And even when darkness does envelop him, brilliant dreams ensure he wakes up sweat-soaked and gasping for air.

He dreams of him. And in a way it’s more terrifying than just re-living memories.

.

Before he – before it all happened, he caught the eye of a predator. Felt slitted pupils lazily glide over to him, unfocused and slow as he poses no threat, was unhurriedly yet thoroughly studied and classified as easy prey. To this day, he’s unsure what made him stand out, which of his eccentricities painted a large target on his back causing claws to bury themselves in his vulnerable torso. He was hunted down and slain for sport, he assumes, incapable of defending himself; only then the dangerous creature did develop an appetite after all. Devoured whole, Vigil cowered, obeyed, surrendered.

His memories convince him that he enjoyed it. Basked in the unexpected attention, revelled in a deluge of foreign sensations, released tension under experienced fingertips ghosting over him. Every single instance lasted at least an hour and he thought each the last one, anticipated being deprived of this… this frenzied feeding sooner rather than later, yet repetition tricked his mind into believing it’d become a habit. In a way, he wasn’t wrong: it was a regular occurrence, the intervals shrinking continuously until he couldn’t reasonably predict the next one anymore, merely waited for it to happen excitedly.

The anticipation has vanished completely now. It’s been replaced by a stoic dread he insistently denies and the pleasant memories are sullied by his dreams. He would prefer to limit his nightly terrors to the faceless monsters who – who did all this to him, who altered his very being, yet they’re not the ones holding him down, kicking and slapping, trying to force him to betray the very organisation which eventually came to his rescue. It’s not them. It’s him.

.

Training is hell, icy fire licking the insides of his lungs, inflamed muscles hindering his every move. He needs to, needs to catch up on all he missed after having spent too much time idling fruitlessly, hoping moronically for everything to sort itself out somehow, as if there was a spirit for broken minds who could mend them with a flick of its wrist. If such a thing exists, it must be very busy.

No one can help him but himself, especially not the woman he’s meant to trust and tell everything that happened. She’s trying to be comforting and soft but comes across as otherworldly, shapeless and inconsequential – time and time again she brings up topics Vigil feels are entirely irrelevant and meets his badly suppressed anger with pretentious understanding, advises inane exercises he refuses to do in his spare time and hovers just around the edge of actually reaching him. Blackbeard breaks through nonchalantly, acts as if nothing has changed while picking up bits and pieces, distractedly putting them back where they belong without mentioning it. Vigil much prefers his company.

In time, Dokkaebi finds it in herself to grow cold as well, shield herself and meet his downcast gaze and inaudible words with her usual boisterous behaviour, complaining about him taking too long with everything, eating, walking, healing, and her impatience and lack of compassion help him redefine himself as more than just a victim. He remains an operator, abilities tried and tested, and therefore expecting him to function as one is reasonable; he needs to pull himself together. So he trains. And keeps failing.

The whole atmosphere shifts as soon as he enters the room. Silently, he moves and manages to steal Vigil’s breath despite his casual demeanour, causes an adrenaline rush unlike any other he’s recently felt. He’s trapped, alone, for the first time sharing space with him on his own since he came back and it’s terrifying. Golden brown eyes petrify him, lock him into place and there’s no doubt he’s here for Vigil. Probably feels like he’s given him enough time to recuperate, now he’ll demand his share once more, sink his teeth deep and leave him behind bleeding. So far, he’s kept his distance, didn’t even grace his mark with a single glance. For what felt like weeks.

Vigil needs something to do, mind aflutter in panic, and despite every cell in his body urging him to escape, slip away and hope he won’t pursue, he decides to be proactive. To him, it feels like the first choice he’s made in a while. Lying down on the nearest bench panders to his persistent fatigue and yet it hinders him not at this moment for the heady rush of danger encompassing him counteracts his usual exhaustion. “Spot me”, he demands and wraps his fingers around the cool metal bar above him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise proportionally to how near he is and when Bandit comes to a halt right behind him, he nearly trembles. They study each other motionlessly and for an eternity, Bandit looking down, Vigil looking up. “You’re too weak”, an accented voice informs him though hands contradict it, reach out, ready to support if necessary. Vigil averts his gaze and lifts the weight, brings it into the correct position and lets the familiar feel calm him – this, he knows how to do.

“I’m not”, he protests because he can and couldn’t tell when he last said no to anyone. Repetition and concentration both put his thoughts to rest and occupy him, render him complacent as he watches two pairs of hands rise and fall gently, one of them radiating volatile energy, threatening to turn on him any second, cover his eyes, punch his throat, hold his mouth and nose shut.

He’s scared.

And then something does go wrong, a sharp pain pierces his consciousness and reflective silver fills his vision; the bar came to a stop alarmingly close to his face, mere centimetres from possibly finishing what was started a while ago. His head wound still isn’t healed fully. Dumbly, he stares at it as if mere thought could make it vanish, then capable arms work to return the weight to its rightful place. And he tells him in a judging tone: “Don’t overexert yourself.” Before Vigil can even consider talking back, more words are tacked onto the presumptuous statement: “Start easy. You’re not used to it anymore.”

And this is when it tilts over. His rage is partially unfounded, Bandit has no control over his dreams, can’t influence what his dream self does yet is solely responsible for staying away all this time – his actions, or rather the lack thereof, cut deeper than Vigil was aware, fuelled an underlying self-consciousness and insecurity. He felt discarded, unworthy, and now that he’s in better physical shape Bandit seeks him out again? Hardly a coincidence. He must’ve enjoyed how submissive Vigil was, how responsive, but felt no urge to to accept the responsibility which comes with commitment. Where were you?, Vigil wants to spit in his face, Where were you when I needed you most? I’m no toy. I’m not at your mercy. I’m not to be abandoned like this.

His fury both causes accusations to bubble up in him and holds his tongue, a learned reflex to any extreme emotion. He’s long cut off the spikes in his moods, mellowed them out so no extremes happen, keeps it all safe and sound in the middle. Sitting up, he notices his hands shaking. He’s not afraid of him anymore, somehow knows Bandit will never go as far as his projection did repeatedly, not when he’s this passive, this passionless about him. All that time he always set aside seemed to have been a lie, a convenience. He was a fool to believe it to be more.

“I missed you.”

Resisting the impulse to spew I was right here is difficult but possible. Instead, he allows a question to see the light of day which has been eating away at him for a while. “Why me?” He’s long ceased to pose it in relation to tragedies, long accepted the fact he will never know the answer. Coincidences are free of judgement, his place of birth pure chance, his capture an unfortunate event – none of it specifically geared towards breaking his spirit by a higher power or the universe itself. However, this time it might yield an answer. He sincerely hopes it does, yet with every passing second in which Bandit mutely regards him with an unreadable expression, the probability decreases. “You can have anyone.”

“But I don’t want anyone.”

The message is clear though its origin nebulous. But why. Why me. Upset, confused and upset over his confusion, he attempts to flee the conversation, extract himself as he’s unsure how to face this man, how to deal with his own emotions. Getting past Bandit proves impossible though, the slim figure is an unsurmountable obstacle, soft eyes fixing him in place and a tentatively outstretched hand has him flinch first, then accept the touch of a palm on his elbow, travelling up until it comes into contact with his still discoloured jaw. Turning away is futile, fingers wrap around his own and then a body moulds itself around him despite his resistance. He’s suffocating, refuses to breathe in this wild scent of blood, sweat and hunger, realises too late he smells the same.

Bandit waits until his thrashing has subsided, patiently holds on as if he knew what he was doing. Eventually, exhaustion drives Vigil into the arms of his hunter and he relents at the cost of his sanity, dignity, sense of self-worth. Accepting warmth and human contact is surprisingly arduous but the pay-off staggering: he thaws, he melts, he dissolves under gentle hands, in a loose embrace, and its realness leaves him reeling. Logic tells him he possesses the same body heat, must feel nice to Bandit or else he would’ve withdrawn already, yet the idea of him feeling as good as Bandit does to him now is unimaginable. He needs more.

A quiet plea is met with hesitation at first, but when he emphasises it, Bandit nods. “Let’s go then”, he says, voice shaky.

.

Before even any fabric is shed, Vigil starts to struggle. His side is still sensitive, so he forcibly removes Bandit’s hand when it brushes over it, he doesn’t enjoy the feel of the tongue on his collarbone and pushes his head away, yanks at clothing to keep the German half off him. Though it’s thrilling and the low pulsing need permeating his being is the sharpest feeling he’s had for a while, he’s worried about showing his mutilated body, about evoking disgust instead of lust, about memories of sadistic grins and fire and needles and fists and water taking control of him. His subconscious fear manifests in the turning away of his head, in refusal to make eye contact, in jerks and light kicks and shoving.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Bandit asks and kisses the hand he caught as if it hadn’t tried to pull on his hair. No judgement in his inquiry, strangely enough. He would actually stop. There is no doubt.

A violent shudder seizes his body and he couldn’t tell whether it’s born from pleasure or dismay. The lips are ticklish and he doesn’t think he’d survive it if Bandit rejected him. “No.” He surprises himself with the response; the safer option would be to give up, not even allowing for the chance to harm himself further by ruining the one hopeful thing in his life at the moment, yet the drive to feel human again is too powerful.

So Bandit continues, undeterred by the resistance he faces and – it’s different to the times before, softer, more patient. At first it seems as if he, too, believes Vigil to be fragile and therefore takes certain precautions, isn’t as rough as he was previously, but the more time passes the more one undeniable truth crystallises and makes Vigil’s heart come alive: Bandit isn’t treating him like something delicate. He’s treating him like something precious.

His caresses don’t shy away from faded bruises or bandages, touches actively follow scarring unless Vigil displays discomfort, and though he’s careful, he’s far from tentative – repeatedly, he unintentionally causes stabs of pain hindering Vigil’s attempts to wholly give himself up and revel in the familiar affections. In response, Vigil lashes out on a small scale, bites a little too hard, scratches instead of stroking skin, and never once earns any form of protest. Bandit allows him to fight back mostly symbolically, something he was never able to do in the hands of his captors. He loses his inhibitions and wonders why it feels so good to inflict pain, ponders whether it’s linked to Bandit not paying him any attention while his mind was heavily impeded, when it hits him out of the blue.

A kiss to the top of his head makes him smile, stretches his lips all by itself. During a small break, he marvels at Bandit’s body. He even takes the initiative at some point and is rewarded with an almost enamoured gaze in return which drags something in his chest to the surface; something he was sure to have lost. They draw meaningless patterns on skin lazily, let their whims decide on what they do, and it’s peaceful.

Vigil feels like himself again. Not entirely, he hasn’t reverted back to his old self, that would be nothing short of a miracle, but his sense of self has returned – he is Chul Kyung Hwa, he is Vigil, he is part of the White Tigers and Rainbow and right now, he is here because he wants to be. And he will not let misfortune define him.

.

A careless remark, nothing more, Blackbeard’s usual dry humour showcased in a blunt comment and yet its utter lack of respect is scandalising and amusing enough for Vigil to laugh. Not a loud, full-bellied laugh which could hope to compete with the American’s, no, a quiet chuckle rather but an expression of entertainment nonetheless. They’re eating together and Vigil is picky, has traded parts of it with his teammate and others, approaching them first. Bending his mouth around pleasantries remains a feat he has yet to master but even so, it’s met with genuine friendliness and relief he generously overlooks.

Dokkaebi picks up on it immediately, abandoning her conversation to grace him with a meaningful smirk. “You just laughed”, she states triumphantly as if it was her own achievement.

Days ago, he wouldn’t have replied but he’s come to realise once more that he likes her, enjoys her company. Looking back, he feels bad about not reassuring her the day he returned, piling on to her already overwhelming grief. He admits: “I feel better.”

She nods; it must be glaringly obvious. “Must be contagious, even Dom smiled at me earlier.”

“Is that noteworthy?”

“He’s had it rough too.” His expression must display some of his disbelief for Dokkaebi explains herself: “He was with us the entire time we tried to find you, probably put in more hours than even Craig. And then, when you got rescued, you… I don’t know what you were on, I wasn’t there. But you were terrified of him – of them all, but him the most. I think it hurt him. Doc told him to stay away from you for a while, just in case.”

Dreams tightly intertwined with memories, forming an entirely unfair and inaccurate hybrid which painted Bandit in a much harsher light than he deserved. He never was a predator, Vigil never his prey, and while he was indeed devoured, it was preceded by awkward half-conversations and uncertain gestures; the time they spent together valuable to both of them. He’s been unjust.

“But he seems better now, and so do you. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yes”, Vigil agrees readily, startling her into silence. “Maybe I should.”

When Bandit and he finally make eye contact across the room after a lot of furtive glances, Vigil presents him with a tentative smile. And is not at all prepared for the wide one he’s granted in return.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The King of Hell’s Kitchen

And we’re back! Last time, Matt beat the crap out of Fisk, unmasked in Josie’s, and declared himself the new Kingpin. We pick up a year later, with Ben explaining to an unseen companion at a diner just what’s been going on for the past twelve months. This is gonna be a long one, guys, sorry. (Bendis/Maleev, DD v2 #56-60.)

[Content Warning: There is a passing reference to Squirrel Hill, as in the Pittsburgh neighborhood - no connection to the recent tragedy there, as this comic is about 15 years old. I just didn’t want anyone blindsided.]

Basically, despite Matt unmasking in front of a room full of criminals, everyone is too terrified of him to actually admit that they saw his face, which means that he’s been able to keep up the double life game, even though fewer people than ever believe he’s not Daredevil anymore. This is all stuff Ben has gathered through hearsay, since Matt told him to stay away for his own protection and they haven’t spoken directly since before Josie’s.

Matt even had time to grow a horrible goatee!

It’s SO BAD, MATTHEW, WHY.

He also won his lawsuit against that one tabloid, meaning that currently, in the eyes of the court, Matt Murdock is not Daredevil. He donated the enormous amount of money he won to neighborhood charities. Please note this line: “See, Matt’s new girlfriend, Milla Donovan, actually works at the Hell’s Kitchen housing commission.” Just hold onto that for a minute.

Matt’s so popular, in fact, he’s approached to run for mayor!

“I am dizzy from you.” Wow, Franklin. WOW.

Not everyone is happy with Matt’s recent choices, though, as evidenced by an intervention from some of the local superheroes:

Do you think Luke got all the way to that fourth panel before realizing he was the only one here without an alliterative name and felt suddenly self-conscious? Do you think he had a split second of “Should I try to go by Carl Cage just for right now? Could I pull it off?”

Anyway one of the things I really love about Maleev’s art is the specificity of his...well, either photo referencing or just drawing from life. I could take you to the exact spot they’re standing in Bryant Park. (It’s a logical meeting place for this group, too, since it’s centrally located and walking distance from - but not inside - Hell’s Kitchen.)

Anyway, the others are pissed because Matt saying “Get out of Hell’s Kitchen!” to criminals just...made them do crime above 59th Street and below 34th, which was a pretty foregone conclusion. Matt’s unsympathetic:

Who wants to tell Matt that Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, and the Village are all in Manhattan and his little plan here doesn’t make sense? Like, Matt and Luke covering neighborhoods while the other three, who can travel further and faster, cover the city as a whole, does make sense, but also “go do crime over there” doesn’t stop crime. As Peter points out, while wearing a very strange facial expression.

But Matt ignores the warnings, and ignores the growing tension in Hell’s Kitchen, and then, just a few days before Ben’s telling this story, he and Milla are attacked by like a hundred Yakuza assassins. He sends Milla running for safety...and hasn’t been seen since. And that’s all Ben knows.

And that’s when we see who he’s been talking to:

I want to clarify that Ben’s explanation of the past year of events has taken two full issues. That’s like five bucks worth of comics that is Ben mansplaining Milla’s own recent history to her, including explaining to her what her job is. They should have killed 616 Ben instead, Jesus.

Also, Milla and Matt are married! Hey, how about that?! She goes on to explain to a stunned Ben (who, I guess, didn’t ask her any questions before he started talking for two entire months holy shit Ben what is wrong with you) that they got married about four months ago, and we later learn that Milla’s the one who proposed. So she proposed to a man she’d known for eight months, who is...sort of a crime boss? An anti-crime boss? Anyway, keep that in your pocket for a bit.

(I’m sorry, I’m still so angry about these two issues. Anyone who wants to hear me rant about decompression, the ask box is open.)

Uh, Milla, that’s not a compliment. You want Matt to be in love with you as a human being, not the abstract concept of you as a conglomeration of eight million people and island real estate.

Anyway, Matt told Milla that if anything went wrong, she should contact Ben. She and Ben are both baffled by this, so Ben goes to see the actual person most likely to know where Matt is:

Take the money and just make shit up, Fogy! Anyway my poor beautiful tired boy has no idea where Matt is, and is also rather wounded that Matt had a contingency plan in place for Milla but a) not for Foggy and b) didn’t tell Foggy about it. Especially since the Yakuza are out in full force and Foggy has been sleeping in his office because he can’t safely leave it.

My heart. Foggy has never really gotten to grieve on page for Karen, given that he was in jail for her funeral, but he knew her as long as Matt did (technically slightly longer) and he loved her too.

Ben tracks Matt to the Night Nurse (who, remember, is not Claire Temple in the comics) and floats a new theory by him:

I’m very sorry Matt but i can’t take you seriously with that facial hair.

Matt stops crying long enough to deny it, but by now Ben knows he’s right:

I’m...pretty sure this is the first time someone has seriously said: “Matt, your behaviors are unhealthy and I’m concerned about your mental health.” And, like, itemized them (including explicitly saying that flaking on Foggy and leaving him in these crisis situations is cruel!). People have said “you’re crazy” or “you’re being a jerk” but it’s always been said in anger. This is uncompromising but compassionate. This is “a terrible thing happened to you and I know that you’re still in pain.” No wonder Matt cries.

And Matt’s not the only one who’s listening:

Wow, Foggy has a good memory. And the face of a man who is contextualizing the past few years of his life and doesn’t like what he sees.

(A+ for the frazzle of of hat hair, Maleev.)

Matt goes to a safehouse. Foggy goes...somewhere undetermined. A spa? Everyone gets naked:

No, seriously, I have no idea why everyone needed to be SO NAKED in this scene (although I’m not complaining). Anyway please enjoy FOGGY’S TATTOO (WHAT???) and also Matt calling him both “Franklin” and “good boy” in a single page.

If you want to, like, read the actual words and pay attention to plot, I GUESS, Matt promises to deal with the Yakuza situation. Foggy’s still not happy:

YES I HAD TO INCLUDE THIS DOUBLE PAGE SPREAD, IT’S IMPORTANT. Text if you can’t embiggen:

Matt: Are you breaking up with me?

Foggy: I don’t think you’ll let me.

Matt: I need you, Foggy. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right.

Foggy: Yeah, okay. So just do what you have to do.

Matt: I need you to bring me something to wear.

Foggy: Something red?

Matt: It’s red?

Foggy: What?

Matt: I thought it was yellow.

Foggy: ...Are you serious?

Matt: No.

Foggy: That was pretty funny.

IT IS A VERY GOOD AND IMPORTANT EXCHANGE and it is only slightly marred by Milla draped in silent nakedness over Matt the whole time because...of reasons? Ugh.

Matt goes to get backup and finds himself being dragged for like the third time in 24 hours:

Haha! Pregnant women! So hysterical about being lied to by their friends and employers who they are risking their lives for! Hormones, fellas, amirite???! LOL.

(Seriously, fuck this shit.)

Anyway. Main Yakuza Dude Whose Name I Forget is still pretty confident about moving on Hell’s Kitchen now that Matt’s out of the picture:

Oh man, sorry about your life, Main Yakuza Dude!

“Are you guys sure you want me to do this pose? It feels more ‘boy band’ than ‘badass.’“

“Yeah, Luke, definitely!"

“Yeah? I don’t know, I kind of feel like...”

“No, dude, it works, it looks totally cool, I promise!”

They beat up the Yakuza. Meanwhile, Foggy joins Milla at the safehouse:

Why is Milla still in her underwear???????????????? #cancelmen

When Matt returns to the safehouse after defeating the Yakuza, Foggy is gone, and Milla is finally dressed...and very unhappy. She tells him what Foggy told her:

Here are the things that jump out at me about this page:

1. Milla says “this Karen Page person,” which implies that she has rarely or never heard Karen mentioned before. Considering that Matt (and Foggy!) knew Karen for, as Ben pointed out, almost all of his adult life, and that she was intrinsically tied not just to Matt (and Foggy!) but Daredevil and Nelson and Murdock, this is stunning. How do you spend a year with your wife and almost never mention someone you were intimately close to for at least a decade? I know Matt is secretive by nature, but this makes me think that Matt and Milla essentially never had any real or deep communication. Which, honestly, checks out.

2. We don’t see the conversation between Milla and Foggy. Theoretically, he could have said “LOLOLOL MATT NEVER LOVED YOU HE STILL LOVES MY DEAD FRIEND SUCK IT” but that seems...out of character, to say the least. I suspect, given how confused and distressed Milla is, that he said something more like “I think the reason Matt is acting like this is because he is still processing his trauma over the death of someone he loved very much.” Which shouldn’t be a surprise to Milla, considering that one of the very first things Matt told her was “Two women I loved have been murdered.” But apparently this is a great betrayal somehow??? Because:

And this is why I just can’t with Milla. So much of what doesn’t work with her character, like the thin personality and the helplessness and the fact that she’s IN HER UNDERWEAR ALL THE TIME FOR NO REASON, is because of sexist writing and drawing, and I’m not laying that at her feet. And I’ll be the first person to declare that Matt Murdock is a shitty boyfriend/partner and has been to literally every single woman he’s dated.

But the compassionate response to “the person I love is having a nervous breakdown because he lost someone he cared about” is not to scream “SHUT UP!!!” and accuse him of lying. I’m not married but I’m preeeeeetty sure the vows don’t include “I swear that I definitely never loved anyone else and if I did, I don’t love them anymore.” Matt broke no promises here (for once!) and, as I’ve said before, Milla went on two highly dangerous dates with Matt Murdock and then he declared himself Kingpin and then she proposed. She had all the evidence she needed that life with Matt is dangerous, bizarre, and full of ethical pitfalls and the ghosts of murdered girlfriends, and as an educated, intelligent adult woman in charge of her own business, she decided to sign up. This one is absolutely not on Matt and it pisses me off that it’s treated like it is.

Anyway. *breathes*

Next up: Black Widow returns!

[twitchesandstitches]

Viscountess Belladonna Parvus

Basic Concept: Recurring bad guy human antagonist, an absolutely useless wanna-be military commander who fancies herself a patriot and is obsessed with beating the heroines, and just will not go away! She is literally the Worst.

Appearance: Imagining herself the greatest beauty of the Imperial Commonwealth, she stands about 5’9, reasonably slender for her height though very fit from a lifetime of active training. Her psychic powers clearly assist with her strength, as her body has telltale glowy bits on her veins; these flare whenever she loses her temper, which is about once every few hours.

She seems made in the image of one of the Commonwealth’s three great founding ur-societies, and are modeled after Victorian England. She wouldn’t be out of place as the heroine of an old novel: so pale that her skin might be made of porcelain, and in fact some of her limbs are made of a material that is like porcelain but suitable for prosthetics. Her blonde hair is so light as to be nearly platinum-colored, and is cut fairly short. She tries to maintain an air of disdainful haughtiness, but she’s too hot blooded to keep it up for long and her mannerisms tend towards the flamboyant.

Parvus likes to wear the latest fashions, or what she assumes is the latest fashions; as she spends much of her time far from high society, she is largely clueless and can come off as an arrogant blowhard to those in the know, and she certainly likes her outfits overdesigned. Even her porcelain prosthetics are ostentatious, inlaid with elaborate gold patterns and clockwork that tunes out her name whenever she enters a room. (This is SUPER annoying.) Everything about her appearance screams ‘PAY ATTENTION TO ME’. In general she has the look of a Disney villainess, but one that isn’t self-aware enough to realize she’s invoking the image.

Backstory: To understand this egomaniacal bundle of pride and obliviousness, you must know that the Imperial Commonwealth is divided into strict social classes; the dregs of society who labor in virtual slavery, a lower class who maintain the day to day works, several other groups who do similar jobs in different capacities, and above them all stand the warrior aristocracy, who operate the military as officers and do every job of any significance. As the Commonwealth is a heavily militaristic one, this means the aristocrats effectively run their society. However, they do little training and simply do as they please, believing that their breeding alone promises them all the competence they require, and laze about.

On the outer parts of the Commonwealth it's a little different, and the aristocracy is expected to perform well and consistently. Viscountess Belladonna Parvus, the crown jewel of a long line of military officers mostly known for their inability to stop killing their own men in political wars, won a prestigious duty in pacifying the frontier. She was excellent at courtly manners, wowing her fellow socialites and otherwise navigating the fraught political difficulties of home, but was absolutely incompetent at actual warfare. She became less liked as she kept wiping out her own armies through extremely bad tactics meant to earn herself glory and a fine reputation, and grew desperate to bolster her career.

Now entered the Endowed Nomad Fleet, and she saw an opportunity in ridding  the multiverse of dangerous mutants and aliens (as she thought it). She attacked them with her entire army, and lost all of them. Many of them were devoured by the hungry MILFs of the fleet and later spat out as tasting too sour, and others defected once they saw the fleet had it pretty good. She herself was apparently killed when a ship fell on her by accident.

Less than a few weeks later, though, she was alive again, in a new cloned body, and seething at this loss ,she sought to avenge herself. She fought them again, and failed. She challenged them again, and failed too.

Since then, she has recklessly pursued them, gathering together the populations of entire worlds and forcing them into service, leaving Commonwealth worlds totally unpopulated, her eyes fixed on the goal of destroying the Endowed Nomad Fleet once and for all, and no matter how many time she has been incinerated, exploded, digested, or point-blank annihilated, she shows up again in a new body, vowing yet MORE revenge.

To this day, they barely remember her name and for some reason that REALLY pisses her off. She attacks them almost constantly, endlessly hunting them down and pausing only to entertain other little rivalries or moments for her to get some glory. The Fleet still tends to interfere for moral reasons, but find her so irrelevant they still don’t realize its her, over and over again.

Personality: Egotistical, arrogant, prideful; if there’s a synonym for ‘smug jerkface’, she fits the bill. A fairly standard member of the Commonwealth aristocracy (and unaware of the irony in the term there), she’s a conceited bundle of social prejudices, anti-intellectual snobbery, obsession with purity and essentialism, and generally being an absolute pain in the neck to everyone around her. She’s so bad, she even goes beyond hating anything that isn’t strictly baseline human to looking down upon the working classes of her homeworlds. A snob of the highest degree, she firmly believes that she is the cream of the crop, and better than everyone else by virtue of her lineage. By definition, every other being in the universe is beneath her, and that she owns everything by default. All things, to her, are hers to take or destroy as she wants.

A bombastic, loud and extremely dramatic personality, she’s used to treating all life as a performance and even seems genuinely unaware that actions have consequences. She doesn’t seem to understand the impact of people dying, and its implied that she views her military failures as test runs to figuring out what works; that her own men die by the thousands just doesn’t seem real to her, or relevant.

While she’s a complete failure as a military officer, this has little impediment to her career; among her society, anyone born to her rank will succeed regardless of their failures, simply because of their social standing. However she constantly worries about that standing falling, a consequence of her time at being a socialite. To her credit, she was a genuinely skilled and cunning master of politics, but that simply doesn’t transfer to the complexities of military work. She is, in the end, someone who thinks that brave charges are the same thing as strategy and that shouting at people will make them surrender. And, apparently, that constantly screaming at robots that they are soulless machines or that aliens are inhuman monsters will make them not squash you into a flat smear.

Incredibly vain, she regards her permanent injuries as honor marks. This is why she retains prosthetics despite being able to have her limbs regrown, as they are a point of pride to her. Ironically, she tends to get extremely angry over tiny wounds to her face, since they’re not too impressive and throw off her fabulous looks. She’s prone to complaining about the oversexed and hypersized attributes of her foes; she’s not jealous at all, she genuinely dislikes them being that big. She’s one of those kind of people who think that being anything besides super skinny and petite is a sign of personal failure.

She is a patriot, but this isn’t a good thing in her case; she is a blindly loyal devotee of her people’s unofficial reverence of the human form, and has a convoluted philosophy mixing social darwinism and romanticism that is tied into her beliefs about human supremacism. Everything she does, she believes, is for humanity. Or at least a very tiny section that she believes counts as human; anyone beneath her extremely specific standards is a sub-human animal fit only to be a tool or to be destroyed.

Species: Human; technically a metahuman, as she is a powerful psyker. This would probably annoy her, too.

Fandom: Original character.

Abilities: She’s actually a pretty skilled combatant one-on-one, making use of a ceremonial power blade to cut through enemies, in conjunction with a style of swordplay incorporating ballet-like movements and extreme agility into a rapid attack. This, combined with her deeply intimate understanding of her society’s rules of high society and political intrigue, has created an assumption by herself and her rivals that she is a cunning and skilful elite.

Her actual military skills, particularly in terms of tactics and logistics, are completely incompetent. She is much like Yatruiga in this respect, but where Yatruiga is oblivious, Parvus is genuinely cruel and indifferent to the suffering she causes, regarding feeding her men to her enemies as a way of making them useful. Perhaps, she fancies, the bloated bellies will slow them down. She is unaware of the digested men being reborn as children, and thus she is expanding their numbers. If she did know, it wouldn’t stop her, because she’s just… not very good at her job like that.

She is a genuinely powerful psyker; she has considerable influence over the minds of organics, and is something of a brain torturer, breaking into minds to force information and take what she wants without caring about the damage she causes. She is more fond of her telekinetic powers, augmenting her sword strikes into flying cuts that open wounds a dozen feet away, or crush enemies beneath nearby rubble. She is very strong psychically, able to go toe to toe with a giantess with her mind powers alone.

Problem is, she’s likely to be killed in a single hit, and she’s so foolhardy she often ends up being accidentally swallowed through sheer incomprehensibly bad foresight. Jumping into an enemies mouth to stab them in the throat, that sort of thing.

She has access to a war idol; the disturbingly realistic tributes to her people’s obsession with the human form. Her’s resembles herself, but on a very large frame and made of delicate-looking porcelain and enough gold to fund a medium-sized country. About seventy feet tall, it amplifies her powers to the point that she can rip hills out of the ground to use as melee weapons. Interestingly enough, it is somewhat hyper curvy, in the hourglass style. No one knows why, it just has done that on its own. Possibly she is becoming affected by the very powers she so disdains?

Relationships: She does not have friends. At all. She might have allies who respect her station, she might have soldiers who revere her as a living embodiment of humanity’s will, but no one who knows her personally likes her very much. She doesn’t care, being too much of a conceited twerp to think about anything but what SHE likes, which is herself. She might have a snarky manservant who mouths off to her, but that’s as close as it gets.

As rivalries go, she has one with the entire Endowed Nomad Fleet, but it's one sided. Despite her forces constantly harassing them for a long time, they barely know who she is and haven’t really made the connection that the human forces constantly pestering them are all led by the same woman, who just will not stay dead. In particular she resents Sierra, whom she sees as an uneducated barbarian who has abandoned her humanity in favor of monstrosity, and is obsessed with defeating her. Sierra has accidentally digested her and otherwise slain her on dozens of occasions, and still has no idea who she is. Her resentment of Sierra existing is largely classist, not just personal.

She and Yatruiga have come into conflict on many occasions, and they have a great resentment for one another; they’re notable for being some of the only military conflict that resulted in complete annihilation on both sides.

She might have something of an Ahab-ish thing for killing Mama Defleini, viewing her as a great and terrible foe to be vanquished on behalf of humanity.

Sekhma considers her an… interesting case study in how terrible a person can be, but the two otherwise have no real interaction. She and Pavumi have met, and Parvus still wakes up sweating at the memory; she has seen Pavumi’s true nature, and was horrified at the unthinkable reality.

In general, she detests all of my OCs on the grounds of… well, because she’s a terribly unpleasant person, really.

Pred Level: Absolute zero. She has no devouring abilities or interest in getting them, and would find the idea gross. She’s kinda boring like that.

Prey Level: Extremely high! She’s so foolhardy she charges right into the mouths of preds, daring them to stop her, and completely fails to realize when she is swallowed up and melted on the spot. She’s apparently super tasty, and many long-time preds seek her out to have another sample of her; pure nastiness has a special flavor, and while its an acquired taste, she is soaked with it. If someone has a predator rating above zero, she is almost certainly destined for their belly.

Relevant Kink Material: She’s a target of predator-types, as mentioned above, but she isn’t so much intended for these things in general as she is an antagonist and source of ‘bad guy of the week’. Someone to be constantly digested, over and over, and pop up again having learned nothing from the experience. She is different from Yatruiga, even though both have ��incompetent military commander’ as a theme, because she is intended to be an unpleasant monster with zero redeeming features, present solely as someone you really wanted to see get whupped.

[thirstyfortom]

Badass MC should happen more often! Hope you like this! ^^

High School AU: Getting saved by MC

TW: Violence, blood, bullying, revenge porn

Zen

It wasn’t a fair fight from the beginning: three against one, the guys cornered him in a blind alley

Even with the pain in his ribs, Zen is feeling quite smug, this guy from a rival gang felt the need to call for backup, otherwise he would never win on a one on one

But three is too much even for him. Shit… what should he do?

And things get worse when a motorcycle lights up the alley. Fuck! There are four? Now they are just being coward.

Or fucking crazy? The biker accelerates the motorcycle and speeds up in their direction.

“Holy shit! You’re gonna kill us all, dude!” the guy holding Zen’s collar shouts, loosing the grip as he can’t take his eyes off of the lights from the bike

But the biker doesn’t stop. “Fuck! Run!” the guy yells as they run, leaving Zen on the floor, coughing blood.

So that’s it, that’s how he dies, huh? Tsk… what a waste of his life… and to think he had plans of leaving this gangster life, find a job, maybe even audition for that community theatre play… now it’s all gone…

“Shit, they got you good, huh?” a female voice… Zen gathers strength to look up, and find a girl leaning her hands on her knees, looking at him. “Can you stand? You’ll die if they come back, so let’s get out of here! Come on!”

“You… you can’t stay here… lady, it’s dangerous…” you laugh as he leans on you “Worry about yourself first, I’m not the one almost beaten to death in a dead alley.”

He stumbles a little as he gets up, finally having a chance to look at you, holding the helmet. You… you were the crazy biker?

“You…? “Why did you…? What if you lost control and hit the wall? Are you nuts? Are you…?” he flinches when you come closer, staring at him.

“Heh… at least they didn’t hit your face, huh?” What? “Hop on, I can’t drive you to a hospital, but we should at least get out of here.”

“Why are you helping me?” judging from your clothes, you’re on a gang too, and since he never seen you before, he can only assume you’re not in the same gang. “Three against one… cowards! I don’t like cowards, that’s all.”

Zen ends up taking the ride, his ribs hurt, but he’s very impressed about your driving skills, plus, it feels… very good leaning against your back… 

Yoosung

Oh boy… he is dead

It started this morning when he was working as hall monitor and gave a few points to a guy who wasn’t wearing his uniform properly

Yoosung felt his legs tremble a little when the guy threatened him and told him he would be waiting for him after class was over

But he didn’t think much of it as the day went on, until it was time to go home and the guy kept his promise, waiting for him next to the school’s wall

Well… shit!

“Hey, little boy… I think we have some unfinished business…” the guy is three time his size, crap! Crap! Crap!

“Did you know that because of you I’ll have to do some stupid chores for the school? Tsk… if you just had let alone, I wouldn’t have to wreck your face right now…” the guy cracks his knuckles.

Yoosung is completely frozen. His legs won’t obey him to walk, his throat won’t obey him to scream for help…

Scream for help, how pathetic that he can’t even defend himself, like he is a…

“A girl!?” that’s the only thing he hears the guy saying before a thump and the sound of something hitting the floor.

When Yoosung opens his eyes, there’s a girl on top of the unconscious guy. What…? How…?

“Are you okay?” “Y-yes! What… what happened?” “Huh? Oh, I jumped the wall and kicked his ugly ass face.” HOLY SHIT!

Yoosung keeps trembling as you get up and turn to face him. He’s relieved the guy won’t do anything to him, but… if you managed to knock him out, just imagine what you can do with a twig like him.

“What? Am I going to detention for jumping the wall and hitting a classmate?” uhm… yes, you should, but…

He just nods negatively, he can pretend he didn’t see anything, right? “But… I can’t do anything about him if he decides to tell up on you…” “Ha, he won’t, what guy would  admit he got beaten by a girl?” he feels so stupid for hearing what he was thinking, so he nods again, blushing when you smile and mess with his hair before leaving. “Take care, nerd.”

Jaehee

She had the feeling she was being followed during recess, but it was probably just her imagination

Until she goes to the bathroom, and there’s a girl waiting for her when she opens the toilet booth’s door

“May I help you?” “Yeah, you can tell me what kind of relationship you have with Zen.”

Huh? Oh… is this about him giving her a ride the other day? Well, they’re friends, friends give rides so their friends won’t get late.

And still… this is none of her business, who the hell does she think she is?

“What’s wrong? You’re too good to answer since you’re dating him?” “Okay, you’re just talking nonsense and I don’t have to stay here for this, so if you excuse me…”

“Not so fast.” the girl grabs her hair when she passes by her, jerking it roughly and pulling her close.

“Ahh, such a pretty hair… wouldn’t it be a shame if something happened to it?” she hears the sound of something metallic against her back… a knife?

“You need to cool down, girl…” a different voice… what’s going on? Jaehee gets pushed to the floor as she doesn’t feel her hair tugged anymore.

“MC, please… I…” she just sees the girl on her knees, and another girl holding her harshly.

“Don’t do that!” Jaehee yells, noticing exactly what will happen: this girl will get her head shoved to the toilet, and nobody deserves that. “Please, this is enough…”

“What do you mean? This bitch was going to cut your hair!” “And you didn’t let it happen, let her go.”

You stare at her for a few seconds, growling in annoyance as you let the other girl go, glaring at her as she desperately runs.

“You’re in the judo team, aren’t you? Why didn’t you kick her ass?” “I was surprised, and she had a knife! I… I couldn’t do anything! I… and where did you come from, anyway?”

“I… I think these Zen’s fangirls are stupid, I love when one of them show how much of a brat they are so I can beat their asses, and… yeah, it would be a shame if something happened to your hair… o-only because you weren’t doing anything wrong!”

Jumin

He knew he shouldn’t have come to this party

Two guys cornered him in the backyard, threatening him so he would give them money

“Gentlemen, I should alert you that this is not a good idea, I have this app on my phone which I can use to alert the police about…”

One of the guys just slaps his phone away and pushes him against the wall

Well, this is bad…

He gets punched in the stomach, the pain is excruciating and nothing like he ever felt before

“Hahaha, we thought you would at least put a little fight, rich boy, this way is no fun!” the guys laugh sadistically

“Is it a little fight that you want, boys?” A female voice… Jumin leans his back on the wall, sliding as one of the guys get pulled away from him.

“What the fuck? Who’s this bitch?” the other guy leaves him too as he joins his fella on trying to fight this girl

You don’t throw a single punch, but you’re fast at dodging, so fast one of the guys ends up hitting the other.

“What the fuck, dude?” “It was nothing, you pussy! Get over it!” “Hey, who are you calling a pussy, you idiot?”

You just roll your eyes and help him get up, taking him out of there.

You make him sit on the sidewalk for him to recover. “You’ve never been at one of these parties before, have you?” “Is it that obvious?” you nod. “You should really be more careful, rich boy, you never know who could be out there to ambush you, kidnap you and ask for ransom…”

“Are you threatening me?” “N-No! I’m just warning you since you seem a little dense, be careful, dude! Here’s your phone, by the way…”

And you just leave, did he offend you? That surely wasn’t his intention… he should find out your name to apologize…

Saeyoung

Okay, maybe he brought on himself…

But in his defense, he couldn’t let the guy get away with spreading the video of a girl in avery intimate situation, so he pulled a little prank for the guy, that’s all.

So now that he’s cornered by this huge guy, his back shoved against the lockers, he looks around, planning a way of escaping

“You think you’re funny, pal? Huh? You think you’re funny?” “Hum… yes? Pretty much?”

The guy jerks the collar of his shirt, he doesn’t want to let it show, but this hurt a lot.

“I’m going to kill you, funny boy, then we’ll see if you can keep smiling like that!” Well, if he’s dead, that’s not possible… okay, he should shut up…

“Wait! Would… would you really hit a guy with glasses?” “Huh? Yeah, of course I would, dude!”

Oh shit…

The guy motions to punch him in the face, but he gets shoved aside. Huh? What happened?

“What the fuck? Are you crazy, bitch?” the girl just shrugs, looking briefly at Saeyoung and smiling at him.

That before she kicks the guy right on his crotch, making him fall on his knees. “Yep, I am crazy.”

Uhhh… he can feel the pain on himself. You got the guy good!

“Are you okay?” “Yeah, but I could’ve handle him, there was no need for you… to be so… cruel.”

You just glare at him, walking away.

“I- I mean… thank you! For saving me and… for not kicking me in the balls, I guess…” you laugh as you roll your eyes. Hum… you’re kinda cute when you smile...

Jihyun

He knows he’s being followed

Crap… he shouldn’t have dismissed his driver’s services to walk back home. What point was he trying to prove, anyway?

That he’s not a spoiled rich kid depending on his daddy’s people? Well, he is.

Because he’s being followed, and he has no idea what to do.

He turns the corner, the guy turns the corner, he’s almost out of his way to his house if things stay like this.

But they can get worse, so much worse! How naive, he thought he was running, but it turns out it was an ambush.

He’s trapped in a blind alley.

“Is it money that you want? I can give you some, if you just-” the guy kicks him, and he falls on his knees, grunting in pain.

“Don’t try to play smart, rich boy. I think I can get much more money if I keep you for a while.” the guy cracks his knuckles.

And freezes with a thump, collapsing on the ground.

Behind him, a girl holding a baseball bat. HOLY SHIT!

Her clothes, the tattoo in her wrist… is she in a gang? Uh oh… his problems didn’t even start, did they?

“Are you okay? Can you stand?” “Y-yes, I can… please don’t get close! I… can give you money, I’ll do everything you want, if you just…”

“I don’t want no money from you!” “Oh… so what is it that you want?” “I just wanted to smash this guy’s head. He’s been causing trouble for days and I finally got him.”

Creepy… but oh well, if he’s causing trouble… plus, you don’t seem like a bad person, as you stayed with him until his driver came to pick him up… and didn’t accept any money.

Saeran

This guy has been picking on him during lunch the whole week

He knows what’s happening, there have been anti-bullying lectures in school pretty much every month

But he has no idea what to do. Is it talking to a teacher really the right thing to do?

Because he’s pretty sure the guy will be sent to detention, and in the minute, he gets out, he’ll come for him

So Saeran is trying not to mind it too much, ignoring the guy provoking him, calling him names and stealing his food

He feels like shit for not standing for himself, but he’s so tiny. If he fights, it will only be worse for him.

So it’s happening again, the guy is sitting next to him, and he has his head low. He won’t cry, this is the last thing he’ll do.

Until he feels a presence walking in their direction, and sitting in front of them

A girl… both the guys look at her, and she smiles. “What do you want, MC?”

She doesn’t answer, just grabbing her trail and hitting the guy’s face with so much force he falls on the floor.

Saeran widens his eyes and stares at you in shock. What did you just do? You… why? Why did you interfere?

You just shrug when the students’ inspector calls you out. “That’s it, young lady! To the principal’s office right now!” you smile at him as you pass by him.

Saeran is shocked, he thought no one had noticed what was going on, and even if someone did, he never thought there would be a person to stand up for him.

He’s lowkey scared of you and how naturally this went for you, but… he’s so grateful.

So he swallows all his fear and goes to meet you after detention. He needs to thank you, somehow.

[nemirutami]

Excuse me for being a weirdo who backreads people's blogs, but I had a small additional question regarding your answer to this ask here: /171315404167/ Do you also hate Alcor? If so, I'm incredibly curious to know why, since never harbored any ill will towards humanity and genuinely cared for the protagonist. (I realize I'm a little biased as I ship them together, but that's beside the point) I do agree most of the characters' motives and views were pretty selfish though.

I LOVE DESU ASKS.... AS EVIDENT BY THE VERY LONG REPLY... (SORRY!)

I’m glad ppl are reading them bc sometimes I feel like I’m yelling directly at a wall and my opinions are just bouncing right off, but I have an answer for that. 

I think the game did Alcor disservice in how he was represented. He would have benefited more from being impartial (but he isn’t impartial- and I’ll go more into detail about how he meddles to tip the scales) but I will admit anime!alcor was worse and just a sloppy attempt at making a NGE reference- but I won’t go into that because I could write an essay about how shitty the DESU2 anime is (I think everyone can- no one that played the game liked it and I can’t blame them).

The characters I actually can’t stand are: Yamato and Ronaldo. Because they’re actually the ones that actively go out and wipe out even ALLIES for their own benefit, not gonna lie- I might hate Ronaldo just a tiny bit more because of Makoto’s fate events, even if Yamato is just as bad if not worse. On top of that, they’re both awful hypocrites and unlike Yamato where I can kinda see the appeal, Ronaldo is completely unlikable. Even so, I can enjoy ships with Yamato in them. Tho I ship absolutely no one with Ronaldo because why would you evoke that kind of suffering in anyone. 

Everyone else is either bordering on annoying, bland, or just a mean spirited asshole. I feel more sympathy for Keita than I do for Hinako because at least Keita calls everyone a piece of shit, whereas Hinako seems to single out Daichi to shit on... on Daichi’s own route. Fumi also talks down to everyone, but in this case, Daichi’s just caught in the crossfire. Similar with Airi, she hates EVERYONE apparently, and will even punch Jungo. Hinako tho seems to specifically target Daichi on his route like... what the fuck is your problem? You called him an idiot twice in 1 battle Hinako holy shit, go chill??? I will never let this go because BOY was just BREATHING and she went “UGHHH YOU’RE SO STUPID” LIKE LET HIM BREATHE HOLY SHIT IS HE NOT EVEN ALLOWED THAT ANYMORE? 

Anyways, onto Alcor.

There’s a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies surrounding how the summoning app actually works (Alcor invented it after all, and gave it to us to use) and all these inconsistencies just make Alcor look bad from a writing standpoint (more of that below). He could have been a good character had he not been written poorly (Much like Yamato and... like 99% of the cast really. Even Daichi suffers from shit writing and I’ll never forgive them for this.) and had the plot not fucked him in the end and basically had him destined to die even on Daichi’s route (which sucks but is understandable since he is a septentrione) perhaps I’d have actually liked him. 

I tend to love characters that obsess with the protagonist, and they’re usually my absolute FAVORITE characters. I’m really surprised I didn’t jump on Alcor’s ship with the protag because it HAD the setting I absolutely adored for relationships to form? Especially the alien/human dynamic since I came into DESU2 right after exiting NGE so I was IN THE MOOD. Alcor in and of himself was just. Not satisfying to interact with (bored me to tears too) because of his cryptic messages that (more than anything) just waste time and bring the player nowhere unless they rank up to like 4 right before Yamato basically THROWS EXPOSITION AT YOU AND EXPLAINS THE ENTIRE PLOT ON THE 2ND LAST DAY (it’s even worse and comes even more out of nowhere if you haven’t interacted with Alcor at all in his fate events. More disservice. They should have made Alcor’s fate events more intimate and given Alcor more plot relevant lines within the plot itself instead of his events. Much like... Daichi really. They fucked up with Daichi by making his fate events more relevant to his character growth than the actual plot. I guess they did the same for Alcor but truth be told, I remember so little about Alcor because more than anything Alcor just bored me. Never quite pissed me off. Just bored me.) 

Ok, but onto the cake. The things that made me iffy on Alcor’s character in general.

Alcor supposedly gave humans fire and culture and blah blah. Already this is telling me to practice immense amounts of disbelief since it’s well documented how these things came about, but I suppose if no one actually knows the history then they can accept this at face value? I wasn’t tho. He acted responsible for it and it put me in disbelief and just made me think he sounded like an idiot. It also made him seem very arrogant, because it implied people NEEDED to be given culture, and that we just didn’t develop culture and diversity on our own. It implies we were all lifeless husks until he came along and granted it to us. Which is insulting.

The fact he’s a septentrione isn’t foreshadowed well and is very obvious from the second we see him floating and talking to other demons/septentriones since he clearly knows what they’re saying. Not really a character-specific issue. Just more problems of bad writing. “Who is he...” Daichi have you seen a HUMAN float in space like that god fucking damn it i love you but why u so duMB WHY YOU ALL SO DUMB IT’S CLEARLY EITHER A DEMON OR A SEPTENTRIONE, THE REAL QUESTION IS- WHY IS HE HELPING US?

Btw that’s another point. Why is he helping us? Oh, right, because he messed up.

He doesn’t want Yamato’s world, but he gave Yamato the power to reform society. Then, when Yamato tries to do what Alcor granted him the means to do, he’s like. Hm. Well. Shit? This guy’s a fucking psycho. Time to place my bets on the protagonist instead (which he does favor a lot- which doesn’t make him impartial really since he clearly favors explaining things more to Hibiki/Protag than anyone else in the game, and it puts everyone else at a disadvantage when a GOD LIKE ENTITY is behind the protag boosting him to make the “right” choice for humanity). I know Alcor was fascinated by humans and wanted them to live (which is fine), yet he didn’t bother to warn the MILLIONS that died (and remained dead in one of the endings- thanks Alcor) due to his negligence. Knowing about it and at least not issuing a warning is cruel. Sure, he gave people the demon summoning app, but the app was considered a “prank site” (nice advertisement, Alcor) as Daichi said at the start of the game (which i hate more than Yamato himself. Daichi. This. This idiot. This idiot signed his best friend up to a DEATH SITE just cus LOLS- the writing is bullshit, and I really disliked early Daichi, too. I disliked some of later canon-Daichi too because he was just rendered to a joke outside his Fate Events). The writing is really unfair on everyone, and it doesn’t help that the app doesn’t work the way it’s advertised to work anyways, seeing as Alcor can twist it to do what HE needs it to do at any time.

For example, the app is said to send death videos regarding people you’ve made a bond with, but clearly that’s all bullshit considering Alcor manually sends Hibiki a warning (and only Hibiki alone) of Otome’s death video so that NO ONE BUT HIBIKI CAN SAVE HER. This implies he can manipulate the death videos personally and exclude others from receiving videos. This. This is not kind. Not at all. I know he was testing Hibiki, but at THIS RISK? Losing Otome can FUCK YOUR PERFECT RUN and outside game mechanics, ELIMINATE ANOTHER HUMAN LIFE. If he wanted to, he could kill characters he actually doesn’t like this way by basically not sending the videos out to people, which, if you don’t go to save Otome right away- will be the end of her. He’s putting all his bets on you alone and testing you by cutting off everyone else from the app- potentially hindering backup to save Otome. Sure, you save her but you can just as easily kill her. I can’t say this wasn’t a sleazy test because he was basically playing with Otome’s LIFE and showed no signs of remorse. Some love for humans you have Alcor. Shit dude. This isn’t kind at all.

But I guess these are my main qualms about him- at least the ones I remember- but take everything I say with a grain of salt bc I tried to avoid confrontation with him completely in my 2nd and 3rd run so I have vague memories lingering. I don’t hate him? I can actually like him if he’s written well by other people, but given how he is in the game, I can’t say I ever enjoyed interacting with him. He didn’t annoy me other than the 2 times I’ve stated above, where he basically talks down to us about how we got to our culture and how he kinda lets Otome PERISH if we don’t respond quickly enough. I know it was a test to the protagonist’s will, but aren’t the septentriones a test enough of my conviction, Alcor, honestly. Unlike Airi, Hinako, Keita, and everyone else, Alcor doesn’t annoy me at all. Io annoys me more, if not only because the game wanted Daichi to be plot relevant only for Io to get all the spotlight. Io is genuinely maybe the better written character- it’s just such a shame they flipflop on her as a lead when in any other game, she could easily have been a lead. Her love triangle kills any enjoyment I get from her at all tho and just makes me bitter. More bad writing- who would have guessed.

Tho from a shipping standpoint? You can ship Alcor with Hibiki for good reasons, obviously. There’s a clear connection and fascination there that doesn’t surprise me people flock to (because I would have been there too had they just written him better). I don’t really mind the ship itself. When I say “i don’t mind it” I just mean I don’t feel anything for it and I’d probably not draw it for myself. There are really no ships I hate or really... dislike? There’s just stuff I don’t ship, but I can definitely ship Hibiki/Alcor if it was for a plotpoint of some kind in a fic or art or whatever. It depends on the idea really. 

I guess it’s too late to say something like this so far into the post, but I like to believe that ANY ship works if the construction/buildup to it is good enough. I believe you can make any character do/say anything under the right circumstances with the right motives without it being OOC or feel out of place. I’d like to think talent is wicked like that- a double edged sword of risky ideas that can either make or break your interpretation/perception depending on how you build it up. Though, that takes effort. Something DESU2 sadly lacks in a lot of ares, but it’s still a game worth playing for the experience and I wouldn’t not recommend it for the good parts that are (while few) really, really good.

[dissociaticn]

seineijashu asked:

hmm... your choice from 16, 23, 27, 28, 33, 34, 36, 39, 40, 41, 46!

character solidifying // @seineijashu // closed

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike? 

Formerly a spy, Kabuto has since expanded his expertise. He is now Orochimaru’s right-hand man and has his fingers in practically everything. Need to locate an elusive Legendary Sannin? Kabuto. Got blood everywhere after killing an unfortunate subordinate? Make room for Kabuto, cleaning team of one. Is your newblood vessel arrive too late? Don’t worry, Kabuto will make sure to manipulate the defective one into locating him and then whip you up a new temporary vessel, no problem. 

In that same light, Kabuto sees himself as Orochimaru’s co-conspirator, a collaborator. If Orochimaru were the CEO Kabuto would be his VP. Even though Orochimaru may have the final say, Kabuto holds a tremendous amount of influence within his position as his right-hand. And Kabuto loves this. He’s not someone who enjoys being in the spotlight. Kabuto prefers to work behind the scenes, using his power to pull strings and act of his own volition while still having the stabilizing force of Orochimaru’s personality. 

The one true downside to all this is the amount of pressure which can come from having so much relying on your competency. Don’t get it twisted, Kabuto loves a challenge. But asking a single person who reign in the egomania of their boss while also running experiments, and collecting data on opponents. It can be stressful to say the least. 

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

To be needed. He’s a strange fellow, who will make you question his intention but at his core he’s loyal. Kabuto likes to serve, whether it’s a person or entity. Having those he cares about rely on him for responsibilities makes him feel empowered. He’s no a follower, but he’s not a leader either. Kabuto usually needs a more dominate personality which he can rely for some level of direction. He also desires someone who will keep him on his toes and challenge him intellectually. 

Despite coming off like a snarky robot, he has an average sex drive. Given all his duties it’s not necessarily something constantly on his mind though. In his younger years Kabuto held the belief that sex was meant to be an intimate act only done after marriage. But life has made him cynical. While he doesn’t generally find enjoyment from it unless it’s with someone he cares about, Kabuto isn’t about using it as means of getting what he wants.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality? 

Kabuto is aware of the role personal appearance can play into impressions. While he’s not a particularly vain person he does do his best to keep himself tidy. In canon he wears simple, inconspicuous clothes that allow him maneuverability and comfort. However, his wardrobe is a bit more expansive in modern. He owns several expensive suits which he regularly wears when intermingling with the criminal underbelly. While at home he prefers more comfortable attire, often dressing down in jeans and a polo shirts.

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice? 

The closest thing Kabuto has to a “mate” is Orochimaru. They strangely functional in their dysfunction, and codependent to an extreme. It’s hard to really pinpoint what makes them click. Their chemistry is undeniable and they seem to be the only two people who can tolerate each other for extensive periods of time. They were both screwed by the shinobi system (specifically Danzo) and are highly intelligent, somewhat disgruntled people whose strengths/weakness really balance the others out.

That said, Kabuto didn’t really have a choice on joining Orochimaru. It was either him or get killed eventually by Danzo. He chose the weirdo snake-man who appeared out of the water like some kind of serpentine mermaid.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health? 

Kabuto will drink socially when the need arises but he rarely overindulges. It’s important to keep a clear mind. The only drugs he takes are ones of necessity (also Orochimaru’s cells, if that counts). That said, he’s fairly health conscientious. He’s not usually one who completely disregards their own physical health because he understands the importance of his role within the Oto organization. He’d rather deal with the situation when it arises rather than have it potentially impact him later.

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

Self-righteous? No. Kinda hard to hold the righteous high ground when your job involves kidnapping children and grave robbing. If nothing else, Kabuto, at least on the surface, is very even-keeled. Underneath it though he’s petty, vindictive, and holds a great deal of contempt for his enemies. What’s more, he is patient. Not afraid to play the long game, Kabuto will wait for the opportune moment to strike. It may be tomorrow or a year from now, but one day you’ll get smited. Worse of all, you might not even know what you did to cross him. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were just in his way.

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

He’s definitely a sadist. Something that was even pointed out by Orochimaru. Kabuto is incredibly manipulative. He enjoys getting in the heads of enemies and allies. He’ll identify their weaknesses and insecurities then use it to break them down. Although, sometimes he doesn’t even both with getting inside your head. As shown when he resorted to beating Naruto nearly to death in the Legendary Sannin arc, sometimes simply breaking someone's body is more than satisfying.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid? 

Kabuto has a very cynical view of the world. His hatred of children like Naruto, who hold idyllic dreams (regardless of whether they work hard to achieve them) irks Kabuto to no end. He’s someone who believes in putting calculation before heart. Anyone who recklessly puts themselves in harms way simply to prove a point is an idiot and deserves what they get. 

But, also, he’s a salty bitch and will probably ridicule you for the smallest things if he doesn’t like you. Seriously, he’s as salty as the ocean and just as mean.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one? 

I mean, sure. He has a dry sarcasm. His wit is definitely not for everyone, but there are those who appreciate it. He’s definitely not the guy who lays up the perfect knock-knock joke. But he’ll roast you. Point out the absurdity of situations/arguments/events/etc. It’s dry. Deadpan. Borderline mean. To be honest, most people probably don’t notice he’s joking. 

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony? 

Kabuto has such a shaky sense of self that it’s hard to say. They are aware of who they are at certain moments, but without a larger entity/personality to offer him direction or purpose he struggles to know who he is and what he wants.

Strengths: Intelligent, calculating, patient, jack-of-all-trades, care-taker, intuitive, decisive, loyal, organized

Weaknesses: patronizing, cruel, manipulative, self-serving, cynical, dishonest, pedantic 

He’s really an oddball of a man who finds comfort in having everything in order. To many it comes off as a tad neurotic. Maybe it is. But for Kabuto, having things in order provides him a sense of control. He’s someone who makes his bed every morning, sleeps on the same side every night. He cleans his scalpels religiously and can’t stand if his tools are out of place. His corpses are organized by gender and age. His workspace is minimalist. He has an air about him that lets you know he thinks he’s better than you. Most people find this off-putting, which Kabuto relishes in. 

While he avoids too much introspection he would probably find some appreciation for the irony that his life seemed to follow.

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

He’s average. Taller than Orochimaru (which isn’t hard) and not particularly athletic compared to other high ranking shinobi. He’s lean, but not particularly muscular. 

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches...Chapter 91 - Not the classiest place to have s*x

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she's certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit…

MASTERLIST

Chapter 91 - Not the classiest place to have sex

[Blake bumps into Negan in dark, gloomy hallway, and fun ensues, although not as much as the dark-haired Saviour would have liked...]

Warning: Mentions/TEASINGS of smut/dirty talk/humor

It had turned out to be a gloomy grey day. And even by the late afternoon, the sun had never quite managed to break through the thick clouds that hung overhead like a blanket. A bleak humidity clinging to the air, letting everyone know that rain was certainly on the way.

It was weather like this that reminded Blake of times out there in the road, hiding in closed-in wooded areas, huddled together for warmth, never quite feeling dry for long weeks on end.

It had been a tough existence, surviving like that, but Blake had done it. She had made it through the worst of those times.

And yet almost a year later, here she was, with a roof over her head, at the Sanctuary.

In a place she now called home.

For it did feel like far more of a home than Alexandria ever had been for her.

Sure, this looming factory compound could come off a little bleak and sterile at times….but it was safe, and dry, and here, Blake had a purpose. Far more than she had done when she had lived in her house back in the suburbs with David and Rick and Tara and the others.

There she had just ben David's fiancé.

But here she was much more than that.

Negan had slipped a crown onto her head here before she even realised it...building her up, instead of knocking her down as David always had.

She felt happy now. Ok, she would never have a perfect life….she wouldn't have a family or have people around her all singing Christmas carols around a piano…. But she could still enjoy what she had here. For as long as she had it.

Blake licked her lips smiling to herself now, as she lifted her water bottle to her lips.

This morning had been a whirlwind of events…but one she did not regret.

Steve's demise was as much on his own head, as on hers or Negan's. After all, it had been his choice to come back here. She had let him go, and yet the idiot had been stupid enough to have come back. To try to kill Negan, and her…after all she had done for him.

So she did not have any regrets about him dying, or about the events that had taken place directly after.

She had needed Negan, oh-so much, and Blake was done with pussy-footing around and not getting what she wanted in this crappy world.

And feeling the dark-haired Saviours lips on hers….his calloused hands sliding down her bare skin…that had been exactly what she had desired, for so so long.

She couldn't deny that sex between them was incredibly good.

There was a spark there.

A bond she had not felt with any guy she had even been with. And the pair of them knew exactly what to do to get each other there, easing over the edge oh-so well.

It had been hot, intimate and very much needed.

And as long as she realised that this should be just about sex, it would all be ok.

Her and Negan….well, Blake knew how she felt about him.

But she would keep a level head and keep this as just a casual thing.

This way, they both would get what they wanted…and the issue of Negan's wives, or Blake becoming one of them, didn't ever need to be brought up.

Now Blake gulped down the water gratefully before pulling the water bottle from her lips once again, leaning across the metal barrier before her and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

Blake having worked for the last few hours in the gardens down in the lot just around the corner,  was mid-way through taking a break, just heading inside to use the bathroom for a moment, when she had stopped in her tracks, up here on the balcony the overlooked the Sanctuary fences surrounding the large compound.

It was up here that Negan had brought Blake out onto the first day she had been here, the second day too, where he had given her lemonade and no-end of snarky remarks.

But today it was something else that had drawn the caramel-blonde woman's eye, just as her hand had reached the door, causing her to move over and lean up against the railing, watching, as Dwight, Danny and a grey sweater-wearing, lower ranked Saviour, had hauled the snarling and snapping, newly turned figure of Steve, over to the looming fences, where many other walkers were chained and welded.

It was hard to believe, looking at his white eyes and greying sagging skin, that just a few hours ago, the man she had known from Alexandria, had been alive and pointing a gun at her skull.

But after what he had said…his cruel chosen words about David…about her…...Blake had nothing now, but contempt for the dead man.

And so, lifting her chin, she merely blinked, showing no emotion for the ghost of the man that may have been her friend.

Yes, perhaps she was ruthless. And Blake could just imagine what people like Rick or Michonne or even her friend Tara would say if they found out…

But she was long past caring. For they had all shown their true colours back there…shown that they cared very little about what she had gone through….thinking only of themselves, and never considering that there were other people going through shit in this world, not just themselves.

Steve had been tall and broad chested, but even so, it didn't take the three Saviour's long to secure him to a metal post about ten feet from the chain link fence, where he bared his teeth and tried to grab for them hauntingly.

But Blake barely even bristled at the sight of him there…a living-dead person….

She wanted him there now as a reminder of the person she once was…and the person she needed to be from now on. For Blake had proved to herself that she was stronger than David…or Steve… or the Wolves…or indeed, any person who had tried to take her on.

She was a queen…and, she had the might of, not only Negan behind her, but all the Saviours too.

She worked hard here, in the gardens, providing for these people as much as the generals did, going out on runs, or pick-ups. She was liked by the folks around her….the people she saw every day…

They had her back…as much as they had Negan's.

But while they revered him because of fear and rules…they revered Blake because she was fair and kind…and because she was probably the only person around here these days, to give the dark-haired leader a piece of her mind and encourage him to come around to her way of thinking.

She was a good influence on him. That could certainly be said. And as far as Blake was concerned, Negan quite enjoyed having her around.

Well, if this morning was anything to go by anyway.

Blake licked at her lips now, thinking of the time spent there in Negan's bedroom this morning, as she turned on her heel and headed inside.

She had been so wrapped up in him, barely able to breathe….with such powerful emotions swirling around inside her as they had kissed, fucked….stared into the other's eyes.

That had not been like the fun and dirty sex they enjoyed before… this time it had been different….a need encompassing them both…..bringing them both to the edge they had needed to get to, for so so long.

Blake walked now, down the lengthy hallway, passing couple of mousy-haired female Saviours about Blake's own age, as she did so.

They both nodded at her politely, offering her gentle smiles, before walking quietly off.

Everyone knew Negan here, of course they did…but now it was getting to the point where most people knew Blake too. Even people she had never even met before.

The caramel-blonde woman turned the corner, shoving open the door to a set of washrooms at the very end of the corridor.

A yellow light flickered on above her head as she entered the stark room, strolling into a dingy cubicle. And in a minute she was out of there again, washing her hands in the sink, as her green eyes flickered up into the grimy mirror above the basin.

She looked good today, dressed in a tight black t-shirt tucked into tight black jeans, and her long caramel-hair tied up into a neat ponytail.

Working outside these past couple of weeks, Blake had acquired a nice tan over her temples and cheekbones which made her eyes look far brighter than they once were.

She remembered back to just how sallow and washed-out her features had been when she had first arrived here at the Sanctuary with David.

It had been like her fiancé had drained all the colour from her face himself….sucking the very life from her veins.

Blake seemed like a wholly different person now. Confident and, dare she think it, happy too."

And that really did show…in everything, from her complexion, to the way she held herself…walking down the Sanctuary hallways with purpose.

But a bemused frown suddenly slipped its way between her brows as she thought on this.

God….was she turning into Negan?

She stared at her reflection.

Would she soon be swaggering around the place, carrying a stupid baseball bat in her hand and calling everyone 'Doll'?

She shook her head, smirking now, as she switched off the faucet, drying her hands on the sides of her pants, before tugging open the door once again and heading back out into the hallway.

It was quiet around here now, that late afternoon time where most people were either heading down to the canteen for dinner, or still hard at work somewhere.

So it was really no surprise that, barely taking a single step around the sharp corner, Blake jumped almost out of her skin, as she bumped straight into the tall, and cocky form of-

"Negan…" said Blake a little irritably, as she wobbled slightly, trying to keep a hold of her balance. "God, you want to watch where you're going?!"

There he was, as arrogant-looking as ever, today being no exception in THAT department, standing there, close to her, in a grey t-shirt ( with his leather jacket slung over the top), grey pants, and Lucille in his hand, with the biggest smug-grin plastered across his features.

But he gazed down at her now, his dark eyebrows reaching his hairline.

"Me watch where I'm goin', Sweetheart?" he scoffed, lifting the barbed wire covered-bat in his hand and nudging her delicately in the chest with it. "You're the one that came stridin' around that corner on a fuckin' mission. What is it? You got some pumpkins that urgently need pickin', Doll-face?""

Blake scowled at him, taking a step back away from Negan, and Lucille, and folded her arms across herself defensively, raising her own eyebrows.

"Fuck you," she bit back playfully, eyeing him accusingly. "You'll be eating your words when you're getting your five fruits and vegetables a day because of me!"

But Negan agave his own scoff in retaliation. Leaning back on his heels and gesturing to her with Lucille once again.

"Pfft, I'll have you fuckin' know I was doin' ok scavenging shit from other people before you came along, and wanted to make the place into a goddamn free-for all farmyard," he uttered, staring down at her and digging at his back molars with his tongue. "I mean, hell, give it a couple of months and you'll have my people wearing straw fuckin' hats and singin' cum-ba-ya ‘round a goddamn campfire."

Blake rolled her eyes, tutting and shooting the dark-haired man a scathing look.

God, he really did wind her up sometimes, but even despite this, this was kinda getting her blood pumping in her veins, making Blake feel warm again…

Fuck, she wanted him. Her eyes meeting with his own arrogant chocolate orbs, as he surveyed her in return.

But the caramel-blonde woman tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth, before giving a drawn-out sigh, shifting her weight over onto one hip.

"Was there something you wanted?" she said tutting and frowning up at him, but somehow unable to help the smirk that drifted across her mouth.

But Negan, keeping his eyebrows up in his hairline, merely gave a chuckle.

"Well, I mean, shit, Peaches," he said in a simpering tone. "I think you were the one to run into me, not the other way around."

But Blake wasn't taking that.

As if she would go searching for him around the hallways of this place. That was far more of a Negan thing to do.

Although, perhaps they were more alike than she first had thought.

"Ugh, well some of us actually have things they should be getting back to, so-" Blake murmured, dragging her eyes away from Negan's, and making to push past him….

…. but before she could do so, Negan's free hand suddenly gripped her waist, spinning her back around to face him, almost a little roughly now….

And before she could ever uttered a word of protest, the dark-haired man had manoeuvred her back against the way behind her, pressing his tall and firm body up against hers.

Blake immediately feel a flush creep its way across her cheeks, as she lifted a hand to Negan's taut chest, her fingers curling around the fabric of his grey t-shirt.

"What's the rush, Darlin'?" Negan suddenly murmured in a low voice, his chocolate eyes almost twinkling now in the gloom of the corridor.

Blake grinned, her other hand coming to rest on Negan's leather clad shoulder, tensing around the thick material, as her eyes once again drifted away from his. Instead coming to rest on the garment in question..

"You know, I think this jacket suited me, better that it suits you," she said in a delicious voice, titling her head to the slide slightly now.

She could feel a heat forming inside her abdomen, soaking her panties, with sheer longing for the man pressed up against her now.

His hold on her waist was possessive and the growl that soon escaped his lips about as animalistic and as hungry as Blake had ever heard.

"Hmmm," Negan mused, licking at his lips, his bearded mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. "See I've got a bit of a short fuckin' memory, Sweetheart. So maybe you're gonna have to try it on again for me. Preferably with nothin' on underneath it."

Blake felt a gulp trail its way down her throat at his words, as she pushed herself against him now, feeling him push back.

And she could only give another smile, as she trailed her tongue over her own bottom lip, wetting it slightly, seeing his eyes catch the movement, before pulling him even closer to her, tugging at his t-shirt.

"Oh, most definitely," she purred, unable to stop herself anymore, as she closed her eyes, feeling their lips meet gently…

He tasted good, like salt and whiskey….and the pair of them slowly found their rhythm, kissing almost languidly at each other's mouths to begin with. Enjoying every lazy moment, as their lips parted and met again, and again, making the most deliciously-wet sounds.

Negan had now pinned Blake firmly to the wall, as her hands grazed over his broad and angular shoulders, remembering just how it had felt this morning, bouncing up and down on his lap, her fingernails dragging across his tanned skin, as he made her moan out, orgasming onto his cock.

But that thought was a precarious one now, as Blake felt her panties getting wetter and wetter, as Negan's free hand drifted down from her waist, finding her thigh, as Blake equally read his mind, hitching her leg up and allowing him to press his groin into hers.

She could feel his tight erection straining against his jeans and Blake couldn't help herself, as she slid her hands down, as his tongue entered her mouth, making for his belt-buckle.

Fuck, she wanted him inside her, just like this morning, as Negan now grunted into her mouth, giving a single hard thrust against her pelvis urgently.

Blake's chest was rising and falling hard now, as her fingers found his belt, undoing the thread of leather, the chinking metal buckle echoing loudly in the wide empty corridor.

God, she wanted him to fuck her, the sound alone driving her crazy, as they kissed again desperately at each other's mouths.

Up against the wall in one of the Sanctuary corridors- ok, granted, it wasn't the classiest place Blake could ever say she'd had sex…but right now, she could barely control herself, the pair of them unable to keep their hands, or mouths, off of one another…

They continued to kiss, their lips parting for just a moment, as their eyes met, both of them breathing hard, as Blake's fingers grazed down, undoing the button on the dark-haired Saviour's jeans, before finding his zipper, as their lips met again hungrily, kissing at one another as though each of them had been starved for weeks.

But suddenly, before Blake could make a move to pull down Negan's pants zipper, their came a sudden loud and carrying squeak from over on their right. And Blake, her eyes snapping open, tugged her lips hurriedly away from Negan's...

She turned her head, suddenly spotting the two mousy-haired women she had passed earlier, on their way back down the corridor now, with a small tray of food clutched between them, their eyes blown wide in shock and surprise.

Blake felt her face instantly flush bright red as her eyes met directly with the pair of them, looking as startled as she was, to to see Negan and her in such a compromising position in one of the inconspicuous first-floor hallways of the winding Sanctuary.

Blake, her cheeks now burning, feeling wholly embarrassed, gave the dark-haired Saviour a hard shove away from her now, as he too, gazed around over his shoulder eyeing the two girls, his mouth curving up into a wide grin.

He looked back at Blake fiendishly, before staring the women's way once more, raising his eyes brows in a devilish fashion.

"Enjoyin' the fuckin' show ladies?" he uttered goadingly, his tongue poking out from between his wide, white set of teeth in a smug-fashion.

The two girls hurriedly shook their heads, suddenly looking down at the floor reverently, almost shaking with fear and embarrassment, as Negan turned on his heel, approaching the pair of them intimidatingly, his free hand re-threading his belt as he did so.

"Oh, do not start actin' all shy on me now," Negan teased, arching his back as he spoke, coming to stop just a foot or two from the pair of them. "I mean, you are more than welcome to carry on and watch the rest…cause' I have a feelin' me an' Peaches over there, are in for one hell of a fuckin' session."

Behind him, Blake let out a hearty scoff, shaking her head, as Negan's glanced at her over his leather-clad shoulder, running his tongue over his teeth happily.

"Or," he said finally turning back to the two women, a little more kindly. "You can just run along and eat your-"

He paused momentarily, giving a small bemused-looking frown as he eyed the food growing cold on the tray before him.

"-what the hell is that anyway?"

But Blake gave a sigh, pursing her lips.

"It's chicken pot pie tonight," she muttered tiredly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Right, right," said Negan with a faux-serious nod. "OR you can go and enjoy your chicken pot pie someplace else."

The two girls nodded hurriedly, murmuring a not-really-needed thank you, as they slid quietly by Negan, hurrying off down the corridor as fast as their legs could carry them, disappearing off, around the corner and out of sight, before Negan could, indeed, corner them again.

The dark-haired Saviour ran a hand down his bearded face, giving a long and heavy sigh of his own, before turning back to Blake, with an eyebrow cocked.

"Shit, that wasn't like no chicken pot-pie I've ever fuckin' seen," he said in a simpering voice, strolling casually over towards her. "Hell, remind me to check with Seven-foot Pete exactly what the fuck he's playin' at servin' shit like that to paying fuckin customers."

But Blake, leaning up against the wall behind her, gave a tut, ignoring the dark-haired leader's comment as he approached her once more, coming to stop just a mere breath away from her and pressing his free hand flat against the wall one side of her head.

He licked at his lips darkly.

"Now, where the hell were we, Peaches.." he murmured in a growling voice, as he leaned in towards her once more, his lips almost grazing hers.

But Blake, no longer in the mood after their embarrassing interruption, pressed a sudden hand to Negan's t-shirt-clad chest, giving him the tiniest shove away and holding him at arm's length.

"Ugh, well I was heading back to the gardens," she said with a long, teasing sigh, sliding herself out of Negan's grasp. "And you were doing-"

She paused, stepping around him, further into the corridor, as Negan, with a frown between his brows, eased himself back onto the heels of his boots eyeing her a little irritably.

"-well, whatever it is you do around here," she finished dismissively, waving a taunting hand in the Saviour's direction, knowing just how much that would annoy him.

But that was only as much as the had annoyed her just now with his comments to those two girls.

God, how the hell was he ever going to able to live that down?

But she was grateful at least that they hadn't been interrupted just a minute or two later, before things had gotten perhaps even more hot and heavy...

Negan scowled at her, shifting around, turning his entire body to face her now.

"You seriously fuckin' ditchin' me twice in one day, Darlin'?" he said in an incredulous voice, pointing at her with the end of Lucille.

But Blake just paced away, swaying her hips as she did so.

"Yhhhmm," she said biting down on her bottom lip and calling back at him over her shoulder. "But y'know, if you're lucky, I might just run into you again later…"

And Blake didn't need to turn back to know that Negan was grinning after her now…

…for his unprecedented silence, on this occasion, really did say it all.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged/untagged in this fic. More coming soon…

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[billion-heartbeats]

To Be a Man- Be Humane! Being Manly is cosmetic! Toxic Masculinity is pathologic!

                                                                                                                                            You are privileged enough if you are born in India as a male. The preference for a male child at birth has killed millions of female foetuses and those who do survive mostly are undernourished and are neglected.

Men will be men’- These ideologies give them a secure place to commit gendered violence or to get away after doing something that shouldn’t be done. Manliness is not how big of a man you are- showing off your big muscles with wide moustaches and eve-teasing girls!

All of us are Humans. Not all are Humane! "Humane" signifies a certain "ethical" quality of the way you conduct yourself as a human being. Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to yourself. we have a choice to be predatory and cruel or to be kind and helpful to our neighbour. The latter is being humane.

Being Manly is not the same as being an “Alpha male”- disregard that dichotomy of alpha and beta. Manliness has more to do with a certain calm self-confidence, a cultivated man with a good grasp of himself and his life and family. Raw muscles and tattoos, bursting biceps, 8 pack abs, lean and meanness don’t make you manly. If you go overboard on these the term given is Toxic Muscularity!

What does it mean to be a man?

What does it truly mean to be a man? Ok, there’s the Y chromosome thing. But that makes you a male. But What makes you a man? It’s a question that can seem simple enough, but one that many cannot answer. Being a man is more than just having the anatomical structure of one. 

 I have asked myself that question many times over my life. Without fail, I find there is no single answer but a complexity of ideas.

God created man in his own image. God is good and man must have been created to be good too! Before I lay out these characteristics, let it be said that I am not perfect. However, these characteristics are some in which to strive as an example of ideal manhood.

So, here’s to manhood- let’s embrace these characteristics and truly begin the change this world needs.

A real man will not love his life so much that he will not give it up for those he loves. This kind of love leads silently as an observed benchmark. It does not order, but exemplifies. Men provide for their families. It is why men go to work daily, though sickness and fatigue. This mentality of provision grows deep in the heart of a true man.

He will go without, so that his family can have plenty. He will take the least, so that his family can have the most. He will give up his coat, and find himself in cold, so that his wife can be warm. He sacrifices willingly.

words matter – specifically the words “yes” and “no “. Therefore, real men understand the obligation of agreement as well as the gravity of a decision. When a man decides, he does not do it rashly or abruptly, he does it with much thought.

Hundreds of years ago, this question was easily answered- no debate, no discussion, no deep questions. You were a warrior, a philosopher, a farmer, an artist. Being a man was cut and dry. But today, the answers are no longer as clear as they once were.

Man, and Masculinity are in a state of flux.

We do not yet understand what makes a man. We have no idea how to be a man. The results have been catastrophic. Men, today more than ever before, are lost, hopeless, and angry. Depression, anxiety, suicide, and senseless violence proliferate our society. And all the while, our society cries out, “Where have all the real men gone?”

 They’ve gone missing from society. The modern man, the “Missing Man”, does not know who he is or what he wants. He is bombarded on all fronts by messages about who he “should” be and have made it impossible for him to forge his own identity.

To be a man is complex.

A modern man is confused about what he needs to be. He is driven by concrete values and a vision for his future. He’s in touch with his primal energy but not controlled by it. He treats all as equals but does not allow them to dictate. He is financially successful but is not defined by his bank account. He balances the demands of manhood brilliantly.

He is strong, in pursuit of his goals, yet gentle with those he loves. He respects his wife as an equal but is never dominated by her. He is good at heart and wise in mind! He is successful, but isn’t consumed by “success.” He knows to swim against the storm and also knows to go with the flow.

The Myth: A Modern Man is stoic, invulnerable and ruthless when required. Crying is out of the question. We've created and perpetuated a masculine ideal preventing men from being true to themselves. Most men refuse to talk about their emotions; it's no secret. They hold in feelings of loneliness, pain and sorrow for so long, they evolve into rage and depression.

All of this is a product of the way we view masculinity, and it begins during boyhood. Tragically, they grow up into men who are also more likely to binge drink. Many manly men are prone to violence, particularly against "easy" targets. If this is the cost of what it means to "be a man," we're paying too high a price.

 Misconception: About Looks, Money and Status: If you ask a guy to describe a real man, he will often begin to imagine a handsome man with a high paying job, a chiselled jaw and a great sense of fashion. Why? That’s what is fed to us by the media.

It’s Not All About Being a “Gentleman” Another common mistake many men make to befriend and woo women is to fall - virtually throwing themselves at her feet in order to impress her and win her affections. They think that doting on her - this way and behaving in a gentlemanly manner around her is the right way to treat her because a woman wants to be treated like a lady. She doesn’t. That’s not enough- May be!

 That line of thinking may have made a “lady” swoon a century ago but most modern women see it as corny and out of place in today’s world.

 Toxic muscularity is toxic manliness!  Mard Ko Dard Kyon Nahi Hota:

  Toxic masculinity is a system that reinforces male superiority and often uses intimidation, violence, and abuse to maintain that sense of power. These hardships are inflicted under the guise of independence and strength — qualities championed by a toxically rigid cultural idea of masculinity, which, sad to say, many men help to enforce. This has dire health consequences. Men are 3.5 times more likely to die by suicide than women. Men also commit 90% of homicides in the United States.

 Toxic masculinity keeps men in emotional prison, leaving them without the ability to gain deep knowledge of themselves or forge intimate relationships with others. It allows men to place less value on the “other,” to the point of dehumanization, treating those who are different as if they have less personal worth if they don’t fit into these inflexible models of accepted masculinity.

  Toxic masculinity can be self-destructive. When these traits are left unchecked for too long and the man becomes a slave to them. Therefore, he loses his real identity. Such men have their own toxic idea of masculinity and they turn very dominant as well. It is not only harmful to the people around them but also to the man himself It can put you on the Wong side of law.

 Toxic masculinity refers to pathologic idea of “manliness” that perpetuates domination, homophobia, and aggression. Toxic masculinity isn’t just about behaving like a man but behaving like an inhuman! Instead, it involves the extreme pressure some men may feel to act in a way that is actually harmful. Toxic masculinity glorifies unhealthy habits- men should treat their bodies like machines by skimping on sleep, working out even when they’re injured, and pushing themselves to their physical limits. It discourages men from seeing doctors.

The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane. the power of compassion is undeniable because it makes us feel more positive about ourselves and the world around us. Cultivate Appreciation. Words are powerful If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

Healthy masculinity is better for men and the cultures they inhabit. The manliness of men is just meaningless when the reason for his manliness is to be a man and be humane!

    Dr N Prabhudev

Former Director Sri Jayadeva institute of Cardiology

Former VC of Bangalore university

Former Chairman Karnataka state Health Commission

nprabhudev@gmail.com

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part One

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”. I have been writing it for a very long time and have no idea what to name it anymore. I will post extra chapters when formatting isn’t being a cruel mistress. I will leave reference links for previous chapters. Enjoy some creepy Ivan!

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

American politics could be so volatile, yet entertaining. No one had expected such a sharp change in Alfred's disposition after the American elections. Granted, the happy blonde was mildly affected by his frequent leader changes. But never had the blue eyed blonde seemed so calm and collected before at a world meeting. Normally he was sleeping or bouncing off the walls with stupid ideas.

Ivan, the immortal symbol of Russia, watched with immense interest. He was curious as Alfred wore a trademark Hollywood smile, not listening to the current speaker like usual. Canada's speech about a political trend towards extreme bipartisanship was ignored by most anyway. Russia jotted down the highlights, only pretending disinterest. He loved to make the nearly invisible country squirm like that.

Royal purple eyes swept back to Alfred, surprised to lock with beautiful blue. The younger seemed to be sizing him up, analyzing the taller ash blonde nation. Finally his real smile showed through. The expression existed only a short time but it was so warm. Alfred then resumed dissecting the rest of the room with his eyes, being noticeably more subtle than usual.

Happy to see his plucky American scheming much like himself, Ivan returned to the same hobby. When the meeting finally ended, Ivan trailed behind. He could hear Alfred arguing hotly with his former motherland in the hall outside. “I'm fine. Leave my leaders to me, Arthur!” the loud mouthed American yelled, stomping off somewhere. “Boy, you don't know what mess you're in now!” Arthur rebutted, always wanting the last word.

Ivan used extreme stealth, trailing a hall away from Alfred at all times. He was very good at it despite his towering height and renowned strength. When the distress American slipped into an office alone, Ivan followed. He closed the frosted glass door noisily, his form of an introduction. Alfred whipped around in alarm, then slumped his shoulders. It was an discovery to see him relax now of all times.

“Oh thank god it's you big guy. Thought it was someone scary!” Alfred greeted teasingly. Taken aback by the younger nation's genial tone, Ivan's false smile changed to a flat hard line. Something was definitely going on. He wasn't sure what to say now, the usual hostile string of insults no longer suitable as an opener.

“Going the quiet route huh? I can respect that. Leaves me more room to talk,” Alfred started, dropping into the luxury office chair. The whole office was quite nice, probably belonging to a German politician of some sort. “You know, I've been thinking. These past 16 years... I know my leaders have been jokes. I know. But I'm really tired of being a living joke? You know?” he continued, frowning.

It was true. The past four American presidents had been international disasters. From drunk social media posts to 'losing' deadly missiles, each term had been a fumble. Ivan didn't envy the internal economic damage his former enemy was surely suffering.

This serious and unhappy aura, it didn't suit Alfred at all. “I understand, little America. It is over twenty five years since my soviet fall, but I am joke of the whole world.” Ivan replied honestly. There was no risk to truth, he decided. Ever since the elections, Alfred hadn't called him a communist once. It was a pleasant change from the tired rhetoric. Perhaps he was finally maturing?

“It's nice... just talking to you. No bullshit.” the honey blonde sighed, reclining a bit. Ivan hummed in agreement, not sure how to proceed. He dealt with international rage, ridicule, and doubt well. Having civil conversations not tainted by sarcasm was something Ivan was not well versed in. These past few decades had been hell for foreign relations.

The silence was killed by America's own anthem for a ring tone. He looked at the display screen, visibly cringed, then answered the cell phone. “All American awesome speaking.” he greeted cheerfully. His forcibly light attitude dropped instantly as he rubbed his temples. “Yes, boss. I understand.” he mumbled. A minute later, he continued “Of course. I'll take care of it. Just don't say anything yet.” he sighed, hanging up after. Ivan intimately understood the look of frustration after being chewed out by superiors. America wore it with resignation, covering his face with both hands.

“FUCK!” Alfred cursed suddenly, startling Ivan. “I have to go, but maybe we can hang out sometime.” the younger nation offered casually, winking at him mischievously. He ran off without waiting for a response. Ivan wouldn't have known what to say anyway. Sure, he had dozens of practiced and sardonic responses. Normally, that was all that was required with the rashly stupid American. This civility and distant kindness was boggling. What did he want now? What game were they playing?

Three weeks later, Ivan decided to test the limits of the informal offer. He wanted to get away from work for a few days anyway. The price of oil was a mess right now and his grossly incompetent officials were blaming him for the short fall, as usual. The nine hour flight to Washington, DC, was mind numbing. Russia instantly regretted not bringing some nice literature from his own culture.

By the time the plane landed in the United States of America, jet lag was starting to take it's toll. Ivan blinked heavily during the taxi ride, the driver glancing back in concern. The burly Russian glared back with a silent promise of violence. The cabby was suddenly less curious, looking fearfully pale. Good boy.

Alfred's Washington home was easily one of his oldest, and his most sentimental. It was a small white colonial house with normal proportions and a second story. It was quaint in comparison to some of the mansions in other states. Due it being three in the morning, there was no point in ringing the door bell. Like Ivan would ever do that anyway. There was no challenge to it!

He scanned the building dimly lit orange by old street lamps. The sly ash blonde could scale the sides and get in through a window. Not only would it be test of acrobatics, but it would scare Alfred. That was a worth while deal. Rubbing his hands together, Ivan spotted a lone sunflower on the southern style veranda. Abandoning his plan, Ivan jogged over to the patio. Oh beautiful flower, who could leave you to suffer? Scooping up the single bloom lovingly, he noticed a large paper tag tied to the robust stem. He read the tiny looping writing immediately.

'I know you want to get through a window or a toilet or whatever, but I left a key. There's no way in hell you're wrecking my siding again.'

Oh, yes. Ivan had forgot about the last time he broke in. He was doing something lithe and graceful, but a window sill gave under his great weight. A large chunk of siding fell with him. Not one of his best feats of athleticism. Still, to be given a key... It completely sucked the fun out of breaking and entering.

Begrudgingly, the Russian looked around for this 'key'. Maybe there would be riddles or tricks to solve. The pale nation adored puzzles and mind games. Ivan huffed, unimpressed at once. He could see a fake rock for holding keys from the veranda. It wasn't even the right color to blend in with the soil. Popping open the plastic 'rock', there was a key with a gold star sticker on it. Wondering if the gold star was a reference to his soviet era, Ivan tried it on the front door.

It worked, the door swinging open silently on oiled hinges. Once inside, Ivan locked it shut and quietly padded around. Exploring the kitchen, he found muffins. They were raspberry, his favorite. Eating one, he explored the rest of the place. Alfred's gun cabinets, all six of them, were looking well stocked like usual. His overflowing movie collection was heaped around the big screen television in the main room. Upstairs was a poorly locked war planning room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. Having broken in and memorized these places before, Ivan skipped them. He entered what he knew to be Alfred's bedroom, not caring about personal invasion in the slightest.

America looked so tired as he slept. Ivan was glad to he wasn't the only one being dragged down by crashing oil prices. The global market was quite stressed at the moment. Placing the sunflower on the huge oak dresser, Ivan rubbed his eyes. A soft yawn ripped out of him, confirming the obvious. Dumping his small bag of clothes in a corner, Ivan made himself comfortable beside Alfred. Not only was his bed the softest, it would weird out the American until he sputtered like a fish. Making his former foe overreact and make a idiot of himself was hugely entertaining.

Wondering if he should set small traps and pranks around the house, Ivan lay down in his travel clothes. It probably wasn't worth the effort to set traps. Alfred was very skilled at disarming them. Russia could get the same result from less effort by playing mind tricks and moving around furniture. Scheming happily, Ivan drifted off.

It was a terrible screech, like a surprised chicken. Ivan couldn't recall hearing that sound in a very long time. Cracking open one eye, he spotted the thing that wretched him from sleep. His pillow was actually America, in full freak out mode. Oh, what a treat. A sleeping companion and mobile entertainment.

“Fuckin' Christ! What are you doing here?” Alfred squawked. Apparently Ivan draped an arm around the other in his sleep, so might as well run with it. “Oh, so you don't remember? We had so much fun too.” he teased, looking smug. Letting the younger nation assume the worst, Ivan watched as Alfred rolled out of bed. Oh, nothing but NASA boxers. That was just adorable. Perhaps Ivan could tease him about it mercilessly during a meeting.

“Take a picture! It'll last longer asshole!” The tanned blonde snarled, picking himself up off the floor. “You are such a hospitable host! I will take a picture.” Ivan replied happily, digging his phone out of a pocket. Two blurry pictures later, the American had fled to the bathroom. Already not bored. Visiting another country had been a great idea.

[daveykid]

A Deeper Look into Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A."

I'm not sure how much specifically you know about this album, possibly aside from the album's title track. (Which so happens to be the ultimate embodiment of the theme of this deeper look, and quite likely not so unintentionally.)

First, the obvious side.

This record is the best seller for Bruce & his band at an estimated 30 million units. It's also estimated to be the 25th top-selling album of all time. It had seven singles in the Billboard Top Ten from June 1984 to February of 1986. Seven Top 10s out of the twelve total tracks on the album - and a string of hits that lasted for over twenty-one months. (For a musical 'frame of reference', an album we know intimately, Drake's Scorpion had eight singles that reached Billboard's Top 10 list, but hung around a total of only eight months. Obviously, time, trend, and music consumption moves at a much different pace these days so it's not a direct comparison but again just a frame for reference.) The title track as a single is certified Gold status, and the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) placed the song 59th out of 365 for their Songs of the Century list. (The list is based upon "promoting a better understanding of America's musical and cultural heritage." In the top twenty of this list are songs like "Over the Rainbow", "White Christmas", "Take Me out to the Ball Game", "Stars and Stripes Forever", and "God Bless America". Very different than a song like "Born in the U.S.A.") We today, still hear classic rock and classic hits stations playing "Born in the U.S.A" and "Dancing in the Dark" seemingly on a once-every-hour basis.

And now to the dark side. 

If you take the catchy & fun-loving choruses, the mostly-upbeat instrumentation, the seemingly pridefully patriotic title of the album and its' greatest hit, and ignore the rest - the sales, the awards, and the recognition that this is one of America's most glory-freedom-working man-red, white, and blue-centric albums of all time makes a lot of sense. However, if you discard the album cover, mute the comfortable sounds of the Cougar-Mellencamp style 80s Americana-Rock & Roll, and read the lyrics - then you might discover this album to be one of the greatest misunderstandings in pop music recordings.

From here, I'll just let selections from Springsteen's lyrics speak for themselves. I limit the following to selections, not to try to take away from a 'Heartland-Americana' message, but simply because some of the songs are actually just somewhat silly love songs, and their lyrics don't take either side of my 'argument'.

We'll start with the title track of the album and the first song on the album.

"Born in the U.S.A"

Born down in a dead man's town The first kick I took was when I hit the ground End up like a dog that's been beat too much 'Til you spend half your life just covering up

Born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A Born in the U.S.A

Got in a little hometown jam So they put a rifle in my hand Sent me off to a foreign land To go and kill the yellow man

Born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A

Come back home to the refinery Hiring man said "son if it was up to me" Went down to see my V.A. man He said "son, don't you understand"

I had a brother at Khe Sanh fighting off the Viet Cong They're still there, he's all gone He had a woman he loved in Saigon I got a picture of him in her arms now

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary Out by the gas fires of the refinery I'm ten years burning down the road Nowhere to run ain't got nowhere to go Born in the U.S.A I was born in the U.S.A Born in the U.S.A  

Okay, actually those are the EXACT lyrics for the ENTIRE song without any REDUCTIONS. Holy shit. That's heavier & more critical than even I knew. Enough said - on to track two.

"Cover Me"

The times are tough now, just getting tougher This whole world is rough, it's just getting rougher Cover me, come on baby, cover me Well I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

Now promise me baby you won't let them find us Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us Cover me, shut the door and cover me I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

Outside's the rain, the driving snow I can hear the wild wind blowing Turn out the light, bolt the door I ain't going out there no more

This whole world is out there just trying to score I've seen enough I don't wanna see any more, Cover me, come on in and cover me I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me

Outside's the rain, the driving snow I can hear the wild wind blowing Turn out the light, bolt the door I ain't going out there no more

Here the lyrics aren't specifically anti-government, US-critical, etc., but they certainly aren't happy lyrics. These words are expressing heavy depression, intense anxiety, and forlorn frustration. The narrator is searching for a romantic partner to willfully blind himself and be ignorant and shielded from the world outside.

"Darlington County"

Driving into Darlington County Me and Wayne on the Fourth of July Driving into Darlington County Looking for some work on the county line

We drove down from New York City Where the girls are pretty but they just want to know your name Driving into Darlington City Got a union connection with an uncle of Wayne's

We drove eight hundred miles without seeing a cop We got rock and roll music blasting off the T-top, singing

Little girl sitting in the window Ain't seen my buddy in seven days, play it boys County man tells me the same thing He don't work and he don't get paid

Little girl you're so young and pretty Walk with me and you can have your way And we'll leave this Darlington City For a ride down that Dixie Highway

Driving out of Darlington County Eyes seen the glory of the coming of the Lord Driving out of Darlington County Seen Wayne handcuffed to the bumper of a state trooper's Ford

This song is probably the most jingle-jangle, pop-friendly tune on the record, but again, the lyrics tell a different story. And also nothing really political here, but it is a story of two somewhat morally decrepit, sleazy guys who, even though they are unemployed and looking for work, are pretending to have a lot of money in order to get with pretty girls. The narrator even describes her as a 'little girl' who is 'so young and pretty'. The listener can assume that the narrator leaves town with this girl and leaves his buddy stranded, only to see him getting arrested by a state trooper. There's nothing to be proud of in this story.

"Working on the Highway"

I work for the county out on ninety five All day I hold a red flag and watch the traffic pass me by In my head I keep a picture of a pretty little miss Someday, mister, I'm gonna lead a better life than this

Working on the highway, laying down the blacktop Working on the highway, all day long I don't stop Working on the highway, blasting through the bedrock Working on the highway, working on the highway

I met her at a dance down at the union hall She was standing with her brothers, back up against the wall Sometimes we'd go walking down the Union tracks One day I looked straight at her and she looked straight back

I saved up my money and I put it all away I went to see her daddy but we didn't have much to say "Son, can't you see that she's just a little girl She don't know nothing about this cruel, cruel world" We lit out down to Florida, we got along all right One day her brothers came and got her and they took me in a black-and-white The prosecutor kept the promise that he made on that day And the judge got mad and he put me straight away I wake up every morning to the work bell clang Me and the warden go swinging on the Charlotte County road gang I'm

Working on the highway, laying down the blacktop Working on the highway, all day long I don't stop Working on the highway, blasting through the bedrock Working on the highway, working on the highway

This is another song that seems to be just an upbeat, pure-pride working man's Americana ballad about hard work and the simple life and simple pleasures. Look closer and we see the story unfolds in another dark direction. The narrator is a highway construction worker who's got nothing better to do during his workday than to fantasize about a sexy girl. He eventually meets someone that he feels fits that description. They like each other. They quickly elope to Florida. Her brothers come and get her and take her back home. Turns out she was not even the age of legal consent, sending him to prison for statutory rape where he's forced into manual labor where, you guessed it, he's working on the highway. Not much joy here. No pride to be found. Nothing to be proud of.

"Downbound Train"

I had a job, I had a girl I had something going, mister, in this world I got laid off down at the lumber yard Our love went bad, times got hard Now I work down at the car wash Where all it ever does is rain Don't you feel like you're a rider on a downbound train She just said, "Joe, I gotta go We had it once, we ain't got it anymore" She packed her bags, left me behind She bought a ticket on the Central Line Nights as I sleep, I hear that whistle whining I feel her kiss in the misty rain And I feel like I'm a rider on a downbound train

Last night I heard your voice You were crying, crying, you were so alone You said your love had never died You were waiting for me at home Put on my jacket, I ran through the woods I ran till I thought my chest would explode There in the clearing, beyond the highway In the moonlight, our wedding house shone I rushed through the yard I burst through the front door, my head pounding hard Up the stairs I climbed The room was dark, our bed was empty Then I heard that long whistle whine And I dropped to my knees, hung my head and cried Now I swing a sledge hammer on a railroad gang Knocking down them cross ties, working in the rain Now, don't it feel like you're a rider on a downbound train  

Shit. Another song that ends with the narrator getting arrested for a seemingly-honest act of desperation. There's nothing from the lyrics that need elaboration. Guy gets laid-off from a low-skill, low-education job. Marriage suffers. Woman leaves. Man gets an even shittier job. Man dwells on his broken heart and becomes delusional. Man breaks into either his old home which he doesn't own anymore or to the home where his ex-wife lives. Either way he ends up doing forced labor in prison.

"I'm on Fire"

Hey little girl, is your daddy home? Did he go away and leave you all alone? Mhmm I got a bad desire Oh oh oh, I'm on fire Tell me now, baby, is he good to you? And can he do to you the things that I do? Oh no I can take you higher Oh oh oh, I'm on fire Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley Through the middle of my skull At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet And a freight train running through the middle of my head Only you can cool my desire

Another song that has nothing to be happy about. I won't even touch the 'hey little girl, is your daddy home?' part, because that could either be the narrator's way of talking sexy to a woman who already has a man, or it could be taken literally: a pedophile trying to have sex with a non-adult girl. The last two verses of the song are again describing severe mental and emotional instability. The narrator feels like he's been cut through the middle of his mind with a long, but dull knife. He also frequently wakes up in sweat and feels like a freight train is running through his mind. This is definitely not a love song, and there is nothing to be happy or encouraged about here. I'll skip "No Surrender" because though that is another song of run-out-of-options desperation, it is the most hopeful and resilient story on the album, which doesn't say much.

"Bobby Jean"

Well, I came to your house the other day Your mother said you went away She said there was nothing that I could have done There was nothing nobody could say Me and you, we've known each other ever since we were sixteen I wished I could have known I wished I could have called you Just to say goodbye, Bobby Jean Now, you hung with me when all the others Turned away, turned up their nose We liked the same music, we liked the same bands We liked the same clothes We told each other that we were the wildest The wildest things we'd ever seen Now I wished you would have told me I wished I could have talked to you Just to say goodbye, Bobby Jean Now, we went walking in the rain, Talking about the pain that from the world we hid Now there ain't nobody, nowhere, nohow Gonna ever understand me the way you did Maybe you'll be out there on that road somewhere In some bus or train traveling along In some motel room there'll be a radio playing And you'll hear me sing this song Well, if you do, you'll know I'm thinking of you And all the miles in between And I'm just calling you one last time Not to change your mind, but just to say I miss you, baby Good luck, goodbye, Bobby Jean

This is another song of broken relationships, inevitable endings, and filled with regret. The narrator loses the only person he feels he could express himself to, the only person who truly understood him - and it seems obvious to the reader that this connection and love was unreciprocated because he didn't even know she was leaving, let alone gone. Another song of disappointment and sadness. The music is seemingly light-hearted with a doo-wop, Jersey boardwalk kinda sound.

"I'm Goin' Down"

We sit in the car outside your house I can feel the heat coming 'round I go to put my arm around you And you give me a look like I'm way out of bounds Well you let out one of your bored sighs Well lately when I look into your eyes Down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down We get dressed up and we go out, baby, for the night We come home early burning, burning, burning in some fire fight I'm sick and tired of you setting me up yeah Setting me up just to knock-a knock-a knock-a me down Down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down I'm goin down, down, down, down, hey now I pull you close now baby but when we kiss I can feel a doubt I remember back when we started My kisses used to turn you inside out I used to drive you to work in the morning Friday night I'd drive you all around You used to love to drive me wild yeah But lately girl you get your kicks from just driving me down

And yet another about the dying embers of a love soon to be lost. Simply put, it's a couple who's been together for quite some time, and it's growing boring, regular, even poisonous.

"Glory Days" Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight And I'm going to drink till I get my fill And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it But I probably will Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture A little of the glory of, well time slips away And leaves you with nothing mister but Boring stories of glory days

I employ only the last verse here to encapsulate the overall meaning of the song. The story features an ex-great high school baseball player, a formerly popular talk-of-the-town beauty, and (assumedly) the narrator's father who's recently been laid-off and can't find work anywhere else. The common denominator the three characters share is their sadness, their brokenness, their strong nostalgia, and their fruitless desire to be young again.

"Dancing in the Dark" I get up in the evening And I ain't got nothing to say I come home in the morning I go to bed feeling the same way I ain't nothing but tired Man I'm just tired and bored with myself Hey there baby, I could use just a little help You can't start a fire You can't start a fire without a spark This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancing in the dark Message keeps getting clearer Radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place I check my look in the mirror I want to change my clothes, my hair, my face Man I ain't getting nowhere I'm just living in a dump like this There's something happening somewhere Baby I just know that there is You can't start a fire You can't start a fire without a spark This gun's for hire Even if we're just dancing in the dark You sit around getting older There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me I'll shake this world off my shoulders Come on baby this laugh's on me Stay on the streets of this town And they'll be carving you up alright They say you gotta stay hungry Hey baby I'm just about starving tonight I'm dying for some action I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book I need a love reaction Come on now baby gimme just one look 

This the second most successful and well-known song and also the second most often misunderstood song from the album. Most folks tend to just focus on that strong, driving backbeat and the cute little dancing chorus. Read these lyrics and we have the story of ANOTHER unskilled, undereducated, lonely and isolated man who is working third-shift, going through a monotonous depression, and desperately reaching out for any kind of emotional & physical connection. There is no resolution that gives us a happy ending. The 'baby' referred to throughout the song never speaks, is never addressed, doesn't have a name, and the reader has no way of knowing if this person even exists. It's just a bare and desperate man appealing to the world for anyone.

"My Hometown" I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick and steer as we drove through town He'd tousle my hair and say son take a good look around This is your hometown This is your hometown This is your hometown This is your hometown In '65 tension was running high at my high school There was a lot of fights between the black and white There was nothing you could do Two cars at a light on a Saturday night in the back seat there was a gun Words were passed in a shotgun blast Troubled times had come To my hometown My hometown My hometown My hometown Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores Seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more They're closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks Foreman says these jobs are going boys and they ain't coming back To your hometown Your hometown Your hometown Your hometown Last night me and Kate we laid in bed Talking about getting out Packing up our bags maybe heading south I'm thirty five we got a boy of our own now Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said son take a good look around This is your hometown

Thought this one was going to be different? You thought Bruce wouldn't... couldn't let us watch the record stop spinning in its' final seconds and send us off into the night in darkness, desperation, gloom, regret, heartbreak, inevitable sadness, etc. etc.? You were hoping for a shot of love or light or hope or anything that will make us glad and happy about life and the world we live in? Well, you were wrong and embarrassingly naive for hoping. This song is a saddened look at the narrator's hometown. Violent and unstable relationships between black and white residents fueled by racial tension and inequality. Someone was murdered in the heat of this friction which caused an economic and cultural downward spiral to which the narrator's only answer is to move himself and his family away. The story ends in the same way it began, but not so proudly and optimistically - the narrator offers his son one last look behind the wheel at his old hometown. No pride. No resolution. No tribalism, no nationalism, no patriotism. No union pride nor worker's pride nor industry pride. Just a river slowly drying up. Just individuals and communities growing more desperate as their already-small window continues its' shrinking.

And that is a lyrical examination of literally EVERY song on the album whose title track the RIAA says proudly promotes a better understanding of America's musical and cultural heritage among songs like "Over the Rainbow", "White Christmas", "Take Me out to the Ball Game", "Stars and Stripes Forever", and "God Bless America". It looks like what we've got here is a failure to communicate.

[elvendara]

V-Men

Alright guys, here is the next thing I am working on. A Mystic Messenger/X-Men Crossover! I saw a 707 art with him holding a playing card and my mind immediately shouted GAMBIT!!!!!!!!!!!!! And thus, this crossover was born. Major kudos to my lovely Tumblr daughter @booyakasha516 who fueled my tangent and helped me flesh it out. Here is the premise, and the ‘in progress’ first chapter.

This is still in the works, so things might change once I post it on AO3, which I plan to do later...... Enjoy! I hope you enjoy it anyway

Saeyoung: Gambit

MC: Rogue

Yoosung: Ice Man

Jaehee: Mystique

Zen: Cyclops

Saeran: Pyro

V: Professor X V

Vanderwood: Wolverine

 Saeyoung, MC, Yoosung, Jumin, and Zen are X-men under Professor V as the head. Professor V is blind instead of paralysed.

Jaehee and Saeran are part of Magneto’s group.

Vanderwood is a free agent, doing as he pleases according to his own preferences.

Rika is the head of the government agency that is tracking and covertly eliminating mutants, good or bad. Humanity First, ???? Might change the name....

 Professor V set his cane on the conference table and sat at the head. He heard the others sit around him. Their minds bobbing waves of energy and thoughts. He stayed clear of entering, as per usual, he did not eavesdrop on people’s inner thoughts unless the need was great. Most times he entered it was because that mind cried out for help. As the others settled he read their moods out of habit.

Saeyoung was bright, his energy vast and tightly contained. He could tell he was playing with a deck of cards, even if he couldn’t see him. He heard the crackle of energy that infused the small rectangles, passing from his fingers to the card and back. He also heard his heavy boots hitting the table as he leaned back on the chair. Professor V sighed and shook his head, it would do no good to remind him the table was no place for feet. Saeyoung was the same as always, hiding his insecurities behind his humor and smiles.

Yoosung sat to his left, he seemed amused, Professor V could vaguely see that he watched Saeyoung, who sat across from him, they were particularly close. Yoosung’s mind was strong, his passion stronger. He was well liked by the students, even though he was barely much older than them. He had also been the butt of many pranks. His youthfulness, innocence, and trusting nature making him an easy target. While the pranks had died down, because it just became too easy and cruel to trick the blonde, Saeyoung still enjoyed playing his own practical jokes on him. Unlike Saeyoung, Yoosung’s cheerfulness was genuine. He enjoyed teaching the children and often had very deep and meaningful conversations with them. They trusted he would keep their confidence and that he would listen with empathy. Professor V was glad that he had asked Yoosung to stay at the academy as a teacher once he himself had graduated. There was a special place in his heart for the young man.

Zen sat next to Yoosung, his mood perturbed. If Professor V had to guess, the mood was probably due to Jumin. Those two had yet to get along, Zen often threatening to use his laser eyes on Jumin’s wings. He was breathing heavily and had certainly sat down crossing his arms immediately. He could imagine Zen glaring at Jumin through his shielded goggles, his lips pursed and huffing. Professor V grinned at the stunning figure he must cut with his long flowing white locks, his high cheekbones, and wide shoulders. He heard his teeth grinding in his jaw.

As Jumin sat next to Saeyoung and across from Zen Professor V heard the rustling of his black wings. He would spread them so that they lay to each side of the chair and he would not crush them beneath him. He leaned back, placing his hands on the table ever so softly. His breathing was even and steady. Whatever had transpired between Jumin and Zen, it had not affected the stoic man as much as it had affected Zen. Professor V did catch a feeling of annoyance from the man, but he was impressed by how perfectly Jumin held his emotions in. There were times he wished that he was not so good at it.

“We’re all here Professor.” Saeyoung yelled, moving his hand in front of the Professor’s eyes. Professor V turned and pushed Saeyoung’s hand down. “I’m not completely blind Saeyoung, I can tell everyone is here, even without eyes as you well know.” He grinned.

Saeyoung chuckled and leaned back in his chair once more, throwing his feet onto the table as well. Professor V took his cane and shoved at his ankle until his feet hit the floor. Saeyoung only chuckled more, leaning over the table and shuffling his cards on the surface.

“Do you have to keep doing that?” Zen asked, his arms still crossed and his mood still bad.

“No.” was the sharp answer, as Saeyoung continued to shuffle.

Yoosung giggled, then covered his mouth. Zen backhanded him lightly on the shoulder and Yoosung just shrugged.

“Alright, listen up, this is important. Humanity First is at it again. They’ve taken someone with tremendous strength, she won’t be alive for long. Her psychic scream was deafening. I was able to gather some information before her mind was closed off completely. Either by her own design, which I doubt, or by outward means. Her name is MC, her alias is Rogue. Currently she has the telepathic power, a strong one.”

“What do you mean ‘currently’?” Jumin asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table, arms crossed.

“It seems as if her mutant power is the ability to steal other mutant’s powers, or, sadly, the life of humans.”

Yoosung gasped, his hands covering his mouth. “That sounds awful.” He said.

“Indeed. I did some research, she has been on her own for a little over four years now. Apparently, her powers manifested during an intimate encounter with her boyfriend. A single kiss was enough to drain him of his life force.”

“She killed him?” Yoosung gasped again. He couldn’t imagine killing anyone. Although he had the power to do just that, it was not something he ever contemplated seriously.

“I’m afraid so, people were afraid of her after that, including her own parents, so she ran away before they could put her in an institution. I’m not sure how she has survived up till now, but having done so for this many years, speaks of a great mind.”

“Do you know where they took her? Which facility?” Jumin asked.

“No, but I’ve narrowed it down to three.”

“How are we supposed to figure it out? We can’t just go in and check all of them.” Zen responded.

“No, we can’t, but I know someone who can.” Professor V answered. “Saeyoung has worked his magic and has all the details we need. I want you and Yoosung to go to Battalion Square, someone will meet you there with more information. Once you have ascertained which facility the girl is in, I will send the rest of the team to your location so that you can come up with a plan of attack.”

“Who are we meeting with?” Saeyoung asked.

“You’ll see, that will be all for now, I suggest you two get going, or you will be late.”

“Professor!” Saeyoung stood and pressed the Professor.

He sighed and placed a hand on Saeyoung’s shoulder, “Just, go Saeyoung. Trust me.”

Saeyoung’s lips thinned out but he nodded. He grabbed his cards and tucked them into his trenchcoat, he motioned for Yoosung to follow him and grabbed his staff as he headed out the door.

“Who do you think it is?” Yoosung asked.

Saeyoung clenched his teeth, “My brother.” He breathed out.

“Oh!” Yoosung had never met Saeyoung’s brother, but he knew that they had not parted under good terms. “But, but that means…”

“We’ll be working with Magneto again, yes. This new agency is a threat to all mutants, but I still don’t trust Magneto’s team.”

“Neither do I.” Yoosung agreed. They made their way to the underground garage and Saeyoung retracted his staff until it was no longer than twelve inches, he tucked it away next to his cards. He jumped into his convertible and Yoosung got into the passenger side. There were days when Saeyoung wished he had a cool traveling power, but, being behind the wheel of his sports cars was exhilarating in and of itself. He glanced over at Yoosung, at 21 he was still so much like a child. He wore ripped blue jeans and a white t-shirt with blue and yellow horizontal stripes. There were two hair clips that held his bangs away from his large amethyst eyes. The car was not moving and Yoosung looked over at Saeyoung.

“What?” he asked, his voice high pitched and sweet. Saeyoung grinned.

“Nothing, let’s go.” Yoosung put his seatbelt on and glanced at Saeyoung, he ran a hand over his yellow locks and wondered what it was that Saeyoung had been looking at. He was well aware that he did not quite measure up to the rest of the V-Men. He was the youngest, but it was more than that, he lacked any kind of experience. He only hoped that he would not let the team down, or Professor V.

They made it to the square in no time, Saeyoung ignoring all driving laws, Yoosung’s hair windblown and messy. He had also lost a hairclip along the way. He groaned as he looked at himself in the mirror, trying to make one hairclip work. He sighed and gave up, sliding it out of his hair and tossing it into the center console. His hair immediately flopped over his left eye and he blew at it to no avail. Saeyoung laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Stop it!” he pushed Saeyoung’s hand away and got out of the car. Saeyoung locked it and Yoosung arched his eyebrow.

“Gotta keep my baby safe.” He said, twirling his keychain around his finger.

“Saeyoung, the top is down, if someone wants to get into your car, it’s not that hard.”

“Oh really? Ok, smart water, go ahead, try it.” Yoosung rolled his eyes at Saeyoung’s attempted humor.

“Fine.” He reached a hand to the door and was about to jump in the car when the door flew open, knocking him down on his ass.

“Stay away or I’ll beat you senseless.” The car mocked him. Saeyoung bent over, slapping his knee and laughing.

Yoosung held his belly where the door had hit him, cursing at Saeyoung.

“What a mouth! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Saeyoung’s eyes were wide in mock surprise.

“Shut up and help me up, that really hurt!” Yoosung held out his hand for Saeyoung to take. He yanked him and dusted him off, still snickering.

“Is this you get your kicks? Picking on children?” Came a sarcastic and nasty voice from behind them. They both turned around. The man, not much more than a boy himself, had shocking white hair with red tips, his eyes were an unnatural mint green, freckles across his nose. He had a thin red sweater on so loose at the collar that it fell off his right shoulder, although, the way it exposed a large tattoo of an intricate eye, he might be wearing it that way on purpose. He had a double choker around his neck and a spiked wrist band. His jeans were black and he wore motorcycle boots. Yoosung’s eyes widened.

“You’re, you’re twins!” he exclaimed.

“You’ve got a bright one here Saeyoung.” the man said as he tapped out a cigarette from his pack, tossing it into his mouth. He shoved the pack into his back pocket and with a snap of his fingers, he created a small flame to light it.

“Nice to see you too Saeran.” Saeyoung grated. The hand around Yoosung’s arm tightened and he could feel the crackle of kinetic energy along his skin.

The woman standing next to him had long brown hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in business attire. A white button blouse, black suit jacket and black pencil skirt. She wore little to no makeup and her heels looked too high to be worn in an office setting. She smirked at them both.

Saeran snickered and turned away from his brother, scanning the area, and exhaling smoke.

“I was told you had the location of the three facilities, let me have them. I also need someone to impersonate.”

“And you are?” Saeyoung’s eyebrows rose.

She held out her hand. Saeyoung smiled at her, his most charming smile and leaned in. “I don’t give it up that easily. What do I get?” he crooned. Yoosung rolled his eyes at the same time as Saeran, they stared at each other, Saeran narrowed his eyes and looked Yoosung up and down, as if for the first time. Yoosung blushed and turned away, letting his hair fall and cover his face.

“You get to stay alive, now give me the information.” She glared at Saeyoung dangerously. Saeyoung pouted, his charms usually worked.

Saeran snickered again. “Don’t mess with Jaeheee, she doesn’t have a funny bone. She’s a little boring, but.” He shrugged. She glowered sideways at him and pursed her lips but said nothing. He scoffed at her look, but kept all other comments to himself.

Saeyoung reluctantly pulled out the envelope and handed it to Jaehee. She took it in her long fingers and opened it, flipping through the information rapidly.

“Good, this will do, I will contact you when we learn which facility the girl is in.”

Saeyoung reached out to grab her arm, but the daggers in her eyes held him at bay.

“We go with you.”

“Why? You can’t help me, you would stick out like a sore thumb!”

“He can’t go in with you either, we’ll just keep him company, catch up, what do you say brother?” Saeyoung gestured towards Saeran who rolled his eyes again and puffed harder on his cigarette. Yoosung looked from one to the other, as did Jaehee.

“Whatever! He might be helpful if we need to hack.” Saeran conceded.

“Fine, but they are your responsibility!” Jaehee turned on her heels and walked off, Saeran glared at the other two and followed her. Saeyoung and Yoosung had no choice but to fall in line behind him. Yoosung was sure it was going to be a miserable few hours for him. He could feel the tension and aggression roiling off the two brothers. It was only a matter of time before it escaped, and he would be stuck in the middle.