#i also feel like a death in the prison may be too gruesome even for milgram

[harukapologist]

Yesterday I was having lots of 09 thoughts & mainly talked about him, so today I'll talk about why I think Haruka will not die before T3.

First off, what is the point of leaving such an engaging mystery unsolved?

If you think about it, Haruka's death would add two things in the story: drama factor to test the fans' feelings, and a chance to learn more about the extraction system. For the drama/emotional factor, it would be more useful if he stayed alive in critical condition; the fans' feelings will change and that will affect how these fans vote for Haruka and the other prisoners. In the scenario that he dies, the other prisoners' character developments will get somewhat of a push but Haruka's case will remain unsolved forever; if he stayed alive, I think that would help him and everyone develop further. e.g we would see more tension with Muu as she seems to be spending less time with him, we would see how Haruka struggles to cope with his verdict, how he interacts with the other prisoners etc it is much more compelling that way in my opinion

There is a possibility the extraction system could work on a dead body but 1. there would be no VD and VDs are important because they force the prisoner to think about and focus on their crime before extraction, 2. I don't see it being worth killing off a character, there are other more effective ways to get a reaction out of the audience and keep all of the prisoners' fates tied. And if it doesn't work, then wasn't Haruka's death pointless? It is just such a fruitless way to seal his case. Him being dead has only one outcome, which is...well, being dead. But surviving his attempt may have many outcomes: he might not attempt at all and remain unscathed, he might get in critical condition, he might be punished for attempting to escape milgram's boundaries by dying; who knows?

Not only narrative-wise is Haruka important, but also Haruka is a fan favorite, at least in JP fandom. He is well-loved, a lot of fans are intrigued by his case and killing him off without even getting close to solving his deal—which I see as one of if not the most ambiguous in the prison for many reasons—will leave a lot of fans disappointed and some may quit milgram, so the sales and audience etc will drop.

You have to keep in mind that Jackalope is biased, loves messing with us and sometimes says or implies things that are not true (e.g implying Haruka and Muu's dynamic to be romantic "lovey-dovey" when they are just friends) so you should not take anything he says—much like most of the info we are presented in milgram generally—at surface level.

Something else to be considered but which I wouldn't rely on as heavily, is that minigrams have foreshadowed things before (e.g system Amane), and Haruka has been really in the spotlight in nearly every recent minigram. I take this as a sign that he might not only survive but also play an important role in T3.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

���In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[stxneflxwers]

fragments of heaven – prelude.

summary. In a scary, mysterious, new universe, they find themself searching for even a little bit of purpose amidst the chaos. The past will haunt them, but the future will guide them, too.

a/n. hi this is nerve-wracking to post. lol. i'm so used to being ashamed of posting OC stuff that this is somehow still difficult even after years of doing it. ANYWAY ive been absolutely fixating on this for ages now – many rewrites later, i think i've found a happy spot! anywho, this is a crossover with my original story/world. i do plan to explain as much as i feasibly and reasonably can about my original story. hopefully it doesn't leave too many people in the dark, ofc. but also you're meant to see this from an HSR perspective anyway lol also, this is more or less co-written with one of my best friends, so her character(s) are featured here! also 2, the first scene in this prologue/chapter is kinda awkward cuz i didnt bother to fix it when i started rewriting,,, oops

characters. aventurine. original character(s).

cw. this is a universe crossover/fusion!!! canon x OC. slavery. implied character death. trauma. (more tags will be added as more chapters are posted)

prologue.

Kakavasha often heard humming throughout the small, dirty prisons lined with slaves like himself. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but it brought uncanny serendipity to his angry emotions for a little while every time. When the humming would eventually stop, the onslaught of vexed emotions and thoughts would return minutes later.

And then, he finally meets the person who hums one day by what feels like a stroke of luck, pure chance. He initially expected to never see the face the voice belongs to. The only visible eye of that person never left his mind – a bright, starry blue with a white pupil and ring in their iris. Their rusty red hair covers their other eye, like they hide it intentionally.

They deliver him his rations for the day, but the plate of food seems larger than usual. They put a finger up to their lips – he needs to stay quiet if he wants it. They slide the plate into his cell and offer him a soft, patient smile.

“I hope you enjoy it, I made it myself.” The fellow slave whispers to him, “Ah… What’s your name… Kakavasha?” They ask as they shut the barred door and straighten their legs as they rise.

“…Yeah.” He nods as he warily takes the plate of food before eating it with slow, small bites. “Oh, wow… This is…really good.” He whispers before shoving a larger portion into his mouth.

“I’m glad you like it.” They nod before hearing heavy footfalls nearby, “I have to go now – may we meet again one day.” They grin before quickly sneaking away, running on the tip of their feet.

Kakavasha watches them run away with deftness and grace, like a dancer. He finishes his food quickly, not wanting to be caught with a bigger, better portion than usual.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter how many times the older slave gets their head beaten into the wall by the slavemaster. Les Esfacier is still standing, regardless of every whip, every cut, every kick and punch. It doesn’t matter how much crimson blood pours from their new wounds, they remain standing – all with a wicked, knowing smirk on their bruise-darkened lips.

“I hope you’re enjoying the show, No.35!” The slaver barks at Kakavasha, who remains firmly tied to a chair nearby. “Because No.8 hasn’t died from a single beating – yet. But I’m more than happy to change that…” He glances at the Avgin with a twisted grin before raising his whip to lash the older teen.

Les Esfacier jumps in before the leather can meet his vulnerable body, causing the whip to crack against their cheek.

“Les Esfacier—!” Kakavasha gasps, his heart dropping into the acidic remains of his gut as he watches another trail of blood form on his fellow slave’s face. With hardly any self-control left to spare, he starts sobbing, yet unable to tear his gaze away from the gruesome sight.

“Why are you still smirking, No.8? Are you getting off on this, huh?!” The slavemaster howls with laughter, his own preconceived notions are pure entertainment.

“I’m smirking because it’s funny how much you struggle to kill me.” Les Esfacier snarks.

“You…!” The slave owner growls before yanking out his pistol, aiming right at the smart-mouthed slave’s head.

“No—!” Kakavasha tries to lurch forward in his chair before he gasps when a warm, golden-white light covers his eyes.

“Shh… It’s okay, little guy, just listen to me, okay?” A soft yet lively voice whispers in his mind as the golden-white glow permeates his vision, it’s almost enough for him to relax. “My name is Summer – I’m Les Esfacier’s friend! I…I’m here to take care of you while they’re asleep! Y-Yeah…!” The feminine voice squeaks, clearly doing her best to reassure the slave.

“...Asleep? That’s the best lie you could come up with?” Kakavasha mentally retorts with a bitter sigh.

“Hey, I’m trying!” He can practically hear the pout in her voice, “But… They aren’t dead, either. They’re just…out of commission!”

“...Right.” He groans, “They…they had to have died… No one can survive a gunshot to the head like that…”

“You’d be surprised. Ma— Les Esfacier is a super-tank!”

“A…super-tank,” He echoes, “You’re weird, Summer… If that is your real name.”

“Hey! Stop doubting me! Please, just believe me when I say they’re fine… They really are just asleep!”

“Whatever…”

That night, the moon is in its first quarter – its silver glow peeks through the small, barred window above him, filling the cell he sits in. He curls up in the shadows, though, a dark place where he wishes he could hide for eternity. He didn’t want the moon to shed light on the guilt that eats away at him, all the way to the core.

But, perhaps now is the time for action, as the moon foretells.

“Hey, little guy… You asleep yet?”

It’s that voice again, and now there’s a body made of the same golden-white light accompanying it. The figure is petite and curvy. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that – it’s the least of his problems right now, or so he tells himself.

“No,” He grumbles tiredly, “How could I be? After everything…”

“It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“How can you promise something as ridiculous as that?” He sighs, he couldn’t help it anymore. He needed such a deep, heavy breath that’s been pent up to finally leave his system. 

It wasn’t as relieving as he hoped it would be.

“Because I know! Trust me, okay?”

She’s so argumentative, he thinks, and at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s truly gone off the rails.

“...Whatever.”

The figure sits down in the heart of the moon’s glow on the floor, and she opens her arms to him.

“Come here! Sit on my lap. It’ll be cold tonight, like always. I’ll keep you warm.”

“Are you kidding me?” He grumbles, but upon getting no response from her, he takes it as a sign that she’s serious about it. “...Fine.” But only this once, he thinks.

With her legs crossed, she holds onto him in her lap with tender grace that only a mother knows.

Kakavasha jolts awake in Summer’s arms as the desert sun slowly rises, but he’s quick to sigh and write off his own alarm as a small nightmare he can’t recall. He looks up at the spirit that held him all night, her eyes closed and her body still as a serene statue. He briefly wonders if this is what it’s really like to be cared for by a mother. However, he quickly shrugs this thought off – knowing that there’s no hope in finding solace in the deceased.

“Awake so early, huh?” Summer murmurs; her eyes flitting open, staring down at him with a soft smile.

“...Yeah,” He rolls out of her arms before stretching his arms high above his head and his legs straight out, “Thanks… For, uhm, last night.”

“No problem, little guy!” She chirps, watching him closely. Her energy and joy are damn near infectious, but he wouldn’t dare dream of giving himself the chance to feel the same pleasures. “Hey, I have a gift for you.” She informs casually, there are sparkles of excitement dancing in her dark eyes.

“...A gift?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck, “You really don’t have to—”

“Well, I don’t care if I don’t have to, because I want to.” She nods before a gold coin with a triquetra engraved in it manifests in her hand, “Here, catch!” She tosses it to him.

He catches it despite the fumbling, he looks down at it and blinks slowly, “A gold coin? Well, at least it doesn’t look like a damn Tanba…”

“My gramps made it! And it was the last one to ever be minted by him. I really want you to have it, little guy. Think of it as a parting gift and a reminder!”

“...A reminder of what?” He asks with deliberate slowness.

“That there’s always love and kindness looking for you and that it’ll find you eventually, sooner or later. So, don’t give up on those things, or ever give up on anything! Also…”

“Also…?”

“Should we ever meet again,” She clasps her hands around his own hand that holds the coin, “Show me the coin, and I’ll know exactly who you are.” She grins, “You can do this, m’kay?”

With that said, she vanishes. And he doesn’t know if it’ll be for now or forever. He clutches the coin tightly in his hand, her lingering warmth setting a fire ablaze in his heart – a unique determination.

[egg-emperor]

Yess. I like the idea of eggman leaving pesky prisoners at Metal Sonic's non-existent mercy. It would be like tossing meat to a hungry piranha.💀

The brutal bot can't be bargained with. He can't be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. The prisoner's pleas for even a teensy bit of mercy ould fall on deaf ears as Metal brutally slaughters them. Bribery won't help them either . All the diamonds and pearls in the world won't convince him to spare their worthless lives. As a matter of fact he laughs at their futile pleas for mercy.���

If he's feelin nasty or if eggy orders it he toys with them and hits them where it really hurts. Meanwhile Eggman is enjoying the view and records the screams😈🤖🥚

YEESSS. Eggman usually keeps Metal in an idle state when he isn't using him but I like to think that when he has special plans where he may be useful, he keeps him active for longer specifically to get his violent and aggressive urges up, so he'll be especially bloodthirsty and ready to kill his targets extra brutally at command. One of those times can be when Eggman has been keeping a bunch of prisoners that will have to die if they don't do as they're told. Metal is one of his absolute favorite ways to have them dealt with when he wants it to be especially horrific.

He could use the mere mention of Metal bringing them their punishment if they don't behave as a way to threaten them in itself, as it would certainly scare anyone into doing whatever he wants the best they can to desperately avoid that. But I think Eggman would enjoy keeping it a secret sometimes and just warning that "something terrible" will happen to them if they displease him, almost like he wants some of them to dare to try it or slip up, just to surprise them with Metal and watch him tear them limb from limb (and that is exactly what his sadistic side wants to see lol)

It makes the reveal even scarier when they're about to be dropped into a room with clear walls and Eggman announces that Metal Sonic wants to play with them. They look inside and they notice his red eyes glowing from the shadows, sharp claws glimmering where the low light hits the metal, ready to strike at the word. Wouldn't be surprising if they already succumbed to a heart attack before Eggman even gives Metal the go because just the sight and the realization of inevitable doom would be fucking terrifying XD

Eggman could ask if they'd rather be dropped into a freezing cold water tank of various robot fish and aquatic creatures with razor sharp teeth to chomp them up or face Metal Sonic and they'd choose the former if they have any idea what he's capable of. But regardless Eggman will just say "too bad, you're going to meet Metal!" and specifically give them what they fear most so they have the worst final moments. He's even more excited knowing they'd take another horrific form of death over it because of how scary Metal is, it's even worse than being fish food!

Eggman always gets disturbingly excited about it, having his cameras set up to capture the scene perfectly and sounding giddy with glee when he orders for Metal to take action. Sometimes he'll order that the second he says go, Metal goes for it and attacks and kills as fast as he can. He'll count down and when Metal gets the go, he immediately lunges at them and starts slashing away. He likes to see how fast he can tear them up and before he can blink they're eviscerated! It's a truly gruesome sight but the more violent it is, the more excited Eggman is!

But when he's especially pissed off with the prisoner or is even just feeling extra cruel and wants it purely for some entertainment, he can ask Metal to go slower and drag it out. He's used to being fast so it takes some restraint on Metal's part but with his obedience to Eggman's guidance, he can also play with the victim for a little while. Roughing them up and torturing them with slow inflicted pain while Eggman praises him and eggs him on and teases the poor victim, all while they're completely helpless and are forced to face and accept their drawn out agony and demise.

Then Eggman will give Metal frighteningly violent orders on how to toy with them and where to hit them, and do everything it takes to break them and make it as horrific, agonizing, and long drawn out to his complete satisfaction. He'll get Metal to deliver powerful painful slashes and blows to their victim but make sure that they stay conscious for as long as planned, torturous and slow so they don't black out from shock to see how long they last. Being torn to shreds immediately in seconds is a terrible way to go but it'll make them wish it happened to them instead of this!

It's impossible to convince either of them to let them go or even just go a bit easier on them and show the tiniest amount of mercy. It just makes Eggman even more excited and makes him want to mock them harder. And he programmed Metal to see it as an invitation to be extra brutal on them and to see it as a reminder of how pathetic, weak, and worthless they are and that they deserve this punishment just for that. Nothing they say or do will convince them otherwise! No matter how much they beg, no matter what promises they try to make, it's far too late.

In these moments Eggman and Metal are in sync, as cruel, heartless, and sadistic with a total lack of remorse. Instead they feel a thrill, they get carried away with the violence and how bad it will get, unrestrained and brutal. The only difference is their demeanor as Metal's gaze is cold and empty as a silent killer machine, though he's definitely laughing inside hehe. Eggman's grin is wild and sadistic, he's disturbingly silly and joyful and playful, and bursts into maniacal laughter at the messed up show for his twisted entertainment as he lounges and watches.

Eggman has a blast watching and hearing their screams, he finds it so exciting and amusing and yells "atta boy!" and praises and cheers for Metal like he's watching a fucked up game or sport, or an extremely unfair fighting match where only one opponent has the ability to fight and is merciless on his inferior opponent, or a thrilling movie as he may bring out Poppin' Eggcorn to eat to go with it, or watching a live piranha feeding where they're stripped to the bone. He loves recording the gruesome sight and telling him to make sure he does it in clear view of the cameras!

Eggman is so proud of his boy that he can he get carried away watching the footage back with glee and making a highlight reel of the most brutal moments that he forgets he still hasn't had Metal cleaned off and he's standing next to him all bloodied up and only realizes just before he can pet his metal head and ruin his gloves. He has to give him a good power wash after that with his special cleaning machine and then give him a reward of being polished by hand, scrubbing him until he can admire the reflection of his handsome face on his polished metal perfectly lol

Another great way for them to do some quality father and son bonding. I adore them 🥰🥚🤖💜

[flapjacksfursona02]

Ugh i looove your ramblings. like. this show barely gets any discussion besides how sPoOoOky it is and shit and it saddens me lol (i guess it doesn't help that the creepy aspects are the most memorable, oh well)

Anywayyy,, whatchu said about the abusive relationships/caricature stuff? *slams table* 100% canon no cap...

like, the whole point of the show (at least originally) was to showcase how dark and sinister everybody else is compared to Flapjack, who's just this bright young fella who just wants to be everybody's friend, while being oblivious to how fucked up everything is around him.

That boy really is the only good character in the whole series, and it makes me sad cause Bubbie is pretty much the only good role model present in his life 😭

Also, you could argue that K'nuckles has shown to be reedemable multiple times on the run, but,,,, he's still a selfish jerkass to Flapjack and everybody else for most of the time so it doesn't really matter 😭

At least we got this weirdly cute quote from the show's pitch bible in the Flapjack wiki ig... i love it sm lol:

"Although Candied Island is always at the fore-front of K'nuckles mind, we see that there may be something that he craves even more than candy; the adoration of Flapjack. Although K’nuckles claims not to have any tender feelings for Flapjack, his actions say otherwise. He needs Flapjack, because he’s the only person in the world who doesn’t see him as a worthless bum."

Goshh how i wish they had more moments with an actual good father/son bond... ok bye lulz

i could just go talking about it for hours.

k'nuckles is kind of the great example of how gruesome a person could become (and yeah, we'll look at him as a person and not a myth beast, he's still human according to the show's canon) in some circumstances. dude was literally raised without anyone by his side who had good intentions, at least from what i saw. mermen tried to drown him in a bag like some animal when he was a child, to listen to bednight stories he sat under the caged window holes of a stormalong prison and absorb all the things criminals told him when he didn't know any better. the way he lacks empathy at all in his life that he is able to kill a person without any thought nor hesitation and death threatening people is normal to him. also him easily falling to alcohol and drug addiction, that's... yeah. reaching rock bottom of society from time to time, until someone saves him. feeling comfortable sleeping in a trash bag, as if he was used to be thrown there by someone else while being uncosciosly blackout drunk. all the candy overdose deleriums. the way he is lying all the time, permanently, sometimes even if there might be a chance for both him and flapjack to get in trouble for hiding the truth. the way he can easily start to cry without a reason, or just lay on bubbie's tongue and not getting up for weeks 'until he rots'.

this is an insanely good written alcoholic/addict character. so good that it's way too depressing for some comedy-driven kids tv show. and i'm surprised that no one talks about it aloud, the gruesome angst that this show is about. i'm not sad about it tho, nor mad, it even feels more nicely when even the fandom and fanart are quite joyful, but sometimes you just sit and analyse the show or a character and you feel weirdly excited and horrified at the same time. flapjack is dark fiction art

[zenosanalytic]

Harrow the Ninth: Blood and Guts; With Feeling!!!

While I’m sure the physical trauma, gore, intentional autophagia, unintentional cannibalism, and necrophilia in the book will be what turns mainstream heads, what really grabbed me about Harrow the Ninth was its unabashed and sincere humanity.

Every character in Harrow the Ninth gets to be a full human being. The best example to my mind is Crux: a gruesome cadaver 2 parts loyalty, 3 parts shouting, and 5 parts sheer bloody-minded cussedness; who blew up a long-grieving, broken family(and their completely innocent pilot) for the “crime” of leaving the place that murdered their husband and father and broke them; who insulted, beat, and tortured Gideon her WHOLE DAMN LIFE. And, also, the major, if not only, source of kindness and sympathy in Harrow’s own.

CRUX!!! Kind uncle Crux sneaking her sweets once a year and whenever she gets sick? Reliable retainer Crux always honest with her about her hallucinations and never judging or dismissing her for them; doing EVERY BIT of what little he can to help and protect her? Soft-voiced and kind Crux being the only member of the household who DOESNT abandon her in the Nova AU? THIS IS HOW HARROW SEES CRUX! The guy who casually kicked and spit on Gideon, who treated her as less than trash and never showed her even the shadow of an ounce of kindness is, in Harrow’s mind, the kindest person in her life. That is Fucking Wild.

Everyone is allowed to be 3D in this book, even when Harrow and Gideon disdain them. Ortus -a too-big blubbering joke in Gideon the Ninth, and Gideon and Harrow’s minds both- doesn’t JUST get to be brave, to be selfless, to confront and face up to and SURMOUNT his mistakes and flaws and then ride off glorious and stupid into Valhalla, he gets something so much more important; to speak for himself. To be Known. Understood. Through Harrow’s petty sniping we get to see the love and care he has for his shitty poetry; through her defensively projected self-loathing his regret, his sympathy, the breadth of his Heart, the loyalty to Harrow which lets him be insulted and also the stubborn pride which insists those insults not go unanswered. I’m tearing up just writing this! We get to see, in his meeting Protesilaus, him struggle with the very image of EVERYTHING he wants to be but isn’t, AND we get to see him resolve that displaced self-hatred to BOTH men -who he is, and who he isn’t- and befriend them both, and realize that the physical distance between them is superficial before the siblinghood of souls, and even more: that the conceptual distance between his ideal and his reality doesn’t have to prevent him from being good. He’s still a side character but he gets an arc, development, a story, and resolution, and HE gets to give its summation. And he’s allowed to be Heroic in his own way! HIS words summon his Hero from The River to speak HIS meter while fighting to save them all powered by THEIR shared belief in HIS Art, and then a heaven of his own defining. What other book does that for a JOKE character?!

And again: this is everybody. Yes of course the souls Harrow unknowingly called up, all those too-soon dead from Gideon the Ninth; We get to see Abigail and Magnus’s love for one another -and the dreadful teens, and their universal big-heartedness- up close, and the refutation of(or perhaps counterpoint to) Ianthe’s selfish conception of love gets to come from Magnus’s lips(oh: and Abigail SAVES THE FLIPPIN DAY! Harrow gets to know her and, through this, we get to know the true tragic waste of her death at the same time that we get to watch her MAKE her own meaning from beyond the grave); we get to see Protesilaus’s bravery and grace and kindness; Dulcinea’s indefatigability and cleverness and morbidity; Marta’s selflessness and unshakeable faith in Judith; we get to see ALL OF THEM run literally soul-risking cosmic dangers to shepherd one grieving, suffering, traumatized young woman -their jailer!- not only THROUGH that grief, but also through spiritual invasion by the product of their society’s sins: Of COURSE that was Noble as Fuck and I was Sobbing.

but EVERYBODY! John, for all his exTREMELY fucked up morality and inability to understand her, GENUINELY cares for Harrow, GENUINELY tries to see the best in everyone(even if, I suspect, that’s for mostly selfish reasons), and we get to see the sincerity of that; his care, and the self-recrimination his missteps bring despite that unyielding, bullheaded, self-warping insistence to continue on one Faustian course after another. The Lyctors in all their twisted, ancient cruelty: we get to see their surviving virtues beside their ENORMOUS, demented, murderous flaws -Augustine’s cleverness, wit and charm; Mercymorn’s outrage at endangering the young; Gideon’s faithful dutifulness; the endless love and sorrow all of them have for their Cavaliers- in the context of the fear and strain and loneliness the Emperor has forced them to endure for ten thousand years. We get to see the true grief and betrayal, fresh and bloody even now, they feel at John’s lies and manipulations, the relief they feel at thinking it all finally over, and even some small glimpses of the love they’ve managed to carve out for themselves in all of that: Gideon’s necrophilic makeout with Cytherea’s corpse takes on a whole different meaning when you learn that the first soul he’s truly loved since Pyrra is driving it around. And this too is significant; for all the discomfort it brings Harrow, and the general gross-out factor, and despite their villainy, the Kindly Prince and his Lyctors, the “Adults in the Room”, are allowed to have desires; allowed to be full and sexual people.

And the same sentiment extends to how Ianthe is written. As much as she is Harrow’s tormentor(and she is); as much as she is a ghastly, gaslighting manipulator(and she absolutely is); we also clearly see that she is Harrow’s fellow prisoner and victim on that station. Her terror is real; her suffering is allowed to be real. As much as they would Harrow, the Lyctors would as soon kill Ianthe as help her, and the Emperor not only allows that mindset but orders it thinking it helpful; just so long as his deniability remains plausible throughout. She gets to be Harrow’s safest harbor in a sea of troubles while ALSO being the person fucking with her perceptions to build in her feelings of helplessness and dependency for the SOLE PURPOSE of getting in her pants. Yet Gideon herself names her joy at seeing Harrow alive Genuine; her love for Harrow, Genuine; as twisted and awful-made by the cruel ideals instilled by her life of entitlement and emotional abuse they are, those feelings are still allowed to be real and heart-felt. Her attraction to Harrow, expressed cruelly and selfishly as it is, isn’t dismissed; Muir treats it always seriously, as she does Harrow’s own desires, and repressed confusion over them, for Ianthe. Everybody in this book gets to be REAL.

Fuck even Alecto. Over and over again we get to hear the Lyctors call her a Freak, a Monster, Subhuman(and given her eyes, those white-on-black oddities, it’s very likely she ISNT human; either a Planet-Soul herself or something even stranger); we get to hear from John’s own lips -the person SHE guarded; HER Necromancer in a pairing we have seen presented as the epitome of intimacy through two books- how he betrayed and “killed” her to calm their fears of her; and yet all the while there she is with Harrow, comforting, advising, never shaming or judging, being the only real friend Harrow’s allowed herself to be aware of.

Harrow the Ninth may very well be “Genre” Fiction, but its emotional universal is not only meticulously naturalistic, it is radiantly understanding and humane.

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 1)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~6800 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! This is a purely self-indulgent work I didn’t think I’d publish anywhere - but ultimately, if just one other person enjoyed this, it’d be worth it, right?. However, all of this is catering entirely to what I was feeling at the time of writing this (I’m the biggest sucker for hurt/comfort). It’s fairly possible the plot seems short on breath at times and even confusing because to me it just… made sense. I had a string of scenes I wanted to write and so I did, if that makes sense.

Now for a more technical thing - I took a fair amount of liberty with all the ‘lore’ that is offered in the original work. I’m a huge high/fantasy fan and I believe you’ll notice with how chakra is used here. Also my personal headcanons for Tobirama, uh-huh. There is gonna be SCIENCE… and science-y work… uh-huuuuh... _______________ He practically flew past the trees. His heart pounded in his ears, but it wasn't exhaustion. What fuelled his movements was sheer desperation. And ire. Ice-cold fury burning against those that had taken from him what was amongst the most precious beings in his life. How could he have allowed for this to happen? If only he had paid closer attention. If only he had been there with you, he'd have prevented this, he'd have protected you - such thoughts were futile now. He wouldn't dwell on them anyhow, he was too consumed with ending the increasingly despairing search for you. They would come back at him later no doubt, but Tobirama would devote every single fiber of his very being to bringing you back to safety. Though he tried not to think of it - he knew, they hardly kept you in a cell only. It only made his blood boil more. The news of your MIA-status had hit him nearly like the death of his brothers had, many years ago. Beneath his feet, the floor had been ripped away for a moment, a punch to the gut that left him breathless. His love, in the hands of an enemy village that was not known for treating prisoners kindly. Your high status in Konoha no doubt aggravated the situation. A woke mind like Tobirama's would paint a gruesome picture of the fate that might befall you, and his stomach roiled. The cruel logic behind the action, the tactical approach - something he himself might have thought of. That made it worse. "We will find her," Hashirama had assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His gaze had fixated on his brother. He clenched his teeth. "Of course we will - I will not rest until she's back here, anija," he had replied, no, growled. A fierce promise which he intended to keep, no matter what. Hashirama was unfazed by the sincerity of the statement. "Neither will I," he promised. Then his brows had knitted in a way Tobirama did not like at all. His brother was about to say something of which he thought Tobirama might not appreciate it. "She is strong, Tobira-", "I know she is," he snapped back at him, "But she will not suffer for a second longer than she has to." Hashirama closed his eyes. "No, she will not." That had been weeks ago, now. Weeks in which Tobirama's desperation had grown by each passing day. Silently he had wondered if he had ever been in more distress to accomplish a mission before. He'd have to go with no. And progress was agonizingly slow. The enemy knew well to hide their traces, and even for his superior sensor skills, the trail was faint. Barely a whisper in the lush forests of the north-west parts Fire country. The sheer difficulty of the task made him almost balk. Almost. The truth was it worried him. He never found himself deteriorating himself in any way before, even when his own life had hung in the balance. The higher the stakes, the more collected he was. But now? Now he felt he was racing against a clock. And time was running out. For even your beautifully strong mind might break eventually. And he knew what happens to enemies that have no use anymore. The thought choked him at night. To never hold your warm body against his anymore - No. He would succeed. They had picked up on their trail, finally. He clenched his teeth. They would not get away. Tobirama just needed a single thread to unravel this knot and then follow it through the labyrinth, back to you. He rose a hand to bring the squad to a halt - composed of his brother and a couple of experienced jonin of the village, all long-standing comrades. Some even from the warring states period. He closed his eyes to touch the ground and send a pulse of chakra through the area, letting his sensor abilities give him an overview of the signatures in the area. Besides the overwhelming presence of his brother right next to him as well as the far more mute team members around, all he found was animals. Except - "To the east." His voice was devoid of anything except steely urgency.He didn't even look back to check if everyone kept in formation as they followed him. Finely tuned sensory skills had locked in on his target; an unknown chakra signature. Humanoid. In an area where no travellers should pass for there were no connecting roads, no villages to visit. It was what had led them here initially: traces of chakra where there should be none. You were here. Tobirama just knew. If only he had branded you with the hiraishin seal. A regret that festered in his heart in a most painful way. How careless. How stupid. He shoved it aside for later. It was useless now. They enclosed around the signature that soon proved to be not just humanoid, but human indeed. Naturally, they wouldn't give up on the element of surprise. And there still was a slight chance this might just be a civilian. A child, even. Tobirama didn't believe that. Maybe he didn't want to. But as soon as they had a line of sight on the target, walking on a narrow path in the woods - he just knew. This was a Hidden Stone Village Spy. No doubt scouting for any intruders near their hideout. Where they kept you. Tobirama bristled with white-hot rage as soon as the target was in viewing range. Almost, he directly lunged for the man dressed in inconspicuous, earthen-colored clothes. Almost. The team had spread around, hidden in the trees. Hashirama beat him to hailing the stranger. "Greetings," he announced amicably, arms spread, trademark smile. How he was still like this was beyond Tobirama. As gingerly as the First approached, as stormy his brother followed - scowling in such a condemning way the man flinched away. "G-greetings," he stuttered, eyes trained on Tobirama who was well aware of what he looked like now. Good. Let that man be scared. He well should be. His armor clanked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowed to slits, assessing. "May I ask, what brings a man such as yourself to this remote area of the Fire country?", Hashirama inquired, ever friendly, slowly enclosing. "H-herbs," the man was quick to answer, still not looking away from Tobirama. Damn, that answer was sensible - almost. "Is that so? Then where are your gathering utensils? Bag? Or did you intend to rip it all out with your bare hands and stuff your pants full of it all?", Tobirama spat back, the undertone of his voice a perfectly fine, icy growl. Hashirama turned around to give his brother an incredulous gaze. Tobirama snorted. As if that was the worst he had ever said. The logic of his argument was sound nonetheless."I-I-I h-h-have t-t-them o-o-o-ver t-t-there," the man stammered, backing off slowly, lip quivering. He pointed to the trees - where some of the team hid. Perfect, Tobirama figured. Hashirama threw both hands up immediately in an apologetic manner. "Oh, don't worry, please! You must excuse my brother," he approached the man slowly, much like a one would a startled animal. The stranger wasn't swayed. He kept backing off. Then, he started to make a run. That was all the confirmation he needed. Immediately, Tobirama snatched a branded kunai from his satchel and threw it after the man with full force, uncaring if it might hit him - and a second later, the world lurched and he landed right beside him, where the weapon had buried itself in the ground. Swiftly, he tackled the man into the side, sending him off balance and into the ground. Another few finger signals later, a shadow clone of his had picked his target up, restraining his arms behind his back with one hand and securing the head with the other. "Tobirama!", Hashirama called out, no longer bothering to hide his fury. Already, he began to run over. Tobirama ignored him. "Search the area he pointed at for gathering utensils!", he shouted, seemingly at nowhere. Then his scarlet gaze was back on the man in front of him, arms crossing in front of his chest again. "Pray they find them," he spat. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, Hashirama came to a halt next to him. "There was no need to-" "Shut up!", Tobirama didn't even spare him a glance. His brother sighed again, now in full kicked-puppy mode. Tobirama's anger flared again. He had no time for these antics. They needed to interrogate this man, now, and then continue with the information. "Lord Hokage!", a call echoed through the forest. Tobirama's head snapped around. One of the jonin returned. Kaori held up a satchel - but her mien was grave. A chill ran down Tobirama's spine. Had he made a mistake? His gaze swayed to the man who started to squirm against his clone's vice hold, earning him only a more bruising treatment. "What's in there?", he demanded immediately, ignoring the fact she had addressed Hashirama, actually. She turned the bag upside down, pouring the contents on the ground. Kunai, flares, paper bombs. Tobirama's heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He took a decisive step towards the man who suddenly had become very still. Hashirama backed off. Wisely. "Start talking. Now." A dangerous undercurrent leaked into his icy tone. The man stared back, defiantly. "Fine." Tobirama's patience had worn out. He was by no means a master of interrogation techniques - but he knew ways to amplify the intensity of a mental assault. He'd have no qualms using every bit of his ability on this person. Already, his clone was moving the man towards one of the trees. Brutally, he wrestled both arms above his head while pinning him against the trunk. Tobirama meanwhile had picked up the branded kunai he had thrown after the stranger earlier. When his clone had both palms aligned over one another he rammed the blade through the flesh. A scream accompanied the sickening crunch as steel forced itself past the metacarpal bones. Blood trickled down the arms of the man whose eyes were wide now. Behind Tobirama, his brother and the squad had gathered at a respectable distance. They didn't say a word. Either they didn't dare, or they had accepted one of them had to take up the tainting burden of the acts that were to follow. Tobirama didn't care at all for that. His mien was ice-cold, his glare as threatening as his intent towards the poor victim. He let his clone disappear. His hand slapped down on the man's scalp, closing his eyes. His chakra wound through the man's network like a snake in prey's den. Viciously, the man fought back, but the pain he had inflicted disrupted his focus. Good. Tobirama focused his own chakra to assault the vault with the information he desperately needed - the mind. Distantly, he heard a loud, anguished scream. A shudder went through the whole of the network, another attempt to buck the intruder off and out of his mind. Tobirama clenched his teeth. Already, he knew the man's chakra reserve was far inferior to his own - he might as well be able to simply overpower him much in a way that might best be described as metaphorical curb stomping. But that bore the risk of impairing the information stored in his mind. Very well, then. He reached into his satchel, procuring a second kunai. The man barely had time to register what Tobirama was doing before the weapon buried itself in his right forearm, hailed by another anguished scream that rang through an eerily calm forest. Tobirama stared him dead in the eye with a glance devoid of any emotion as he gave the weapon, nicely lodged between radius and ulna, a twist. A snap was heard. The scream intensified - then it broke off. The man huffed. "I won't tell you anything!", he shouted, panting, face red by the blood that was dripping down. "How very wrong you are." Tobirama sounded perfectly dejected, raising his hand again to once more assault the man's mind. Who laughed in reply."You think that will make me break?", he spat, "You'll never get that bitch back!" He threw his head back, laughing. Tobirama closed his eyes. His head was swimming with white-hot rage. In a moment of weakness, his mind painted deliciously cruel ways in which he might harm this man, kill him even - ways so despicable that for a moment, he was disgusted by himself, even. Distantly, surprised he’d stoop so low. They were just thoughts, anyway. Yet his body became numb besides ire and every fiber of his being felt like bellowing his rage at this man while he mangled his body beyond recognition for the sheer mention of you. "What you're doing to me is a joke compared to what we do to her, day in, day out," he continued then, finishing with the audacity to spit at Tobirama's white fur collar. "Oh, shit," he heard Kaori mumble behind him. Not a second later, Tobirama raised his leg and kicked with full force against the left thigh of the man, aiming for the femur. The snap was audible, the pain amplified by the way he sacked against the impaling hold of the kunai above his head. The scream was harrowing. But Tobirama wasn't finished. He raised his leg again. The right femur snapped just like the left one had, the howls of the man becoming incoherent screams of anguish, paused only by gasping for breath. Cruelly, the kunai had begun to further cut open his palms and his forearm as his legs wouldn't hold his body's weight anymore due to sheer pain. "Tobirama," a voice called out to him. Hashirama. His tone carried a warning. He didn't have the information yet. He needed the information first. He needed to know where you were. Now. With his heart hammering in his chest, he raised his arm again and grabbed the man's scalp again. This time, his assault was different than the first time. Not a pointed stab of chakra after winding his way through his network - this time, Tobirama let his presence suffocate the man from the inside. His network was a mess anyway - the pain was heavily impairing his control of his chakra now and Tobirama's own gargantuan chakra moved over his like a cruel invader, sparing no mercy for how mentally painful this was to him, how he must feel like being suffocated from the inside out by someone else. Distantly, the screams had picked up again. Tobirama let his chakra encircle around the man's mind; the brain - then he pulled closer. And closer. The man must have felt like someone was sawing his skull open. A few more seconds - then it was over. The fight inside stilled completely, and his victim had given in and him free reign to access every memory of the man. A millisecond later, Tobirama halted his assault and began to assess the information. Instantly, Tobirama knew this man's name was Akio, he was the youngest member of the newly formed Hidden Stone village's espionage team. He tossed that aside quickly to rip open the figurative drawer that held all the information about this mission. He knew, then. He knew it all. Where you were kept - what they had done to you. Well, all that Akio knew of. He wasn't one of the interrogators. Through his memories, he saw your face. Anguished, gaunt. But defiant. Alive. There was time, yet. Even though these memories made Tobirama tremble. It hit him with a force that nearly knocked the air out of his lungs simply for how heart-wrenching it was. He opened his eyes again to find the man limp against the bloodied tree. He gazed at his own palm, balling it to a fist. It shook. His heartbeat was all he heard. All of himself was entirely stiff and still from the sheer, utter rage that had completely become him. Again and again, the Akio's memories thrummed through Tobirama's skull, and with them, your screams of pain, your anguish, your whimpers of pain. Slowly, the scarlet eyes settled on the sorry excuse of an enemy in front of him. He didn't feel a shred of pity- "Tobirama!", a stern voice ripped him out of the tunnel of his emotions. His head turned to find Hashirama next to him now. "Enough, brother," he said - no, commanded. His hand had gripped Tobirama's wrist. Slowly, the fires of ire within were simmering down if just by the calming presence of his brother. Objectivity returned to Tobirama's mind, piece by piece. But no shred of regret. Or disgust. Objective accomplished. That he knew. "You have the information, no?", Hashirama pushed again, not letting up on the unmistakable sternness of his own tone. "I do." Tobirama's own voice was calm, collected. In a grotesque contrast to the atrocity he had just committed. In fact, clarity was settling in - his focus restored, though haunted. Perfectly in control, but still driven by desperate urgency. If anything, said urgency had kicked up a notch now.He had his target now. "Kaori, Daichi," Hashirama called, nodding for Akio. "Stabilise him and take him as prisoner back to Konoha." They confirmed their order and began their work. Tobirama turned around, not sparing the man another look. Luckily he also knew the enemy's numbers and their capabilities, roughly, from Akio's memories. They'd be no match for him and his brother, let alone with their jonin as backup. Soon, you'd be safe again. __________ The hideout was - befitting for shinobi of the Hidden Stone village - underground. Concealed so well that without the information coerced out of Akio, it would have been impossible to find. Tobirama had to give them that. But now they did not just know where it was located, but also how to get in without setting one of the deadly traps they had laced each of the two entries with. Smart. Akio had also been so generous to provide them with a mental map of the place, of course - functional it was, a narrow corridor, just a couple of rooms. Sleeping and living quarters, a weapons and supply chamber which also seemed to serve as a tactical planning room - and finally, the place Tobirama felt physically drawn to. The interrogation chamber. Adjoined, a holding cell fitted to be bereft of any chakra. Just another form of sensory deprivation. He could barely restrain himself from rushing in there full force and eliminate any obstacle in his way. He knew in this very moment, this very second, you were down there, suffering - and the thought wound around his chest and squeezed until his breaths came uneven and his heart stuttered. Until he believed to be in physical pain. But Tobirama also knew how precarious the situation was. The team had gathered at a respectful distance to discuss their plan. Time was running short. They soon would search for Akio, and if they so much as caught a whiff of their presence, you'd slip from his grasp again as they’d flee. Or worse, they might kill you. Tobirama would sooner die himself than allow for that to happen - the mere notion let the blood freeze in his veins. At the very least, it did well to reign himself in. Still, his mind, one thing about the course of action was clear. No mercy. At the very least, they were enemies to the village. "We can easily overpower them. Use the element of surprise, and be fast in and out. I know their numbers and capabilities, roughly." Tobirama crossed his arms in front of his chest. His face was drawn in a deep frown. "That is correct," Hashirama answered evenly, holding his brother's icy glare. Probably the only person around here to do so with ease, Tobirama found. His patience for more faint-hearted had been long gone. "But you mustn't forget that Y/n is down here too-" "I assure you, anija, I am not," Tobirama spat back, knuckles white from how hard he gripped the fabric of his undergarment on his arms. His nostrils flared from the sharp breath he took, offended his brother might even think he’d forget this. "They could use her as a living shield." Hashirama was completely unfazed by Tobirama's hostility. He probably had gotten used to it at this point, in a pitiful way - his brother's predicament pained him as much as your fate did, Tobirama knew. After all, Hashirama was the gentle soul out of the two of them. That wouldn't extend Tobirama's patience, but still. "And you seriously think I don't consider that?", Tobirama huffed, through clenched teeth. Desperation was leaking into his voice more than anger did. The team held a respectful distance at this point. "There is no other way, Hashirama." "There is," he replied far too quickly for Tobirama's liking. "Enlighten me then, please." He took a deep breath, seemingly well aware his next words will not sit well with his younger brother. "We offer them to leave for their home if they release Y/n without a fight." Tobirama's eyes widened. "You must be joking." The mere notion - "After what they did-" he scowled - his voice low, dangerous. The all too familiar rage was roaring within him again, his heart pounding high in his chest. "You haven't seen what I've seen!" his voice bordered a shout, as much as secrecy would allow for right now. Without ever having wanted to, he had taken a step towards his brother, arms outstretched. They were trembling again. He balled his fist. What on earth was Hashirama thinking? "It would be safest for her," he replied evenly, not backing off a single inch. His calmness was unnerving Tobirama even more. He actually seemed to consider this a good plan - "Safest? Safest? What if they slit her throat before my very eyes to let her see me fail her ultimately? Did you consider that in your clever approach?!" Tobirama's voice had risen in volume, but even now, he was aware they were to be hidden still. But the mental image was burned into his mind, now. Your eyes - panicked first, then growing dull as the realisation of being forsaken kicked in. And then, lifelessly gazing at him. That was almost too much for Tobirama to take and the white-hot rage burned so intensely, it felt as unbearable as the thought of losing you while being so close to getting you back. The thought of all the agony you had gone through. Hashirama took a decisive step forward then, placing a hand on Tobirama's shoulderguard. "We won't lose her, Tobirama," he spoke with such conviction, Tobirama was glad to latch onto it if just to escape the dark place his mind was at now. He needed to focus. For you. He shook his head as though to free himself of emotional turmoil, momentarily. "They're still enemies to the village, trespassing in our protected country and guilty of torturing our own. We cannot let them go unpunished." His baritone voice nearly shook towards the end. Hashirama pondered before he sighed deeply. "Very well." Tobirama took a deep breath, then crossed his arms again. "We will use what means of surveillance we have at hand to locate each of them before entering. Preferably when," he cleared his throat uncomfortably and forced himself to speak the next select words neutrally and calmly, "Y/n isn't being tortured. They won't be as close to her. Then we incapacitate them swiftly before they can get to her. The hideout is small. It should be easy to corner them before they can get to her." He needed to take a few more deep breaths, closing his eyes. A hand rubbed over his forehead and happuri absent-mindedly. This plan had to work. It just had. Tobirama wouldn't compromise more, anyway. Hashirama nodded then, turning towards the squad. "Everyone heard him. Let's go." Surveillance proved to be more difficult than they had expected. With Akio's information, they knew how to approach, but the hideout was secured from sensory scanning, of course. Which meant Tobirama was as good as blind, unless he got inside. That was out of question. It turned out their only means of getting inside views were the bugs of Hoshiko Aburame, who was more than eager to show off her newly joined clan's capabilities. And amazing they were, Tobirama found. Not half an hour later, they knew the enemy currently kept to the living quarters of the underground hideout, and the interrogation chamber was empty. You were in the cell, just as expected. The news made Tobirama's heart stutter again, but he reigned himself in quickly now. His focus was required now, even though he itched to rush in there like he never had before. You were right there, alive, breathing. Alone, suffering. He wanted nothing more than to save you from all that, posthaste. Frankly the timing was just too perfect. They had to act now. And they did. Swiftly, and without mercy. They split in two groups to enter the hideout from each entrance, dancing around the traps like only a member of the Hidden Stone shinobi team could. When Tobirama heard their voices, their laughter from the chamber - he saw red. But much more than to punish them, he wanted to take the other turn - through the interrogation chamber, to your cell. Hashirama had explicitly forbidden him to. Tobirama knew, too - the enemy needed to be subdued first. You were not being tortured right now. He needed to be calm and logical now; his help was needed in the fight - you just needed to hang on a little longer. Just a tiny bit. He was almost there, with you again. The battle inside the chamber was atrocious as one might expect from such close quarters and a force such as their own. Tobirama's water release mowed through their earthen defenses as they tried to use the surroundings to their advantage with their expert knowledge of Earth jutsu - though quickly, he had to give way to his brother's wood release lest he'd flood the chamber completely. The squad each had engaged with an enemy personally, the clashes of blades echoed through the room, incantations were shouted, chakra released left and right. No matter, he figured, he was still lethal enough without his water release. With his ice-cold burning ire, he lunged for a very particular enemy: the shinobi he knew had been responsible for your torture, mostly. He just needed to recall Akio's memories of you: what they had done to you, what you looked like. Tobirama's precision was meticulous and deadly, in every way. Later, those who bore witness to the fight uttered words of fright for how the First's brother had been back then - a stern reminder never to cross this man. Tobirama's precision to kill was ruthless, chilling. Parrying maneuvers of his target where punished not just with a clash of metal but the slicing of muscles and nerves. Undeniably he did not just fight the torture master - his target was punished for every mistake in this fight. As soon as the opening for a kill offered itself, Tobirama struck without mercy. The blind rage started boiling inside him more, numbing his body to a point he was sure he wouldn't feel anything despite ire anymore. And the deep desire to get back to you. This battle was taking too long. All throughout it, Tobirama kept his sensory skills trained on the whole underground complex - and especially so on the door that led outside, to you. He would not allow for a single person to leave this room and make a run for you, or outside for that manner. Not that anyone got the chance. Soon, the Stone shinobi were decimated to a number far smaller than the Konoha team, and they realised they were being overpowered - swiftly. But there was no escaping any more. Briefly, Hashirama had entertained taking them prisoner prior to starting their assault - much to Tobirama’s annoyance. Lethal force would be simpler and faster, he argued. Another team member, Taro, had made a more sensible objection then - he doubted they'd surrender and it was questionable if they would manage to subdue them if they didn't. Well, trust Hashirama to make it possible anyway. With his wood release, he managed to ensnare them, an unmistakable sign to the rest of the squad. Fine, then. They might hold valuable information, anyway. Tobirama turned around on his heel to do what he had been wanting to do from the start. He broke down the door towards the interrogation chamber with no grace, clenching his teeth when he laid eyes on the inside. There was a table fitted with restrains - and blood. Dried blood. Your blood. His throat went dry. A flickering gaze wandered over the walls where various tools were stored, all of them kept in neat shape. Drills, saws, irons - he closed his eyes. He couldn't - he didn't want to see that anymore, now. His heart hurt, his body trembled again with sheer rage. How could he allow for this to happen in the first place? He opened his eyes again, bearing the ache the sight brought him. Briefly, his scarlet eyes wandered left and right to find more utensils: drugs. More refined tools, possibly to inflict damage to the chakra network of the victim. Various vials filled with substances, very possibly used to alter perception of reality and make a person more susceptible to torture. Bile rose in his throat. Enough of that. With a few decisive steps, he rounded the table to finally find himself in front of your door. He stared down at his shaking hand before he opened it. He was sure his heart would jump out of his chest at any moment now. The door swung open inaudibly. The room beyond was just illuminated by the dim lights coming from behind Tobirama. When his gaze found you again for the first time in weeks, he nearly fell to his knees. You were curled up in the far corner of the tiny cell, dressed in rags. Your form looked far too delicate - far too gaunt. You were shivering, your hands covered your face and your head. There were bruises on your pale skin. Tobirama swallowed a heavy lump down his throat. A prickling sensation formed in his eyes. He blinked. Wetness rolled down his cheeks. He wiped swiftly at it with his sleeve. "Y/n," he spoke, incredibly softly, entering slowly, as though you might disappear if he were too hasty. He, who was covered in blood - his fine fur collar ruffled, sprayed red. The epitome of violence. You stirred. Flailed. Slow at first, as though you had to work through a haze. To hear a voice beside that of your tormentor - it must frighten you, or so Tobirama thought. Your gaze - your gaze was the worst. It was wide-eyed, devoid of your lively spark. Haunted. Tormented. The ache inside his heart was a physically painful sensation now within his chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks again, but he did not sob. All that ran through him was the fine tremor of despair; of having finally gotten you back and yet being confronted with the reality of your capture. Tobirama knelt down near your side very slowly, just in arms reach but at a respectful distance yet. Frankly he wanted to sweep you up in his arms, kiss you and never let go of you again - but he knew better than that. Recognition had not yet settled into your gaze again. There was fear in them. It continued to feed into the ache inside his chest. It was them - they had done this to you. "Y/n," he whispered your name again, tenderly, in a desperate hope of waking your memory. Your gaze was wild as you straightened yourself against the corner, boney knees tucked towards your body as quivering hands steadied yourself. "N-No...", your raspy, quiet voice stuttered. The abuse it had suffered was evident - for quite some time, you had done nothing with it but scream, Tobirama concluded. His teeth clenched down so hard, his jaw hurt. More tears smeared his facial paint. "I'm here, my love," he finally stammered out. Your eyes glistened. More violent shivers ran through your body. Tobirama subconsciously shifted closer. He needed to comfort you, to hold you - to do anything to ease your discomfort. To help you out of wherever your mind was right now. "I- I've broken, have I?", you suddenly croaked, "They gotten into me, now they're using you to torture me-" - you threw your head back against the stone wall with an audible thud. The sound made Tobirama shudder - that must have hurt you. But it was nothing compared to your words - he understood now. You thought he was part of a genjutsu. The cruel, cruel logic behind that - his eyes wandered downwards momentarily, and he couldn't stop the broken huff that snuffed out any sob he might have made. In his crouched stance, he wiped his palm over his face. You, his beautiful woman, the love of his life - in shambles, all due to his incompetence to keep you safe. He drew a ragged breath. All he now could do was to make up for it by getting you away from here - making you realise he really was here - and keep you safe now. Ensure you'd heal. "No, my love," he answered finally, letting his own agony break into his voice that had become a husky whisper while two scarlet eyes gave you a sad, sad look. "This is real. I'm here, you're safe now. It's over. You're safe now." Signing the genjutsu release in here was pointless - the room was designed to be void of chakra. In fact, Tobirama had not even noticed when he entered - he had been too concerned with you. That realisation now was disturbing - how careless of him - but he very much felt deaf in here for his sensory skills were blocked. No chakra would leave his body, at all. It was an oppressive feeling. To think you had been in here for weeks - You kept staring at him with wide eyes. Uncertainty had settled into your gaze. Tobirama knew he needed to keep leading you out of the darkness now. He inched closer, very slowly. His glance he kept locked with yours, attentive of any sign of fear or hesitation. The last thing he wanted to do was overstep your boundaries now. You remained still. Finally, he was right beside you, kneeling. He was shaking again. As were you. "T-Tobirama...", your abused voice whimpered, the question in your tone tormented him. The magnitude of anguish the whole situation brought him pushed him to a point where wondered how he could handle it - bear it - other than soldier through and simply ignore it for now. What he knew was he had to get you out now and start to move things along. "I'm here," he repeated, "I'm real. You're safe, now. All right?", he raised his shaking hand slowly to lay it on your far too bony shoulder. Your body was agonizingly cold under his palm. "Y/n," he downright whimpered, relieved for a brief second when you did not flinch. Your gaze drifted down onto the hand he had put on your shoulder. Incredulous. The first gentle touch you had received - in weeks. "Tobirama...", you whispered again, now laced with more than uncertainty. There was pain in it. Not the physical kind - the emotional kind. The despair of your struggle to believe all this, to allow yourself to know this to be true was showing. And Tobirama grew increasingly desperate alongside to make you believe this - to end your suffering as fast as he could. His own pain would endure far longer, he knew. That didn't matter, though - his aching heart could wait, if it only meant you were safe. "I will get you out, okay? May I carry you, Y/n?", he asked in a hushed voice, as gentle as he could. When you didn't reply but also showed no sign of refusal, he let his hand slide over your neck slowly to grasp around your shoulder while his other arm reached out to tuck under your knees. He never broke eye contact again. Yours, however wandered to your own body. It shook again - a mixture of temperature and quite possibly the same reason Tobirama himself shook, he deduced. His protectiveness flared even more. It was only when you felt gravity shift towards him and up from the ground that you whimpered - and flailed slightly. "N-no-", you suddenly whispered, shaking your head and the unkempt hair on it. But Tobirama didn't want to ease up now. He just needed you out of this terrible room to make you see he was real and end this nightmare. "Please, Y/n," Tobirama countered immediately, "Trust me." He practically implored you at this point. Your flailing increased. "D-don't," you whispered, your eyes wide again, lip quivering. "I can't," you wheezed, "No more, please!" Your thin arms pawed at his chest armor as he rose to his full height slowly. Your body was far too light in his arms. Your gaze shifted to the open door slowly, the fear becoming painfully apparent, but Tobirama's eyes would never leave you. Realisation dawned on Tobirama then. And once more, he felt as though he nearly doubled over by the implication of it - what your real issue now was. "I'm not going to hurt you, Y/n, nobody is anymore," Tobirama choked instantly. "We just need to get out here, I can't use my chakra here, neither can you." he tried to reason, unsure of how much that would get through to you. He took a slow step towards the door, though the pain inside his chest made it difficult when he saw your reaction. "Please," you croaked, the fight becoming stronger. He had to close his arms around you more firmly just so you wouldn't wind out of his hold. "Nothing bad is going to happen anymore, Y/n, I promise," Tobirama whispered over your sobs. Then, he opted to take the two steps out of the cell into the damned interrogation chamber - back to where chakra could be used. You were near screaming frightened pleas for mercy then, a sound that would haunt Tobirama. But it was over the second he carried you into the other room. In that very moment, Tobirama let his chakra graze over your network already. But not before he muttered: "Release." His voice bore some relief - the crooked, defeated kind. You stilled completely then. Your eyes were back at his face, he held your gaze evenly while his chakra wrapped around yours, much like a blanket on a cold winter's night. The familiarity of the sensation - to hold you and to feel you in such an intimate way at the same time - Tobirama nearly had thought he might have never have gotten another chance to. For all his determination of the past weeks - the danger had been near suffocating him. But you were here now, in his arms. "You're safe, Y/n," he repeated, over and over. "I'm here." His eyes were glistening again, as were yours. Stray tears fell on the rags they had dressed you in. Tobirama pulled you closer to let your forehead rest against his happuri for a moment. He closed his eyes to drink in the sensation of your chakra intertwining more, feeling you. Stilling the ache in his heart, quenching the rage that had roared in him for weeks. The both of you feeling one another. "Tobirama... I thought -", you finally began, your voice finally more than a hush or a whimper. Still raspy of course. But... more yourself. You had begun to come out of the proverbial darkness back to him, again. The relief Tobirama felt made his knees weak. "I thought I'd never see you again," you finally whispered. Slowly, he pulled his head back. He swallowed. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. It was all he could say right now. But there was so much more he wanted to say. Your head slipped from his forehead to the side of his neck. Exhaustion seemed to be getting to you, too. "I'll keep you safe, Y/n," he let his arms wrap around even tighter, for a moment worrying if he might bruise you. You didn't protest though. Tobirama felt you couldn't be close enough to him now. Your frail hand reached up for his fur collar, fingers winding through it, gripping it, then sliding to the side of his neck. You didn't speak anymore. He shuddered for how cold it felt again, but it only served to make him feel more determined to take care of you now. It was Hashirama who disturbed the moment. The relief was written over his face, though his eyes were wide when they first settled on you, then on Tobirama. "Let's go home," Tobirama then announced, sighing.

[pretend-writer]

Down Below (Chapter 73)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 3.3k words

Warning: swearing, depression, mention of death

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Raven, Murphy, Shaw and I decided to be our own search party to look for Octavia and Diyoza. It had only been a day or two since Bellamy had kicked them out but I was too worried about them.

'Look, it's like a double date now.' Raven grinned, 'This is so cute.'

'We should've done this after the actual date. Now Y/N and I are going to be dirty and sweaty.' John complained, searching around the woods. 'And what happened to waiting and relaxing?'

Throwing the stick out of my way, I sighed. 'I'm sorry John. I know how much it meant to you to keep calm but I started to worry about Octavia.'

'It's okay, I know how much she means to you. Let's just hurry and find her and Diyoza.'

Nodding in response, I turned my head left and right as I tried to find any signs or trails that may lead to Octavia and Diyoza.

'Oh... my...' Shaw whispered. Whatever he found didn’t sound like it was a good sign at all. Tailing from behind with John, I quickly tried to catch up but was distracted by Raven's sudden scream.

'No... this can't be real.' It was Octavia and Diyoza lying on the ground, slain from something or someone and we had no idea what was out here in the woods.

It was shocking to say the least, I didn’t prepare myself to see Octavia and Diyoza like this. It hurt to see my best friend like this, seeing as though they lost their lives helpless and scared.

Raven’s hands were covering her mouth, still trying to process the gruesome bodies that was laid in front of us. Shaw stood closer to her, trying to comfort Raven as he hugged her from her side. ‘What do you think did this?’

John huffed. 'I don't know but this isn't right. If Bellamy never banished them, this wouldn't have happened.'

'But I could've stopped this too.'

'This is not your fault.' Raven grabbed onto me, 'Bellamy did this. Now he's going to live with regret for the rest of his life.'

Kneeling next to Octavia's dead body, I cried into her chest. There was no way this was happening, I should've went and followed her. As a friend, I was supposed to be the one to take care of her especially when her brother wasn't the one to do it.

'No, no. This can't be happening...' I cried, trying to shake her awake. 'Octavia... Octavia.'

'Y/N, we don't know who or what did this. We need to go, NOW.' Raven pulled me up, holding me as I tried to resist her. I didn't want to leave Octavia and Diyoza here, there was also a part of me thinking that there was something I could do even though I knew they were dead.

'I can't leave her, I can't leave them here.'

John joined in with Raven, 'Y/N. Let's go!'

'No, no, I can't.' I repeated, still trying to resist even when both Raven and Murphy were slowly pulling me away from their bodies.

'Y/N!' My eyes shot open as I felt someone shaking me, quickly sitting up on the bed as I realized it was just a terrible nightmare. 'Y/N, are you alright?'

Clarke seemed worried, asking me repeatedly if I was okay. I nodded and replied back with a question. 'What are you doing here?'

'Passed by Murphy during breakfast and asked him if I can talk to you. He told me you were still asleep and that you probably wouldn't mind me waiting here.'

'Do you have to talk to me now? At this instant?' I scratched my temple, still trying to process the dream that felt so real. 'Also, I do mind so John doesn't know what he's talking about.'

'Well, sorry for wasting your time.' Clarke got up but before she left my room, I called her name.

'You came all the way here to wait until I woke up, it sounds like it's an emergency. So what do you want?'

She paused, contemplating on leaving but sat back down instead. 'I wanted to apologize for my actions and everything I've done in the past.'

I bit my lip, crossing my arms as I squinted my eyes. 'Is it so important that you had to do this now?'

'Yes, of course it's important. I don't want you to think that I did all of the things I did on purpose.'

'You went to apologize to Blake yesterday before the ceremony so you could've come to me then. Or days before that, when we woke up from cryo. Or maybe the day when you ditched everyone and sided with McCreary.'

'Okay, I'm late to come to you and I'm sorry. But considering the history we had, I needed to prepare my thoughts and what I wanted to say to you.'

The disagreements that Clarke and I had in the past were things that I held in for the longest, I was unable to get along with her after I realized what she was capable of.

'See, the thing is Clarke: I don't know if I want to hear what you're about to say. The constant things you've done in the past over and over shows how selfish you are.'

'I know... I know...' Clarke nodded, weirdly agreeing to what I was saying. 'I was especially not fair with you, you have every right to hate me. Yet, you still somewhat tolerate me or at least you try.'

'Because in the end, we had to work together. We were supposed to be one clan. We had no other support but each other.' I looked over at her, 'Then you just left us. Left Wonkru and your friends and decide to join hands with that monster.'

Clarke stared down at the floor, continuing to listen to me. 'I didn't care that you left me or Octavia. We were a mess, I know and we had no right to justify what was wrong or right. But you went to the one man that wanted us dead. You let all the people down.'

She nodded, taking everything in and having no excuses for her actions. I didn't think I'd see this side of her, or even have a decent conversation with her for that matter.

'I'm sorry about what my mom did to you, Y/N.' Clarke made eye contact with me, 'What she did down in the bunker.'

Quickly, I shifted my eyes as I suddenly felt vulnerable that Clarke knew the real truth. Clarke sat next to me on the bed, holding my hand. 'Now I know why you were you, the reason why you became Skafaiya. I'm really sorry.'

'It's not your fault.' I replied back, feeling a bit weird getting sympathy from the person that I didn't get along with. It was nice however, to try to make amends with her. 'Abby had her own shit she was dealing with.'

'She made that decision on her own, taking pills and hiding it from everyone including Kane. My mom didn't have to threaten you to kill those people.'

'What's done is done... but thank you for acknowledging it. Thank you for coming to talk to me.' I couldn't say I forgive her for the things she's done but we have all done things we weren't proud of.

The lesson I've learned after overcoming the darkness that I had to deal with all these years, was that mistakes come in different ways. What matters was that people acknowledge it and learn from it. Hopefully this time, Clarke shows that she changed.

'Thank you for listening to me with open ears.' Clarke smiled, scratching her head as she changed the subject. 'Uhm, there's a party tonight. Russell said something about celebrating Delilah on her final day, didn't really ask what that meant because I didn't want to pry. But anyways, I was going to ask if you were going.'

'Are you asking me to go with you?' I joked.

Clarke laughed, 'I'm sure I'm the last person you'd wanna go with. Besides, I heard about the date with Murphy so I was wondering if you two would make it.'

'Hopefully we can, can't turn free alcohol down.'

'Of course.' She got up and smiled. 'Would be nice if you can come. I'll see you later, Y/N.'

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

After a weird, rather friendly encounter I had with Clarke, I got ready to meet up with the rest of the people. John, Raven, Echo and Shaw were having breakfast together at the main area.

'You don't seem angry, must be a good sign.' Raven smiled at me as I took a seat next to Shaw. 'If you are upset, it's Murphy's fault. He's the one that sent Clarke to your room.'

Chuckling, I shook my head. 'I'm not upset. Matter of fact I think I needed that.'

It was refreshing to have a small talk with Clarke, all the unspoken words and bad energy we had between us was finally cleared up. It was nice to start over in a way, it'll be hard to forgive and forget at this moment but it was nice to move on from our issues.

'Look at you, growing up and maturing.' Murphy laughed from across the table. 'I'm proud of you.'

'Proud of me, huh? So am I expecting a "I'm proud of you, Y/N" present tonight on our date?'

'Ew, I don't want to know about all of that.' Raven crinkled her nose.

John's eyebrows raised. 'Ah, speaking of our date, let's do that tomorrow night instead. I want to take you to this dance tonight.'

Not going to lie, I was far more excited about this date with John than anticipated. It sucked that I wouldn't get to have a nice alone time with him but going to a dance didn't sound too bad.

On the other hand, I wanted to spend all the time we had now so that we could start checking what Sanctum was all about. I still didn't fully trust Russell and his people and it was about time that we figure out what was really going on.

Not to mention that awful nightmare that I had of Octavia and Diyoza still haunted me, I was curious of what was going on with them also.

'You look hesitant.'

'No, it's just that-' I stopped myself, not sure if it was a good idea to say what I felt out loud. I didn't want any reason to make anyone else paranoid as I was.

'It's okay, just tell me the truth Y/N.' John nodded.

Looking back at John, I sighed, feeling bad since I felt as thought I was always pulling up excuses. 'It's just these people are so sketchy and our people who are stuck in the ship needs a place to stay, you know? A-and Octavia and Diyoza are in trouble. I just feel it in my gut that I need to go save them.'

The four looked at each other and laughed, leaving me so confused. 'What's so funny?'

Echo shook her head, 'Murphy had discussed this before you came to the table.'

'Yup and I called all of this. You being hesitant to enjoy the time to yourself.' John smiled.

'I knew this would happen but I agree with you. These people... I can't seem to wrap my head around all of this.' Raven said.

Shaw agreed, 'I second that. Definitely something going on here.'

'No, it's not that I don't want to enjoy and relax. I just need t-'

'You don't need to do anything, Y/N.' John grabbed my hand. 'You think you always need to do something but you don't. You deserve a break, just this once be selfish and enjoy these two nights. It won't hurt anyone.'

'And worse comes to worse, we'd let Clarke and Bellamy do everything. You just hang out with Murphy.' Raven grinned, 'I'm also here too so don't worry about it.'

It was nice that my friends were supportive of me but it was hard to switch everything off. I always want the best for everyone, since the day we were sent down here my brain was in full survival mode. We've lost so many people, I want to be the help to make sure we don't lose people anymore.

'Come on, it's just two nights. We'll be alright.' John squeezed my hand, reassuring me as he looked me in my eyes.

'You're supposed to meet your new best friend, Clarke at the dance too.' Raven joked, 'Now you really have to go.'

'Fine, fine but only if we all go.' I looked over at Echo, smiling at her. 'All of us.'

Shaw clapped, grinning widely as he hugged Raven. 'Deal, let's get wasted!'

It was nice to see everyone smiling and enjoying peace for a change. There was nothing to worry about; no intruders, no group of people that was trying to kidnap or kill us, no death of our loved ones. We were just simply living. Maybe enjoying myself for a little bit won't be bad at all.

✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤  ·  ✤

'Look, Clarke and that dude are eye humping each other.' Murphy gestured the direction with his head, smiling and sipping on his drink.

Clarke looked at our direction, then did a double take as she noticed we were staring at her. She waved and shooed us to stop looking at her.

'How cute.' Echo said then faced the other way. 'Then there's Raven and Shaw over there on the dance floor.'

'Love is in the air.' I joked, almost everyone was paired up with someone. It was nice seeing everyone happy, really drunk and happy.

Murphy chuckled. 'More like lust. See, now Clarke is walking away with that dude. We all know what that means.'

Raven rushed towards us, giggling and smiling as she was drunk. It was surprising, in fact I probably haven't seen her so wasted before. 'Murphy! Come dance with me!'

'Oh, no no. For one I don't dance, you should know that Raven. And second, I don't want you and Shaw's love juice all over me.'

'Come on, Murphy! You danced with Y/N when we were at the Ark, why won't you dance with me?' Raven whined, trying to pull him off of his seat.

He chuckled, 'That was because Y/N had to bribe me. I also can't resist when it's her that asks.'

'Aw, just go dance with her!' I nudged John, 'It's one dance. How bad can it be?'

Groaning dramatically, he got up and took Raven's hand. 'You owe me big time. Both of you Reyes' are stubborn as hell.'

As they walked away into the dance floor, Echo giggled. 'I've never seen Raven so drunk before. Is she always like that?'

'Ha, you're telling me. She's my sister and I've never seen her this loose either. It's kind of weird, actually.'

'We didn't really have alcohol up at The Ring, we had to act silly and pretend we were drunk.' Echo continued to laugh and looked my way, quickly apologizing. 'Ah, shit. I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean-'

'What's there to apologize for?'

'Well, I know what you've been through while we were up there.'

It was nice to see that Echo acknowledged the pain I went through, but none of that was her fault. I didn't want her to think that she didn't have to cherish the life she had up there because of me. 'You had your life, I had mine. There's no reason to apologize for that.'

'But I do have to apologize about Bellamy though.'

'No, Ech-'

'Y/N, I do. I want to.' It was hard for me to let go of my ex-boyfriend, someone that I loved and cared so dearly for a long, long time. I didn't want constant reminders of that, but I wanted to give Echo a chance.

Nodding my head, I decided to listen to what she had to say. Worse case, I'd just drink my night away and pretend nothing happened.

'Back at The Ring, it was difficult for him. Bellamy didn't know if you made it out of surgery alive and before Raven flew us up to the Ark, the radiation cut off our connection with the Bunker. Him and Octavia barely said goodbye to each other, before that she had told him it was less likely you'd make it.'

'You were in critical condition when you made it to the hatch, you weren't breathing and the only reason why Abby noticed that you were up there was because the knocking on the hatch suddenly stopped. That was the last thing Bellamy heard about you, that you were practically dead when Jackson and Abby took you in.'

'Raven, Monty, Harper, they all tried to keep him in a positive state. Telling him that you were strong and that you made it out of surgery well. He didn't know what to believe, all he knew was it was Emori and my fault that you couldn't come to the lab in the first place. That's when everything started, he was in a very dark place Y/N.'

It made me sad that Bellamy had suffered through his own pain, not realizing that he was as hurt as I was. The worse part of all of this was that he couldn't trust me or felt safe enough to talk to me about it.

'I'm not excusing what he did or what I did, it wasn't right at all. I just hope that you understand that Bellamy was going through shit too. It got worse when he found out Murphy still loved you, that he broke up with Emori because of his feelings towards you.'

'He lost hope for everything, thought he had to move on but didn't know how. Wanted to believe that you were still alive but in the back of his head, having the thought of you and Murphy too. I know it's hard to understand but he isolated himself for a long time and he only talked to me, as weird as it was knowing that he hated me at first.'

I took Echo's hand, giving her a reassuring smile. 'Despite what happened to me and Bellamy now, thank you for being the friend that he needed through all of that.'

She started to shed tears, nodding her head as she squeezed my hands. 'I-I'm so sorry, Y/N. For everything. Leaving you to die on the cliff, the Priamfaya, about Bellam-.'

'It's okay, Echo.'

'No, no it's not. Please know that I'm deeply sorry for everything.'

We were in the middle of a dance party, crying our eyes out; the thought of us looking sad and depressed suddenly made me laugh. Confused, Echo cocked her head.

Wiping my tears, I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, it's that everyone is drunk and practically humping each other and it was just funny in my head.'

Echo broke out in laughter, sniffling and wiping her cheeks. She then got up and took her hand out. 'Let's get drunk and dry our tears away.'

'I love the sound of that.' I smiled, grabbing her hand and following into the crowd. Walking towards the bar, I saw Bellamy talking to Emori, Jordan and a few of the people from Sanctum.

He lifted his head, meeting his eyes with mine but not knowing how to react as he realized I was looking at his direction. Awkwardly, he gave a wave, acknowledging this weird moment.

I couldn't help but feel sad, it hurt me so much that Bellamy felt so depressed while he was at the Ring. I wish that I was there to take his pain away, the last six year that he struggled.

Echo was right, I couldn't justify what he had done to me but knowing the whole truth shed me a light on things that were so confusing.

Perhaps this would be the start of clarifying everything from our last six years we were apart, maybe we could be best friends again.

Maybe this time around, I can finally get the answer to everything.

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem! reader (pt.3)

SUMMARY: this takes place around the end of book 1 - but uhhhh I deadass don’t know how to give a summary for this without giving anything away soooo enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNINGS: mentions of death and suicide. Scars. Swearing. Non- sexual nudity. Nightmares. Panic attack ish.  mention of torture.

KEY: italics = internal thoughts & *** = flashback

OTHER PARTS:  pt1   /   pt2 /  pt4   /   pt5   /   pt6

MASTERLIST: Here!

You’d been walking in the back streets of the capital with your face turned to the sun for the past two hours. The black mask shielding the bottom half of your face hid the sigh that left your lips as you finally approached the palace.

Fucking finally.

Even though you were a Fire bender, it didn’t make it any less annoying as the sun blistered down of the completely black outfit you were wearing. It covered every piece of your skin from your neck, down to your feet. Even your scarred fingertips were hidden from the world.

As you neared the gates, they immediately began to open, inviting you in with open arms. This made you one of the few people, apart from the royal family, that didn’t need to prove their identity to get in. All the guards knew who you were and what you did for the Fire Lord, promoting you from being a prisoner to one of the most well looked after people in the entire Nation. Technically, they were never instructed to provide you with immediate access. Yet, as rumours spread throughout the palaces’ echoing halls, their fear of you doing what you did to all those people when out on missions, seemed to override those basic routines.

Normally you’d scoff at how silly it all was, the fact that they feared a 16-year-old girl almost made you feel sorry for them. As guards of the Nation they should stand with pride and confidence. You suppose that’s what happens when even though they don’t see it, they have nothing to be prideful about considering who their current ruler is. Regardless, today you appreciated their diligence, storming through the gates, and making your way straight to the throne room. You didn’t even give anyone an initial glance. You were pissed. This had been the fourth mission in a row where you were sent to take out some random high position person from some other nation. All this travelling back and forth began to get on your nerves.

Maybe it was from the heightened stress of the most recent task. This one, in particular, set you off because of the minimal information you had to take them out. All you were provided with was that they were from the Water Tribe, and had been at sea in a fleet for multiple years, taking down Fire Nation units.

Gee thanks! Give me a few weeks, and I’ll track down this mysterious person you don’t even know the name of and be on my way! Hmmm, now my first plan of action will be to flip a gold piece to decide if I should swim to the Northern or the Southern tribe to gather intel! Just you wait Ozai. I’ll take that stupid, pathetic, floppy thing you call a beard and drag you into the fire in front of your throne you piece of-

Abruptly cutting off your internal rant, you walked past the guards who immediately opened the doors to the throne room as they saw you approaching; noticing the long braid down your back alit in your raged fire. Reaching the middle of the throne room you didn’t even bother to bow, throwing a Water Tribe necklace splattered in blood to the ground. “It’s done.”

The guard closest to you hastily picked it up and climbed the stairs to hand it to Ozai for an inspection. Eyeing the tribal necklace in the guards’ hand, he made no move to take it away from him physically. Ironic how he has slaughtered so many yet refuses to get real blood on his hands.

“Prove yourself.”

You instantly provided him with the report you memorised on how you conducted the mission with details on an weekly basis. This ensured you actually went through with the assassination- you suggested that you could bring back their head two years ago, but apparently that was too gruesome to be in the presence of the great Fire Lord. There were no pauses or stutters as you rehearsed it on your journey back to the capital.

“Present the details of the savage.”

You held back a sigh, this was always your least favourite part. “The person you sent out for went by the name of Hakoda. He was of the Southern Water Tribe and Chief to one of its smaller villages. During my time undercover in the tribe, I acquired knowledge that his wife was disposed of under the assumption that she was the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe and had two children. It is also to my knowledge that his children are currently travelling with the Avatar. Through making connections with the villagers, I set out to sea in search for him and managed to gain access and trust upon the main ship when they were docked in an isolated part of the Earth Kingdom for supplies. I went under an alias of a homeless non-bending orphan from the Northern Water Tribe wanting revenge on the Fire Nation for slaughtering my parents. When it came time to dispose of him, I did so in the middle of the night after faking a nightmare, seeking him out as a father figure for comfort. I used his own weapon against him as he held me, speaking words of comfort, expressing that I was safe and how I was like a daughter to him. A daughter who would have been a great older sister to his children. During this moment of emotional weakness for him, I assassinated him before he could have even registered that I would have been an awful sister. Leaving before dawn, I made the scene look like a suicide with a letter expressing in detail how being away from his children was too much to bear.”

Ozai looked up from the necklace, satisfied with the briefing. “Hmmm, well-done y/n. Tell me, what do you know of his children?”

“Nothing of great importance other than knowledge of them travelling with the Avatar.”

“Very well, you may have a day’s rest and will be informed of your next task tomorrow evening. Your payment for your services is already in your quarters.”

You bowed knowing you were lucky he let it slide when you walked in. “Thank you, my Fire Lord.”

Exiting the throne room, you made your way to your living quarters, looking forward to the sensation of washed hair, clean clothes, and your bed.

When you finally made it back to your room, you let out a sigh of relief immediately ripping off your mask. As the years went by, nothing seemed to get easier, and nothing seemed to stop. You cherished the moments of silence, the brief period of time where the universe aligned in such a way that you were able to pretend this wasn’t your life. One mission after another, constantly lying to do what needed to be done, amid all the alias’ you made up, you wondered which one really demonstrated who you were as a person. The idea of having to settle with the Fire Lord’s personal assassin didn’t necessarily make you giddy with pride.

You made your way to the bathtub that awaited you in the adjoining room, peeling off the once breathable fabric, off your body as you went. The tub was already full as the servants went to prepare it when they heard the word of your return. You finally unravelled the braid holding your hair together, yet another symbol of the job you committed yourself to. On the first day of training, you were told that if you were caught, your affiliation with the Fire Nation should be buried with you.  

Your skin shuddered as you entered the chilled water, easing your mind that warm water would never satisfy in this Nation’s climate. You leant back with a small wince as your scarred back made contact with the tub. Growing up, it wasn’t uncommon for other assassins to have some form of physical scarring whether that be from training, a mission gone wrong, or punishment from their supervisor. In some unusual way, you were never insecure about it, only annoyed that you had to sleep in odd positions because of the sensitivity.

You began to drift, succumbing to the cool, soothing water around you. Between the stress of returning to the capital, and the stress that awaited you on your next task, you allowed yourself to let go. Free yourself of any thoughts. In your current state, you weren’t scarred. You weren’t trapped in what seemed like a never-ending cycle of duty. You weren’t anyone to anything.

As the moon began to shine through the windows into the bathroom, you woke up with a start, water splashing onto the tiles around you, your heart racing and sweat soaking the unsubmerged parts of your body. Running your hand through your hair, you fought the urge to let out an overwhelmed sob. Nightmares were a common occurrence for you, but this one settled under your skin like a scratch you would never be able to itch.

Air seemed to close in on your lungs, no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down, all you could focus on was the fact you couldn’t breathe. Hastily fumbling, and tripping as you got out of the tub, you forced yourself to reach for the first clean robe you could get your hands on. As your thoughts mixed into on jumbled heap, you desperately tried to get it together.

He believed you.

They all did, you knew it in the way that the guards struggled to hide back their expressions of discomfort as you described how you oh so easily manipulated a grown man, warrior, and chief, only to kill him.

It was a lie. All of it. Yet why did I dream of them finding out now?

You’ve never assassinated anyone since that general three years ago, and you most certainly never killed Hakoda. From the very moment you accepted the offer, you knew you’d never go through with the commissions. During the brief period when you trained and got back onto a healthy diet was when you mentally formulated how you would conduct each “killing”. It was simple, you’d carry out the mission as you normally would, but in the time you were supposed to spend working out how to dispose of them, you helped them create a new life for themselves. You didn’t bother trying to shield the truth from them, knew the Fire Lord wanted them dead. While it sent them into a panic, in the long run, it made everything a whole lot easier. They could never go by who they once were, and needed to move far, far, away from wherever they lived. The lives they once knew erased, cutting off all ties.

Idiot. Why did I have to make an exception now?

Instantly dismissing the question that wriggled its way into your head, you began to journey to the kitchens in desperate need for a distraction. You knew why you made the exception.

***

Three weeks ago, when you were on the ship with Hakoda, you did actually have a nightmare, prompting you to go out onto the deck to clear your mind. The air was crisp, eliciting goosebumps across your skin. Quickly letting out a breath of fire, you began to regulate your body temperature as you noticed Hakoda already looking out to the never-ending expanse of the ocean. As an experienced warrior, he heard you approach.

“Y/n? The moon has been out for a long time now, you should be asleep.”

Sighing, you stood next to him, joining him in looking out to the sea. “Nightmares.”

He nodded in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There was no fear in your voice as you recounted the altered memories of your torture, he already knew who you were, where you were from… what you did. All things considered; he took everything pretty well, barely holding it against you. To him, you were just a kid who was sucked into this life, making the best with what you had.

Finishing your poor recount of the nightmare, you turned to face him. “I have to go back soon. I’ve been pushing it by staying for an extra month. We need to make a plan for you to leave. You need to start a new life.”

He knew this conversation was coming ever since he managed to persuade you to help them out for a while. After all, he seemed to look straight past the wall you put up to know that you wanted Ozai’s reign to end. Despite respecting your boundaries, when you took off your mask in front everyone on board, the scar on your neck that travelled beneath your long sleeve shirt as it encompassed your hand, was enough to know that you suffered just like everyone else.

“Y/n, you know I can’t do that. My children, Sokka and Katara, they’re travelling with the Avatar right now, and I haven’t seen them since they were young. I can’t just leave and have you fake my death like that, Bato told me how much hope that knowing I’m alive brings to them! If I go and word gets out that you ‘assassinated’ me… it will crush them. Their close relationship with the worlds only hope is too much of a risk. I need them to be strong. The world needs them to be strong. I’m sorry y/n, but I can’t.”

You stared at him processing his words. Ultimately you knew he was right, but you couldn’t go back after such a long time just to say you failed. The Fire Lord would destroy you. “I understand where you are coming from. I do, but you can’t seriously expect me to go back with nothing! What do you expect me to do?! Oh, sorry Fire Brain I couldn’t kill him because something suddenly possessed me to feel bad about how his children might feel! Don’t worry, though, I didn’t care every other time I knew about other targets’ children! Unless you have some genius plan, I’m sorry, but Sokka and Katara are just going to have to suck it up. Let’s be realistic, yes, this MAY damage them and their duty to support the Avatar, but at least you can go back to them when this war is over!”

He ran his hand over his face, clearly trying to stay calm and collected. “I know, y/n. That’s why I’ve been up all night making a plan, but you’re not going to like it.”

You crossed your arms, scoffing at him. “The fact you’re suggesting something other than what I have ALREADY planned makes me not like it… but let’s hear it.”

He attempted to start with the parts of the plan he knew you’d agree on, which didn’t last long. “Well, we can incorporate some of your plans into it, that being we fake my death taking by tribal necklace back to the Fire Nation splattered in the animal’s blood. Yet everything else? We’re scrapping it.”

Biting on your tongue, you fought the urge to scream at how stupid this was sounding.

Relieved you didn’t bite back, he continued. “I’ll stay with the crew and then-“

That was enough for you to lose control. “Okay, I’m sorry did you just say you want to stay with the crew?! I am supposed to be taking out the LEADER OF THIS FLEET! If you stay with them and continue to attack vulnerable units, they will know, and they’ll have my head!”

“I know y/n! Which is why, when you’re gone, Batu will temporarily take over as captain until further notice. I, on the other hand, will only help plan the attacks stay in the background until it’s safe. Now, as for my kids, we’ll send them a letter letting them know I’m safe and hopefully a location so I can reunite with them.”

“But what if-“

“The letter gets intercepted? It’s just going to have to be a small risk.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried to bring the conversation to a less hostile level. “More often than not, there is no perfect plan. You should know that, by faking all of your assassinations since working for the Fire Lord. Which might I add, is the biggest risk you could possibly take. It will all work out in the end; trust me. But, this is your playing field, if you truly think me disappearing is the only way, then we can go ahead with the original plan.”

Sucking in a breath, you stared at Hakoda as if he grew two heads.

Did he just give me an option?

“W-what do you mean what I think?! You literally just said that you CAN’T leave your children! You gave me an alternative plan, and now you’re saying that if I disagree you’ll do as I say? That doesn’t make any sense.”

He let out a laugh, amused by your concerns. “Y/n, you have been trained in this area and executing the fake assassinations all on your own for over two years. No one knows the ins and outs of how the Fire Nation plans things like you do. If you think my plan is severely flawed and both of us are bound to get caught, I will trust your judgement in which is the best to conduct. Yes, I said that we should be thinking of my kids and the Avatar, his destiny is bigger than any of this, but everyone should be allowed to choose what they want to do, I am just allowing you to expand your options.”

With a final breath, he truly looked at you with sincerity, “I trust you y/n.”

It all seemed too much. All your life it felt like there was only one obvious pathway; do what it takes to survive. Everything he said was right, and it dawned on you that for once the decision you were about to make had two genuinely good choices. Hakoda gifted you with that privilege. Either way, you would save his life and yours. Yet you knew that the new pathway presented to you would lead you something bigger, just like he said. You couldn’t take one of the few good things away from his kids.

Overcome with emotion, you hugged him. “Thank you. We’ll do it. You need to stay.”

He hugged you back as you began to cry.

***

After spending the remainder of the night stuffing your face in the kitchens, you didn’t go back to sleep and started to train with whoever was willing until it was time to hear of your next target. By no means were you looking forward to it, but you were ready to distance yourself from the last mission as it regularly filled your mind.

I wonder if he actually put Bato in charge and stood down? Stop thinking about it y/n. It doesn’t matter anymore; you’ll never have to see him again.

As the sun started to disappear into the Fire Nations skyline, you headed for the throne room knowing you shouldn’t keep Ozai waiting.

I can’t wait to see the show he has prepared for me. I wonder how dark he tried to make the lighting this time. Ooo! Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get 20-foot flames! Then I won’t have to see his ugly beard.

Entering the room and bowing before him, you fought back a snicker as it truly felt like the room seemed darker than usual.

“Y/n, you have come a long way from being a traitor and prisoner to the Nation to one of the most valuable assets. Your next task will be the ultimate test of your loyalty to me. I have trusted and sent my daughter Azula on a mission to bring back my traitor of a brother, and my failure of a son.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Azula was no stranger to riling you up whenever you crossed paths over her brother, and you were well aware of the encounters he had with the Avatar. But not once were you brought into the dysfunctions of their family. Now all of a sudden you were formally addressed by Ozai who was mentioning these events to you? It made you hyper-aware of the scars that stretched along your left side. The only personal connection you had with Zuko.

“While she undoubtedly has my complete trust, and I do not doubt her abilities, she lacks experience. Azula does not have the knowledge of the world, and fighting styles from the other nations like you do. For that, I am entrusting you to take care of the collateral damage. If things are to go wrong, if she is faced with a circumstance hindering her ability to do her task, it is your job to finish it. Even if that means harm must come to her, the mission is the utmost priority. Should you fail, do not underestimate the consequences you’ll face if you ever step back into the Nation.”

In your best attempt to keep your composure, you replied in a cool but firm tone. “Of course, my Fire Lord.”

“Good. You leave at dawn and do not return until my daughter succeeds.”

Bowing in acknowledgement, you began to leave. But you quickly halt your movements as you hear his voice again.

“One last thing y/n. Azula is not to know that you are tracking her at any stage during her mission. You are to distance yourself, only intervening when there is no other option.”

You bow for the last time. “You have my word.”

Making your way to prepare supplies for your journey, you fight the urge to curse out the entire royal family throughout the halls.

Babysitting duty. I was tortured for eight fucking months. Trained to boredom by Zemin’s brother, Piandao, for one month, and some knock-off fire bending master for a week because he didn’t know how to control me, and went gallivanting across the nations to fake assassinations. Not only that but also assist them in making new lives for themselves, FOR BABYSITTING DUTY! ALL BECAUSE HIS SPOILED, SOCIOPATHIC DAUGHTER WITH AN SUPERIORITY COMPLEX ISN’T EXPERIENCED ENOUGH?!

In your silent rage, you make it back to your room trying to reason with yourself that you shouldn’t kill Azula the second you both cross the Fire Nation boarders.

A/N: so…. Did I have y’all in the first half? LMAO AHAHHA.

Also I really thought I was going to have the gaang in this one #fool (oopsies) I really didn’t think the hakoda portion would consume so much of the chapter :/ BUT!! They’re definitely in the next one

Thanks for reading though! On the bright side I’m (finally) on my mid-semester break!!! Woohoo! I’m so excited to wrap up this semester wowies (uni has been kicking my butt),, but this does mean I’ll have more time to write so you guys might get a chapter earlier than normal 😊 Anyway, as normal feel free to message me or leave a comment!

TAGLIST:

@slythergirlimagines​​ @mangoberry43​​ @eridanuswave​​ @whiskeywinter89​

@kaylove12​​ @simplyfandomish​​ @khaleesi-of-assassins​ @callums-keith​

@ilovespideyyy​ @calciumcow​ @blackhood5sos​

[dustedmagazine]

Music for Films, Vol. II: Chick Habit

For good and for ill, Quentin Tarantino’s movies have been strongly associated with postmodern pop culture — particularly by folks whose reactions to the word “postmodern” tend toward pursed lips and school-marmishly wagged fingers. There for a while, reading David Denby on Tarantino was similar to reading Michiko Kakutani on Thomas Pynchon: almost always the same review, the same complaints about characters lacking “psychological depth,” the same handwringing over an ostensible moral insipidness. Truth be told, Tarantino’s pranksome delight with flashy surfaces and stylistic flourishes that are ends in themselves gives tentative credence to some of the caviling. Critics have raised related concerns over the superficiality of Tarantino’s tendency toward stunt casting, especially his resurrections of aging actors relegated to the film industry’s commercial margins: John Travolta, Pam Grier, Robert Forster, David Carradine, Darryl Hannah, Don Johnson and so on. There might be a measure of cynicism in the accompanying cinematic nudging and winking, but it’s also the case that a number of the performances have been terrific.

The writer-director brings a similar sensibility to his sound-tracking choices, demonstrating the cooler-than-thou, deep-catalog knowledge of an obsessive crate-digger. Tarantino thematized that knowledge in his break-through feature, Reservoir Dogs (1992). Throughout the film, the characters tune in to Steven Wright deadpanning as the deejay of “K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies”; like the characters, the viewer transforms into a listener, treated to such fare as the George Baker Selection’s “Little Green Bag” (1970) and Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” (1971). As with the above-mentioned actors, Tarantino has sifted pop culture’s castoffs and detritus, unearthing songs and delivering experiences of renewed value — and thereby proving the keenness of his instincts and aesthetic wit. “Listen to (or look at) this!” he seems to say, with his cockeyed, faux-incredulous grin. “Can you believe you were just going to throw this out?” And mostly, it works. If the Blue Swede’s “Hooked on a Feeling” (1974) has become a sort of semi-ironized accompaniment to hipsterish good times, that resonance has a lot more to do with Tim Roth, Harvey Keitel and Co. cruising L.A. in a hulking American sedan than with the Disney Co.’s Guardians of the Galaxy (2014).

In Death Proof (2007), Tarantino’s seventh film and unaccountably his least favorite, soundtrack and screen are both full to bursting with the flotsam and jetsam of “entertainment” conceived as an industry. 

In just the opening minutes, we see outmoded moviehouse announcements, complete with cigarette-burn cue dots; big posters of Brigitte Bardot from Les Bijoutiers du claire de lune (1958) and of Ralph Nelson’s Soldier Blue (1970) bedecking the apartment of Jungle Julia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier); the tee shirt worn by Shanna (Jordan Ladd), which bears the image of Tura Satana; and strutting under all of it are the brassy cadences of Jack Nitzsche’s “The Last Race,” taken from his soundtrack for the teensploitation flick Village of the Giants (1965). Bibs and bobs, bits and pieces of low- and middle-brow cinema are cut up and reconstructed into a fulsome swirl of signs. And there’s an unpleasant edge to it; the cuts are echoed by the action of the camera, which has been busily cleaving the bodies of the women on screen into fragments and parts. First the feet of Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito), propped up on a dashboard; then Julia, all ass and gams; then Arlene’s lower half again, chopped into slices by the stairs she dashes up (“I gotta take the world’s biggest fucking piss!”) and by the close-up that settles on her belly and pelvis, her hand shoved awkwardly into her crotch. 

As often happens in Tarantino’s movies, furiously busy meta-discursive play collapses the images’ problematic content under multiple levels of reference and pastiche. The film is one half of Grindhouse (2007), Tarantino’s collaboration with his buddy Robert Rodriguez, an old-fashioned double-feature comprising the men’s love letters to the exploitation cinema of the 1960s and 1970s. In those thousands of movies — mondo, beach-cutie, nudie-cutie, women in prison, early slasher, rape-revenge, biker gang, chop-socky, Spaghetti Western and muscle-car-worship flicks (and we could add more subgenres to the list) — symbolic violence inflicted on women’s bodies was de rigueur, and frequently the principal draw. Tarantino shot Death Proof himself, so he is (more than usually) directly responsible for all the framing and focusing — and he’s far too canny a filmmaker not to know precisely what he’s doing with and to those bodies. The excessive, camera-mediated gashing and trimming is a knowing, perhaps deprecating nod to all that previous, gratuitous T&A. His sound-tracking choice of “The Last Race” metaphorically underscores the point: in Bert I. Gordon’s Village of the Giants, bikini-clad teens find and consume an experimental growth serum, which causes them to expand to massive proportions. Really big boobs, actual acres of ass. Get it?

Of course, all the implied japing and judging is deeply embedded in the film’s matrix of esoteric references and fleeting allusions. You’d have to be very well versed in the history of exploitation cinema to pick up on the indirect homage to Gordon’s goofy movie. But as in Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino doesn’t just gesture, he dramatizes, folding an authoritative geekdom into the action of Death Proof. In the set-up to Death Proof’s notorious car crash scene, Julia is on the phone, instructing one of her fellow deejays to play “Hold Tight!” (1966) by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. Don’t recognize the names? “For your information,” Julia snorts, Pete Townsend briefly considered abandoning the Who, and he thought about joining the now-obscure beat band, to make it “Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, Tich & Pete. And if you ask me, he should have.”

It’s among the most gruesomely violent sequences in Tarantino’s films (which do not run short on graphic bloodshed), and Julia receives its most spectacular punishment. Those legs and that rump, upon which the camera has lavished so much attention, are torn apart. Her right leg flips, flies and slaps the pavement, a hunk of suddenly flaccid meat. Again, Tarantino proves himself an adept arranger of image, sign and significance. Want to accuse him of fetishizing Julia’s legs? He’ll materialize the move, reducing the limb to a manipulable fragment, and he’ll invest the moment with all of the intrinsic violence of the fetish. He’ll even do you one better — he’ll make that violence visible. Want to watch? You better buckle up and hold tight. 

Hold on a second. “Hold Tight”? The soundtrack has passed over from intertextual in-joke to cruel punchline. It doesn’t help that the song is so much fun, and that it’s fun watching the girls groove along to it, just before Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) obliterates them, again and again and again. The awful insistence of the repetition is another set-up, establishing the film’s narrative logic: the repeated pattern and libidinal charge-and-release of Stuntman Mike’s vehicular predations. It is, indeed, “a sex thing,” as Sheriff Earl McGraw (Michael Parks) informs us in his cartoonish, redneck lawman’s drawl. Soon the sexually charged repetitions pile up: see Abernathy’s (Rosario Dawson) feet hanging out of Kim’s (Tracie Thom) 1972 Mustang, in a visual echo of Arlene’s, and of Julia’s. Then listen to Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) belt out some of Smith’s cover of “Baby It’s You” (1969), which we most recently heard 44 minutes before, as Julia danced ecstatically by the Texas Chili Bar’s jukebox. Then watch Abernathy as she sees Stuntman Mike’s tricked-out ’71 Nova, a vibrating hunk of metallic machismo — just like Arlene saw it, idling menacingly back in Austin, with another snatch of “Baby It’s You” wisping through that moment’s portent. 

For a certain kind of viewer, the Nova’s low-slung, growling charms are hard to resist, as is the sleazy snarl of Willy DeVille’s “It’s So Easy” (1980; and we might note that Jack Nitzsche produced a couple of Mink DeVille’s early records, connecting another couple strands in the web) on the Nova’s car stereo. Those prospective pleasures raise the question of just who the film is for. That may seem obvious: the same folks — dudes, mostly — who find pleasure in exploitation movies like Vanishing Point (1971), Satan’s Sadists (1969) or The Big Doll House (1971). But there are a few other things to account for, like how Death Proof repeatedly passes the Bechdel Test, and how long those scenes of conversation among women go on, and on. Most notable is the eight-minute diner scene, a single take featuring Abernathy, Kim, Lee and Zoë (Zoë Bell, doing a cinematic rendition of her fabulous self, an instance of stunt casting that literalizes the “stunt” part). Among other things, the women discuss their careers in film, the merits of gun ownership and Kim and Zoë’s love of (you guessed it) car chase movies like Vanishing Point. One could read that as a liberatory move, a suggestion that cinema of all kinds is open to all comers. All that’s required is a willingness to watch. But watching the diner scene becomes increasing claustrophobic. The camera circles the women’s table incessantly, and on the periphery of the shot, sitting at the diner’s counter, is Stuntman Mike. The circling becomes predatory, the threat seems pervasive. 

If you’ve seen the film, you know how that plays out: Zoë and Kim play “ship’s mast” on a white 1970 Dodge Challenger (the Vanishing Point car); Stuntman Mike shows up and terrorizes them mercilessly; but then Abernathy, Zoë and Kim chase him down and beat the living shit out of him, likely fatally. In another sharply conceived cinematic maneuver, Tarantino executes a climactic sequence that inverts the diner scene: the women surround Stuntman Mike, abject and pleading, and punch and kick him as he bounces from one of them to another. The camera zips from vantage to vantage within the circle, deliriously tracking the action. All the jump cuts intensify the violence, and they provide another contrast to the diner’s scene’s silky, unbroken shot. The sounds and the impact of the blows verge on slapstick, and our identification with the women makes it a giddily gross good time.

So, an inversion seeks to undo repetition. Certainly, Stuntman Mike’s intent to repeat the car-crash-kill-thrill is undone, and predator becomes prey. But, as is inevitable with Tarantino’s cinema, there are complications, other echoes and patterns to suss out. For instance: as the women stride toward the wrecked Nova, while Stuntman Mike pathetically wails, the camera zooms in on their asses. Bad asses? Nice asses? What’s the right nomenclature? To make sure we can put the shot together with Julia’s first appearance in the film, Abernathy has hiked up her skirt, revealing a lot of leg. Repetition reasserts itself. In an exacerbating circumstance, Harvey Weinstein’s grubby fingerprints are smeared onto the film. Rodriguez’s Troublemaker Studios is credited with production of Grindhouse, but Dimension Films, a Weinstein Brothers company, handled distribution.  

When the film cuts to its end titles, we hear April March’s “Chick Habit” (1995), with its spot-on lyric: “Hang up the chick habit / Hang it up, daddy / Or you’ll never get another fix.” And so on. Even here, where the girl-power vibe feels strongest (cue Abernathy burying a bootheel in Stuntman Mike’s face), there are echoes, patterns. Note how the striding bassline of “Chick Habit” strongly recalls the pulse beating through Nitzsche’s “The Last Race.” Note that March’s song is a cover, of “Laisse tomber les filles,” originally recorded by yé-yé girl France Gall. The song was penned by Serge Gainsbourg, pop provocateur and notorious womanizer. The two collaborated again, releasing “Les Sucettes,” a tune about a teeny-bopper who really likes sucking on lollipops, when Gall was barely 18; the accompanying scandal nearly torpedoed her career. Gall refused to ever sing another song by Gainsbourg, and disavowed her hits.  

Again, that’s all deeply embedded, somewhere in the film’s complicated play of pop irony and double-entendre and the sudden explosions of delight and disgust that intermittently reveal and conceal. Again, you’d have to know your pop history really well to catch up with the complications, and Death Proof moves so fast that there’s always another reference or allusion demanding your attention as the cars growl and the blood spurts. Too many signs to track, too many signals to decipher — that’s the postmodern. But perhaps we have become too glib, assuming that all signs are somehow equivalent. Death Proof insists otherwise. Much has been made of the film’s strange relation to digital filmmaking, of the sort that Rodriguez has made a career out of. Part of Grindhouse’s shtick is its goofball applications of CGI, all the scratches and skips and flaws that the filmmakers lovingly applied. They are digital effects, masquerading as damaged celluloid. Tarantino cut back against that grain, filming as much of the car chase’s maniacal stuntwork in meatspace as he safely could. Purposeful practical filmmaking, for a digitally enhanced cinematic experience, attempting to mimic the ways real film interacts with the physical environment and its manifold histories. Is that clever, or just more cultural clutter?  

Amid all the clutter that crowds the characters onscreen, and their conversations in the film’s field of sound, it can be easy to lose track of the distinctions between appearances and the traces of the real bodies that worked to bring Death Proof to life. Which is why Tarantino’s inclusion of Bell is so crucial. She provides another inversion: Instead of masking her individual presence, doing stunts for other actresses in their clothes and hair (for Lucy Lawless in Xena: Warrior Princess, or for Uma Thurman in Tarantino’s Kill Bill films), Bell is herself, doing what she does best, projecting the technical elements of filmmaking — usually meant to bleed seamlessly into illusion — right onto the surface of the screen. And instead of allowing one group of girls to slip into a repeated pattern, bodies easily exchanged for other bodies, Bell’s presence and its implicit insistence on her particularity (who else can move like she does?) breaks up the superficial logic of cinema’s market for the feminine. She disrupts its chick habit. There’s only one woman like her. 

Jonathan Shaw

[yan-twst]

Do remember the ask"dorm leaders s/o scared of them physical hurting them"well can you do it again, but this time only to find out why they're scared of being physical being hurt by them. Like their caretakers/parents were physical abusive to s/o and and their ex-lover was also physical abusive to them. What would they do with this new found information.Would the dorm leaders go seeking revenge on their s/o caretakers/parents and their ex-lover.

a/n: this is a pretty sensitive topic, so i'm going to try my best to write on it: it is NEVER my intention to romanticize these darker themes, but if anyone feels offended or hurt by this particular post please do reaxh out to me and i won't hesitate to edit or take it down. due to the nature of this text i will put it under a read more.

warnings: topics such as domestic abuse, child abuse, and things of that nature are mentioned here, along with general yandere topics and themes. mentions of torture , too! please be careful while reading if anything could potentially cause bad memories or emotional responses in you!

riddle rosehearts

he comes from an abusive household, even though he wouldn't admit it (and probably doesn't realize it). while his mother never used much physical punishment, he is no stranger to getting yelled at and having all his comforts taken away for the smallest mistake

when he realizes his darling came from a similar background, he'd probably take a cold hard look at himself: is he... becoming like his mother? the thought is terrifying to him- he doesn't want to be like that, he doesn't want his darling to fear him like he did his mother

although the realization would lead to him being more lenient and less punishing, he is still a toxic lover. sure, he isn't yelling at his darling for breaking rule #163- but he is still guilt-trippy, still a perfectionist deep down. it's a small improvement, though

even though he would like nothing more than to destroy those who dared hurt his darling, he'd hesitate. he knows he'd lose it if someone were to hurt his mother, even after all she put him through; what if his darling feels the same way about the people who hurt them in the past...? he feels like he shouldn't ask such a crass question, so he'll limit himself to promising to protect his darling

in short, while he is enraged at those who hurt his darling in the past, he believes they're safe now: he would never let such harm befall them again... it's another excuse to why he keeps them locked up. but if his darling's past tormentors ever as much as tried to poke their heads back into their life, it's off with their heads- and perhaps lives, if riddle can so so.

leona kingscholar

he's immediately deeply angry when his darling admits part of their fear of him comes from their past experience. he cannot stand it- his darling should only be scared of him, respect him; the fact other people even dared try to get his darling to hurt in the past makes him red with rage.

he'll absolutely track down his darling's past tormentors. does he care if his darling is scared of him? no. does it piss him off that they're scared of him because of other people? god- it makes his blood sizzle. don't mistake his rage with him being a knight in shining armour for his beloved- although he wouldn't be opposed to his darling seeing it like that

he'll kill them in cold blood, with his bare hands. this isn't a job he can make someone else do: it has to be him. he may even make his darling watch as he tears their previous tormentors to shreds. it's horribly gruesome, and it'll certainly scar his darling, but he doesn't care. if they're going to fear him, then fear only him.

azul ashengrotto

he instantly softens up with his darling when they admit this. he may not have been abused in his past, but the scars of the bullying and teasing in his formative years still weigh down heavily on him

he'll comfort his darling as he wished someone had comforted him- but this is also a good way for him to become even clingier and more obsessive... sure, he isn't being harsh or mean, but his darling is still very much a prisoner to him

he'd absolutely try to get revenge on those who wronged his darling, but he might not kill them. instead, he'll torture them (with the twin's help, of course!) until they apologise in tears to his darling- beg for mercy to them, cry- before he takes them away to never be seen.

in reality, this probably doesn't help his darling's trauma in a bit, bur for him, it's cathartic. he feels like he's wiped a dark period of his darling's life clean- aren't they happy? aren't they grateful?

kalim al-asim

he gasps and immediately holds his darling into a hug when they admit how their past was. so that was why- why despite all his attempts and gifts, they remained scared...?

kalim cannot comprehend how anyone could ever hurt his darling. they're the most beautiful, kindest and gentlest soul on earth: who would dare think of bringing harm upon them?! the thought makes him seeth with anger

he'll swear that he won't ever allow such a thing to happen again. after all, he's already protecting them (by keeping them locked in, always making jamil check up on them); he'll just double his efforts. he'll have extensive background checks on every single servant who attends his beloved just to make sure they have ZERO history of violence

it isn't hard for such a rich man with connections everywhere to find the people who hurt his darling in the past. it's also not hard to pay for their deaths: every single one of them is quietly found dead after mysteriously going missing... he won't say what he did to his darling, simply reassuring them they're safe now

vil schoenheit

do people have no shame?! he's incredibly shaken and stirred when his darling finally admits the source of their fears. people are beasts- he knows this, and that's why he keeps his darling close at all times, but to think they'd already managed to hurt them before he even knew them...!

he has no problem sending his legions of fans against anyone who wronged his darling. after all, he's seamlessly introduced his beloved as part of his image: his fans adore his darling! he's presented them as a weak, meek and adorable doll, the source of his happiness. if he as much as mentioned someone had wronged them... the fury would be immediate and direct

although vil is guilty of tearing down his darling's self esteem whenever they do something he dislikes, he'll act as if he'd never done that. suddenly he brings up how lucky his darling is to have him, who will bring justice to them- he who will make those who wronged them regret being born, he who loves them so much to go through all of this

and if one day, those past tormentors quietly day due to a scentless, tasteless, untraceable poison...? well, isn't that just a wild coincidence!

idia shroud

he cannot believe such scum exists. even he- the lowest of the low, a disgusting freak who kidnapped his darling- wouldn't dare to hurt them for the sake of just causing pain!

he immediately regrets every single physical punishment he ever gave, although it's such a rare occasion and usually something even lesser than a slap. no wonder his darling was scared! he was just a monster, right? just was bad as the others, right?!

he'll feel the need to make it up to his darling, and he can't think of any other way than revenge. if he gets rid of those who hurt his darling, can his actions be forgiven? he prays they can

his darling's past tormentors better be ready for hell- what starts as merely hacking into their devices becomes a one-man lead spionage campaign, with blakmail slowly and surely driving them up a wall. idia will show no pity- he has to make them pay. he has to, so he may one day be forgiven...

malleus draconia

it's not just men's nature that makes them hurt each other, and he knows this, but even still he cannot help but want to curse all mankind when his darling finally tells him about their past experiences

he doesn't care about reasons or circumstances- all he knows is that those people hurt his darling. all dragons are protective of their treasure, and to think of others laying their filthy hands to strike his most beloved... he can feel fire burning in his mouth at the mere thought

he'll swear to never lay a hand on his beloved- but don't be fooled, this doesn't mean that the relationship will improve. physical punishments are replaced with the torture of isolation, of taking away all the comforts he's given his darling until they beg for him

and as for his darling's tormentors... to them, after malleus learns of their actions, death would be nothing short of a blessing. the draconian man wouldn't feel a shred of pity in torturing them, breaking their fragile human bodies time and tima again. he has no pity for anyone who hurts his beloved

[elevatorelevenhatesyou]

Final Fantasy 14 Part 20: Howling Eyesore

Time for Garuda. She is also a huge case of told not shown characterization.

We land in Garuda's little clearing and Brash goes in to confront her. Cif and Alf come in too despite neither of them being fighters as far as I know, not to mention they aren't immune to tempering. Worth noting that finally there’s a Duty that doesn’t bother trying to pretend it could possibly make any kind of sense that a bunch of other adventurers show up to help fight this boss. 

Apparently Garuda's got some kobolds and lizard men tied up here. Cid comments on that and wonders why. I too wonder that, still.

The very first shot that we ever get of Garuda in person is of her ass. How nice.

Alf stay focused. I guess he is at that age.

This scene plays out like Garuda is our archnemesis or something. She and Cid and Alf exchange a few hero vs villain lines, we're here to put a stop to your evil, mwahaha I will kill you a great deal, that sort of thing. Just before Cid and Alf go off to distract Garuda's Ixal warriors somehow, Alf gives Brash the sort of encouragement that might happen before a final boss or at least some form of really important climactic battle with really high stakes.

But like, they aren't, really, are they? This is literally the first time we've met Garuda. She hasn't done a damn thing this whole game. She's just been squatting up here threatening people like she's fuckin Stoop Kid. But even if we believe the hype that she's terrifying and way worse than Titan and Ifrit (who also never did anything, so that's not a high bar to clear), she's still just a primal with a bunch of beastmen. She'll be a problem, sure, and Ixal terrorism will certainly cost a lot of lives and resources, but it's not like she's going to destroy the Eorzean Alliance. She's probably not even tough enough to destroy Gridania by itself, and Gridania sucks.

So Brash kabedons Garuda, but Garuda doesn't die in the cutscene like the other two primals did. Instead she just goes all 'lol I'm fine actually, because I have the faith powers of these like five Ixal over there', so again the gameplay segment may as well not have happened. 

Garuda tries to temper Brash (but not Cid and Alf, fortunately, I guess she's a moron), but finds out she can't. 

Brash blasts Garuda with God magic, and the final chaos emerald comes out of Garuda's boobs, hooray.

now Brash has all six, what is the purpose of the chaos emeralds again

BUT THEN SUDDENLY GAIUS IS HERE.

Just, standing over to the side, by himself. I, what? What're you doing here, dude? How did you GET here? Why are you alone?

He doesn't seem to be here for any reason other than to shit talk Cid and Garuda. Some of her guys come at him and he shoots them all dead with a big arm cannon thing. Wish I had one of those.

In response to Gaelsar van Baelsar killing a few of her guys, she pokes her kobold and lizardman prisoners and they instantly summon Ifrit and Titan. Or, maybe she summoned Ifrit and Titan through them? I don't know. 

Yeah boom, they’re both just here now. So, apparently summoning a primal is incredibly easy? Like you only need like three guys? Kinda thought it was harder? I guess she is a primal herself, and she's apparently supposed to be super strong, but like, does this mean it's really easy for primals to summon other primals? That sounds like a system that can be abused. Can Ifrit summon a bunch of other Ifrits, or can there only be one at a time? I mean there's this Summoner class who can make like little bits of Ifrit, and there are a whole bunch of Summoner players around, so like..?

Gaius Van Baius airlifts in his megazord like a giant baby being carried by mechastorks, and it promptly kills all three primals in one hit each. I do have to point out that it simply nonchalantly bitchslaps Ifrit and Titan, but the sexy girl primal gets a gruesome and brutal death by head chomping while she screams in terror. This feels fetishistic.

Gaius certainly seems to be getting off on it. His super weapon just came out of nowhere, kill-stole Garuda, and then stomped up the last two major bosses as well for good measure, and also it like absorbs all their souls or something. Oh hey but if there can only be one of each primal at a time, does that mean that the Garuda, Titan, and Ifrit problems are just completely solved now that Gaius's megazord just caught them all like pokemon?

So it's an effective way to instantly make it clear that the new bad guy is a bigger threat than the last ones I guess, but like come on, resurrecting the first two bosses just so it can kill them in one hit each? The way Ifrit and Titan are effortlessly brought back and then effortlessly killed just makes them both feel really insubstantial. It's kind of funny, actually, like that bit where the vampire keeps rising from the dead in the background and Doctor Orpheus just keeps shooting him with a laser to make him fall down again while still talking. To say nothing of how insubstantial this makes Brash look, since she's supposed to have had an at least sort of tough time dealing with these threats in the past.

That by itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, gotta make the villain look threatening of course, but the way it's handled here brings more to mind the feeling of Great, thanks, why the fuck did I even bother doing all that shit. In fact, why did I even bother doing all that shit with Garuda? Apparently she was doomed anyway. If we'd been like twenty minutes late getting that crystal thing attached to our ship, we would have gotten here just in time to watch Gaius and his megazord pissing off, leaving behind a Garuda shaped crater.

Really should have just pissed off home to hang out with Brash's squad ladies.

Oh and to top it all off, Labradoodle is here too, just chilling on top of one of the mechastorks which is actually a giant flying chess piece. He looks HILARIOUS. Look at this ridiculous dumbass.

Can I add this to the counter? Yeah I'm adding this to the counter. Brash is right there and Gaius talks directly to her and Labradoodle is just up there doing jack shit.

An Ascian Pisses Off Without Trying To Kill Brash With Lasers: 5

Gaius and his megazord leave, and Brash, Cid, and Alf also leave. I would normally bash Gaius for not destroying Brash here (I'm certainly still doing that for Labradoodle because he has plans that are different from Gaius's), but Gaius basically tells Brash to deliver the message that his super weapon is all powerful to the Alliance leaders, so okay.

I mean, she doesn't. The Alliance leaders still think we're all dead, because we still haven't told them about that for some reason. Oh yeah speaking of, guess killing Garuda to show the world the Scions were still kicking also just fell through, didn't it.

So, I guess the entire Garuda chapter was all for nothing.

Great. Can I go home?

[aion-rsa]

The Suicide Squad: Who Lives and Who Dies

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This article contains major The Suicide Squad spoilers. We have a spoiler free review here.

Five years ago, Will Smith uttered the instantly meme-able line, “So that’s it, huh, we’re the patsies, we’re some kind of Suicide Squad.” Yet by the end of that 2016 film, barely anyone in that squad was put six feet under. How times have changed.

For the entire rollout of his pseudo-sequel/reboot, writer-director James Gunn has insisted he had carte blanche to kill off any character in his The Suicide Squad roster. While we may remain skeptical if Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn and a few others were really that expendable to Warner Bros., Gunn’s finished film speaks to just how much freedom he was allotted in slaughtering potentially valuable DC IP. Major characters from the first film, and a slew of new ones Gunn personally introduced, were pushing up daisies before the movie’s opening title card. And the bodycount only grew from there.

So if you had trouble keeping up with who died, and in what gnarly and grotesque fashion, we’re here to offer a handy dandy list of which members of the Suicide Squad walked away from Corto Maltese, and which were carried away in bags.

Blackguard

Dies

You can’t help but wonder if Gunn intentionally cast Pete Davidson as the first Squad member to get put down. With the exception of a fakeout (more on that in a bit), the mildly divisive SNL alumni goes out in gruesome fashion when he reveals on a Corto Maltese beachhead that he somehow communicated with the local military that a U.S. operation would be landing there. He thinks this will get him in good with the new government. Instead it gets him obliterated by a hail of bullets. All that time in prison and Blackguard never learned what happens to snitches…

Javelin

Dies

Flula Borg’s Javelin cut an amusing figure, as if he wandered in from some low-rent 1970s superhero television series. Even his accent was absurdly disarming, as Harley quickly noticed. Alas, it was not meant to be since Javelin was blasted fast on the beach, barely having a moment to entrust Dr. Quinzel with his trusty weapon.

Mongal

Dies

Let it not go unsaid that Mayling Ng’s Mongal made an epic introduction and exit when she took down several choppers all by herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t really think about a personal strategy as she rode one helicopter all the way down into its fiery ‘splosion.

Captain Boomerang

Dies

The first really major death of the film came when Captain Boomerang, Jai Courtney’s holdover from the 2016 movie, also bit the big one from the same fiery blast that took Mongal. At least he and Harley got to share a few laughs beforehand. We guess this puts an end to any chance of him  showing up in The Flash movie!

T.D.K.

Dies

Okay, as soon as you realized the secret superpower of Nathan Fillion’s character was something as lame as “detachable” limbs, you also knew he was dead meat, right? This character is so lame that Gunn doesn’t even show the Corto Maltese military putting him out of his misery. They just snicker as he writhes in pain, feeling how his detached arms have been shot to ribbons. Bad day to be a Browncoat.

Savant

Dies

Michael Rooker is the actor James Gunn casts when he wants to give a character an epic death scene. It took two movies for that to prove true in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies, but Rooker’s Savant doesn’t even make it to the end of the opening credits here… well not all of him. The blood and brain splatter created by the bomb Amanda Waller detonated in this coward’s skull spells a lovely “The Suicide Squad” lettering across the waves. And hey, at least Rooker got to rock those epic blonde locks!

The Thinker

Dies

Once you heard that Peter Capaldi was playing an evil supervillain who was also in league with the Suicide Squad’s enemies, you knew there was no way Thinker was walking away from this movie, right? Nonetheless, Gunn goes hard with the doc’s death scene when a liberated Starro the Conqueror gets revenge for 30 years of captivity by ripping his captor’s arms off and then turning him into a red smear across glass. Ouch.

Col. Rick Flag

Dies

This one hurt. Joel Kinnaman’s Rick Flag was one of the better and even underrated elements from 2016’s Suicide Squad, and he got a chance to shine a lot brighter here. From small things like his total war buddies vibe with Harley to showing a backbone when he realizes Waller’s nefarious cover-up game, Flag came out as a real leader this time up to bat. Sadly, he then got Cena’d to death.

Polka-Dot Man

Dies

You did it, Polka-Dot Man, you proved your simultaneously dippy and creepy superpowers could make you a real superhero! Even your Norma Bates-like mama would be proud. Too bad Starro then stepped on you immediately afterward. Yay?

Starro

Dies

The big guy had his giant eye poked out by Harley and then an army of rats swarm into the hole that made and chew up his insides. Honestly, you feel bad for the kaiju in the end. Like King Kong, he didn’t ask to be brought here. Who knew we could get the sniffles for a rampaging monster with mind-control powers?

Harley Quinn

Lives

Come on, did you think they’d kill off Harley? Pfft, Robbie’s performance is way too good for that.

Bloodsport

Lives

Given his world-weary stoicism, I thought going in that Idris Elba’s Bloodsport was too noble for Gunn’s twisted vision. How nice it is to be proven wrong. Elba’s supervillain marksman reveals there’s a heart of gold beneath that gruff exterior, and it’s still beating when the credits come around.

Ratcatcher II

Lives

James Gunn once told us that Daniela Melchior’s Ratcatcher was the heart of the movie with a presence “like somebody from the French New Wave.” And he wasn’t blowing smoke about the actor or the character. Despite being introduced as an easygoing millennial, Ratcatcher turns out to be the most sympathetic Squad member and proves her generation gets the job done by unleashing an armada of rats on Starro.

King Shark

Lives

Thank God. Nobody better hurt our precious man-eating Nanaue. Go ahead, King, have another nom-nom. You earned it!

Sol Soria

Lives

Sol Soria gets to be el presidente in Corto Maltese now. I guess that’s a fair enough trade with the knowledge that the people who put her there also fed her buddies head first to a land shark.

Amanda Waller

Lives

Some characters are too evil to die. Amanda Waller is still stewing back in D.C. by the end of The Suicide Squad, and she’s likely scheming of a way to murder all of her current underlings too.

Weasel

Lives

The first fakeout of the movie is the fate of Weasel. Despite seemingly being the first character to seemingly die off—in a really hilarious fashion when Waller and company realize they didn’t check to see if Weasel could swim—it turns out he didn’t drown. There’s another reason right there for why Savant deserved to have his head go boom. Pity the children of Corto Maltese.

Peacemaker

Lives

Even though Peacemaker got an epic death scene where Bloodsport won a quickdraw showdown, some actors are just too big of a deal to kill. Thus the end credits scene reveals that Peacemaker survived his bullet wound to the neck and is still breathing on a hospital ventilator. Nonetheless, Bloodsport taught him a valuable lesson: It’s not the size of your bullets but how you use them.

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The post The Suicide Squad: Who Lives and Who Dies appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[xenetala]

Piofiore: Fated Memories Review

I’ll keep this as spoiler free as possible, but with this game that may be a bit difficult. This is just my thoughts on the game and its quality. This game overall is really well done and if you are familiar with Amnesia Memories, you’ll really enjoy this one.

There are a few things I’d like to give people a heads up on in this one. First, this is a game about the Mafia. While it should be obvious, many people who play otome games may not realize this isn’t like the sweet games such as Kissed by the Baddest Bidder. Please do not play this game if you are sensitive to blood, gore, death, rape, drug abuse, psychological abuse, torture, violence, general crime, and other such themes. While you can play the best routes and avoid too much of this, you will be exposed to some pretty gruesome and brutal things in this game.

The second thing I’d like to give a heads up on is you have to play the routes in a semi set order to unlock things. By this I mean you don’t get to completely choose who you play at first. While this by no means makes the game bad, it’s something to think about before playing. You may not get to choose your favorite boy right off.

If you do play this, I have a recommended play route. I recommend this based on the lore of the world. That’s not to say you have to play this order, but I think it’ll give a better feel for the world.

While you can start with either Dante or Nicola, I’d recommend playing through Dante’s route first and follow his route with Orlock. While Yang is my absolute favorite boy by far, I recommend playing Nicola before Yang. Gilbert’s route you can’t play until you’ve played the other 4 so Dante > Orlock > Nicola > Yang is my recommended order, but Dante > Nicola > Orlock > Yang isn’t a bad order either.

Overall Story

This is a really good story. There’s a lot of absolutely lovable characters in it and I wish there were more routes. I also wish the stories were longer just because of how good the characters are. Even the supporting characters are great. The setting is in Italy during the 1920′s. There are a few references to world events around that time such as World War I, the depression, American prohibition, and several other things that happened around the world.

The game takes a lot of the terms and historical things and puts them in a nice handy dictionary in case the audience isn’t familiar with them. Personally I find all of the references common knowledge, but then I’m also a history buff so that may not be the case.

As far as the plot goes, the basis is you play an MC who grew up in a church in a small mafia run city. Depending on the route, the MC gets captured or rescued by one of the three mafia groups and ends up in their care as a guest. The three groups are the Italian based Falzone, the mixed heritage Visconti, and the Chinese based Lao-Shu.

Each route has a different part of the story and history of the world and the town as well as a different perspective. Some of the routes are more peaceful while others not so much. In all of them, the MC is one I consistently like. Despite being brought up in a quasi Roman Catholic based belief system, she’s quite down to Earth and many times stands up to the mafia so that earns her many points in my book.

The one thing in this game that I feel is a big missed opportunity is the character Roberto De Feo. I would have loved to see him as an option in this game. Especially after playing all of the routes including the hidden one, I feel like he would have made a nice addition to the story.

Characters

This game has a really good set of characters and even the supporting characters are good so I’m going to go over quite a few people in this. I’ll break these down by factions to help keep things orderly. Each character does have a best, good, and tragic ending. Some of them are really good, but the tragic ones to be pretty brutal to play.

Also, a fun note in the CGs you can press a button to hear the character’s comments on the scene.

Falzone Family

Dante Falzone - This is the first route I recommend playing. He’s kind of the ‘canon’ route in this and goes over a lot of the lore of the world. It can get a bit overwhelming to keep up with all of the mythology of the game, but you will need that information for later routes.

He’s introduced as the cold and cruel boss of the Falzone, but in reality he’s more of the slightly cold gentleman. While he can be cruel as evidenced in a torture scene, he’s really very sweet and you see much more of his caring side as the story progresses. I’m not a fan of his route as it is way sweeter than I’d like for a mafia boss, but it is the most romantic one.

In this route the MC spends most of her time confined with Dante and is more of a prisoner than a guest in my opinion. She’s not allowed to roam free much and is quite dependent on Dante. There is a lot of violence in this route and is one of the more gruesome ones in a few places. I actually like his good ending better than the best ending. His tragic end is really sad so beware. It’s not as brutal as others, but it’ll tug your heartstrings. Death can bring more peace than life. 

Leo Cavagnis - While not a love interest, Leo is an adorable character. He’s assigned as the MC’s body guard in anything related to the Falzone family. I would like to have seen him as a romance option just because it’d be nice to have a choice other than only higher ranking mafia members, but even without him being an option he’s a fun character in all of the routes.

Nicola Francesca - He is the underboss for the Falzone family and is Dante’s cousin. I liked his route much more than I thought I would and he is more what you’d expect for a mafia themed game. It is mentioned in all routes a few times that Nicola is more suited to being the boss than the underboss, and I agree with this.

Nicola is presented as a playboy, but though he’s flirty he’s not really a playboy. He has a lot of charisma and appears nice, but there is a cruel side to him. This is showcased in how he treats his men and in a torture scene. His route has almost none of the lore and is refreshing in that fact.

The MC is still more of prisoner in this one, but she’s not as dependent on Nicola. Even though I’d say Nicola is more ruthless than Dante, this route is actually one of the less violent ones. I will warn that his route is predictable and not quite as exciting to play as far as plot twists and such. Despite that, this is a fun route and the MC gets to showcase a bit more strength than in some of the others.

He is really tied to his idea of trying to free Dante from the curse of his blood and duties so Nicola often acts brashly and without really trying to understand others. This makes him quite focused on his own goals. His best ending is a great ending and for sure deserves to be called the best ending. I don’t really care for his good ending as much. While not sad, he’s too much of a mafia boss for the good ending to really fit him. His tragic ending is a work of art.

Giulia Ceste - She is the motherly housekeeper of the Falzone and takes care of the MC a lot when in the company of the Falzone family. While not a big character, she does help create some humor in the routes and is always a welcome addition when things get really serious.

The Church

Just a few notes on this ‘faction’. This group plays different roles in each route and doesn’t really follow a branch of the Christian religions. Even though the set up is implied to be the Roman Catholic branch, the lore behind this church isn’t really clear on things. There’s a relic mentioned and that relic is given all sorts of explanations as to what it is, but in reality very little of this game really follows any specific branch. So, if you find yourself confused on this group that’s normal.

Josef von Rosburg - Josef is a bishop for the church and has varying roles depending on the route you play. For the most part he’s reasonably pious and does things on behalf of what he believes to be the best for the church. Although, as the saying goes the road to hell is paved with the best of intentions.

Orlock - This boy is all cinnamon roll and I did not like his route until I played all endings. Part of the problem I have with his route is he’s so naïve and innocent that he comes off as childlike. After seeing him in some of the other routes I’d had the expectation that he’d be more of a cold hearted assassin than he is.

That I think colored my perceptions too much to fully enjoy this route and is partly why I recommend him as the second one you play. He is a disciple which basically just means he’s an assassin for the church.

He is absolutely devoted to the MC to the point of basically worshiping her and can see no fault in anything she does. This route is one of the more violent ones and uncovers more of the lore of the world. Orlock feels much younger than the MC because of his innocence despite being able to kill just about anyone.

The good route I liked a lot more than the best route in this one and that’s partly because he didn’t feel as much like a child in that end. The tragic route though changed my mind about his story a bit though. I love his tragic route. It is brutal and merciless, but you see him as an adult and not like a child. Plus, I’m a sucker for a good gut wrenching tragedy that just makes you question why you’d put yourself through the torture of reading it.

Elena Croce - This girl is the MCs best friend and someone she grew up with in the church. Her role varies depending on the route, but she’s generally a quite girl and is good at cooking.

Sister Sofia - She is one of the sisters in the church and is the mother figure of the story. She knows MC’s history and why she’s so important, but keeps things secret from her to prevent her from carrying a heavy burden.

Oliver Haas - Sadly this is another one that doesn’t have a romance option. Oliver is the Visconti family lawyer and helps smooth things over when members of the family get arrested. He is very strict and is often reprimanding Gilbert for things. It would be interesting to see the story from his perspective for sure.

Visconti Family

Gilbert Redford - He is the leader of the Visconti family and was born in Chicago. Gilbert has ties to the US and the mafia in Chicago. Unlike the Falzone family, he had to earn his way to the boss of the faction and wasn’t passed to him through blood ties.

This route is the most peaceful route. Though Gilbert is mafia, he is a businessman first and foremost. In his story the MC has a lot more freedom as she leaves the manor and tours sections of the city with Gilbert. Much of the MC’s time with him is more like being on dates.

Even though this route is far less violent than the others and softer in many respects, this one has more intrigue. Gilbert is the type that fights with strategy more than with violence so there’s a lot of intelligence gathering and plotting.

Basically the premise is that Gilbert is being framed for a crime and everyone is trying to clear his name. Due to the nature of the crime, it affects all of the families and even Yang is willing to help out Gilbert through this ordeal. The whole story is really a build up to the big finale of the case and you get to see aspects of all the characters in a very different light.

I really like his endings. All of them fit the story and are beautifully done. One of the things I like most about Gilbert’s story is everyone sticks together and helps out.

Lan - She is one of the twins that is assigned as the MC’s guard when in company with the Laou-Shu. This girl is absolutely adorable and creates a lot of fun moments. As cute and sweet as she is, she is also very strong and will kill someone without a second thought.

Laou-Shu

Yang - He is by far my favorite of all the characters. Yang is highly intelligent and very skilled in combat. This is show cased by the fact that he is bored without intrigue or other shenanigans to provide him amusement. The MC in this route is one of the more interesting ones in my opinion. Her intelligence really shines through in this one because in order to survive Yang she has to think on her feet a lot.

One of the things I really liked about this route is there were more fun scenes in it. While Yang’s route is by far the most brutal and violent, there are points that are just good fun and provide some of that cute romantic mishap stuff we all kind of want in these games.

The Laou-Shu is a different type of mafia group from the others and this story is in opposition to the lore of the world. Pretty much everyone gets killed and there’s a lot of misfortune in Yang’s route. He is a violent person who grew up under less than ideal circumstances. The MC is gets involved in the goings on with the Laou-Shu and is brought to some pretty grisly things.

I’ve seen quite a few people compare Yang’s personality to that of Hisoka from the anime Hunter x Hunter and I agree that they have similarities. Both live for the moment and share the bloodlust from a good battle with a strong opponent. He is also a master manipulator and very good at twisting words to get exactly what he wants. His best and tragic endings are simply gorgeous, but his good ending isn’t as fun. It’s not a badly done ending, but I would have liked them both to die in it.

Fei - He is the other of the twins that guard the MC when in the company of the Laou-Shu. He’s very protective of his sister and is the calming force for her. Just like Lan, as adorable as he is he can and will kill someone without a second thought.

Marco Caldroni - He is the other detective that comes into the game and is more often than not trying to keep Roberto in check. Marco is more okay with letting the mafia deal with things than his partner is and tends to either stay out of the way or help in cases where civilians are in danger.

Police

Roberto De Feo - This guy grows on you as you play the game. At first I really didn’t like him and especially so after playing Nicola’s route, but they really should have given him an option. I’d rather have been able to play Roberto than Orlock. Roberto is a newer detective with the police force and has a very strong idea of what justice is. He does not like that the town is overrun with mafia and that the mafia controls everything. This guy tends to pop up and pick fights with some of the mafia members.

Others

??? - This is a hidden route that is only unlocked after you’ve played through all of the others. You learn a lot more about the lore of the world and the MC is pretty much on her own in this route. I found this route very boring and the person you romance in this is too haunted by the past for me to really enjoy them.

As much as I love a good redemption story or even a good tragedy, this route is so boring. I would much rather have this be a totally different character’s route. While I get this person’s story helps fill in the gaps from Gilbert’s route, this gentleman is one of those revenge is everything types and I’m just not onboard with him. The endings are a peaceful kind of harem ending for the best ending and I don’t mind that one too much. There is a romance ending and I just don’t care for this character enough.

I get wanting revenge, but I find the all consuming revenge to the point of self-destruction and destruction of everything you hold dear just stupid. That’s how this romance goes. Reminds me a lot of the Sasuke and Sakura stuff from the anime Naruto.

[ambarto]

You ever get like five different ideas from angst but none of them is long enough to stand on its own and so you just make Frankenangst? Yeah

Warnings: character death, description of injuries

----

Arakano thought once he took down the chief of these creatures they would slow down. Grow fearful, perhaps, run from him.

He should have known better. It seemed the monsters were braver than Arakano had hoped. They had laughed as he took on their commander, sneered in a circle around them, sure Arakano would have lost. Arakano won, and now they were angered.

He couldn’t take them all on. His sword fell left and right, slicing heads and arms that their armors didn’t cover well enough. Where were the others of the Noldor? Arakano couldn’t see anyone past the hordes of enemies coming for him. His sword was growing heavy in his hand. His father had not been far behind him.

With a shout, Arakano killed another enemy. His breath was beginning to come short. He couldn’t hold out on his own much longer. Everything was starting to blur together-

Arakano shouted when something hit his knee. A mace he hadn’t been able to avoid. Even over the sounds of battle he heard the crack. His leg gave out beneath him, unable to support his weight.

He wasn’t getting out of here. He had pushed on too far. His father wouldn’t be able to get to him.

The one who bent over him clearly thought Arakano was already gone. It had its guard open, and Arakano thrust his sword forward, burying it right in its neck. His hand wasn’t able to keep gripping it, and it was wrenched from him.

They jumped on him as wolves on a deer. They crowded on him, covering the light.

Arakano was a warrior. Arakano had fought his way through ice and hunger. Arakano was a Prince of the house of Finwe, and if he could not win, then at least he would drag as many of these things with himself as possible. Fear barely had time to grip his heart before he lounged.

He kicked and punched and bit like an animal. A creature squealed when Arakano sunk his teeth in its dirty skin, ripping it. He swung his arms blindly, trying to hit anything around him, not even feeling the pain of his fists hitting metal armor, only satisfied that he had indeed hit something.

They grabbed him, held him down into the mud. Briefly, Arakano had time to think that his siblings would cry. Findekano for sure. Turukano and Irisse always pretended they were too strong to have feelings, but Arakano knew them better. At least, he hoped, they would be proud of him.

Then, he only had not thoughts but to scream.

They cried, when they learnt what happened to their youngest brother. Just not upon his body. Nolofinwe was the one who found him, and he did not let his other children see him. The sight, he knew, would never leave him. He did not want his children to forever see what was left of their brother in their dreams.

-

They found some refuge in the south, near the foot of the mountains. It was not a place anyone liked, but it seemed the fire from the north had momentarily forgotten about it. There was no other place to go, right now. Armies to the east and to the west, going for the Pass of Sirion and for Feanorian lands alike. There was nothing they could do but wait.

They also didn’t know who to ask for what to do.

Someone had managed to drag Lord Angrod off the battle field. The healers crowded around him, but any hope for him had been lost.

So much of his body was covered in burns it was horrific to watch. His flesh was exposed and blackened. In some places, his very bones could be seen. How was he even still alive was beyond anyone. Lord Angrod had always been known as stubborn. Too much.

He groaned something that could have been his son’s name. The healers did not answer him. There were no news yet from Minas Tirith. Under the black smoke that still covered the sky, it was hard to hold out any hope for them.

“’Ik... ro...” he groaned. Cough shook his chest, the same cough that plagued everyone, their lungs too full of ash. A rag had been laid upon his eyes, if only to spare the healers the sight of what the fire had done to them. Not that the rest of his face was a less gruesome sight.

“The Lord Aegnor is surely alright,” an healer told him, once she understood the sounds were an attempt to saying Aikanaro’s name.

Another healer glared at her. They all knew what had happened to their Lord’s brother. She shook his glare off. She was a healer. Her job was to ease suffering. There was nothing but death that could ease Lord Angrod’s agony, but at least she could comfort his spirit.

He would see his brother soon enough, anyways. With luck, he would not pass the night.

-

Turin would come.

That was what Finduilas kept repeating herself. He’d come. He’d save them. She had to cling to that thought. He would find them. He would-

The Orcs were getting restless. Finduilas didn’t understand their horrid language, but she saw how unsettled they were. They kept looking behind themselves, as if expecting something to jump them.

Finduilas wasn’t sure where they were. They seemed to be by a river, but she could not be entirely sure of which one. The Taeglin, perhaps? They had been taking detours through the forests, she was entirely lost. She tried to think of who lived in these lands - mortals, mainly, if some of them were hunting the Orcs it would explain their nervousness.

Would Turin know anyone here? Finduilas knew very little of his past before Nargothrond. Perhaps he had friends. Perhaps soon they would reach them. Finduilas tried to strain herself, but she heard nothing. She could not even turn properly to look, bound as she was.

An Orc - a sentinel - burst through the trees, shouting. Whatever he said, it put all the other Orcs on edge immediately. They got up, hands to their weapons.

The other prisoners looked at them with terrified eyes.

“Worry not,” Finduilas whispered. “I think someone is chasing us. We may yet be saved.”

“What are you yapping about?” an Orc shouted. She stood in front of Finduilas, baring her fangs to her.

Finduilas kept silent. She looked at her in the eyes, and said nothing.

“The prisoners are slowing us down,” another Orc said.

There was a general agreement between them. Finduilas’s heart jumped. Then they were being chased, after all. There still was hope.

“She is the princess, is she not?” an Orc asked, pointing at her.

Grunts of agreement.

Suddenly, Finduilas was grabbed and dragged to her feet. Fear cursed through her, but she repressed it. She could not let herself be afraid. She would keep hoping.

She did not quite feel pain. Only a strange, bizarre pressure to her chest. The Orc had moved so fast. She had not expected him to raise his spear. Even as she looked down and saw it embedded in her chest, she struggled to understand its presence.

Perhaps there would be a way to take it out.

Perhaps Finduilas should be named Princess of Futile Hopes.

-

Feet moved around in his field of vision. Caranthir’s eyes stared ahead, fixed on the silver hair just some paces ahead of him.

He pressed his own hand to his throat. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. That was how Caranthir had been told to treat open wounds. Never had he thought he would be doing it to his own neck, trying to keep himself from bleeding out on the floor of Menegroth.

He had reached the throne room just in time to see Celegorm fall. Caranthir had attempted to make his way to him, and everything he had gotten in exchange was a sword he was not able to avoid. All he could do now was bleed out, as Celegorm without doubt already had. Useless.

Given the way his ears were ringing, he wasn’t being too good about keeping his blood in.

Someone stumbled on his legs. Caranthir hoped they were a Sinda. He hated them all, right now. He had not hated them when he had come here, ready to force Dior’s hand. Now he did. Celegorm was right in front of him, lying face down, fallen by a Sinda’s sword.

He couldn’t say Celegorm had ever been his favorite brother. But he was Caranthir’s brother nonetheless. His big brother. Who used to pick Caranthir up as a child and put him on his shoulders. Who was stubborn, and reckless, and impulsive, and somehow had always seemed impossible to harm.

Tears pooled in Caranthir’s eyes. Usually, he would rather be caught dead than seen crying. He had a reputation to uphold. Now he did not have the strength to hold it back.

He was losing the struggle to stay awake. He clung to awareness, but it was sleeping between his fingers together with his blood.

Where were Maedhros and Maglor? Were they not heading here too?

Tears pooled under his face. He wanted to see them. He didn’t want the last things his eyes saw to be Celegorm’s body.

He wanted his big brothers to hold him, and lie to him, tell him everything would be fine.

What a foolish, useless wish.

-

Were the Valar merciful, a stone would have struck Turgon’s head, and killed him immediately.

The Valar, it seemed, were not. Or perhaps it was Turgon who was being given special treatment.

It would not be long. He did not feel anything in his lower body. He could not seem to draw his breath in. Part of what had once been his tower was pressing heavy on his chest. Was this gurgling sound his blood in his lungs?

What a fool he’d been, hoping that Gondolin may hold. He should have listened to Ulmo.

So many things he should have done. He should have protected his sister better. He should have been closer to his nephew, help him through whatever led him to this. There were so many things he wished he could have told his daughter, his son-in-law. His grandson, and may Eru make it so that the child was saved.

Such a great King, such a great kingdom. And now, in the end, only him and his regrets.

As his fea was squeezed from his body, he wondered if this was what it felt like to drown. Buried in rock and not water, but was the principle of the thing not the same? Darkness, no air, and no one to comfort you as you died.

Perhaps this was his penance for not having been faster in saving Elenwe.

[inkribbon796]

In Propria Persona

Summary: Logan’s not usually a revenge-type person, but he feels in the mood for some good old fashioned revenge.

A/N: For Logan’s birthday. The title is Latin for: “in one’s own person” and I felt it was fitting for Logan.

Logan was good at information sorting, he’s not so good at this feelings thing. He could manage finances, take care of the Light Sides’ schedules, run advanced battle simulations, and even perform repair work on Bing and Oliver.

But it seems the one thing he couldn’t do was treat his own insomnia. He needed help for a lot of things, and just talking about his issues with the other Sides wasn’t doing enough. Logan felt less inclined to share the same night terrors, the same fears. Even though he knew talking about them helped, and he knew they were eager to listen.

It was a frustrating rut, and Logan felt like his mind was at war with itself. He eventually decided that he needed outside help. After a couple weeks, Iplier had helped find one for him.

Virgil and Eric had both gone to see her on different occasions and Logan and Dr. Iplier had decided that she might be a good fit for Logan as well, and if not they could look for other options after that.

Her name was Amaya Williams.

Logan’s first appointment wasn’t as helpful as it probably could have been. He left the room feeling like he’d been complaining more than trying to work towards improving his own mental health.

Still, Logan decided he wanted to keep trying and getting to test insomnia medication. In the end he wound up with Virgil’s old insomnia medication which didn’t stop the nightmares so much as keep him from remembering his dreams. But he got sleep, he was at least a little less tired.

It might now be the best fit but it was the first thing that had worked in months.

It took at least three months for Logan to realize he wasn’t just “complaining”. He was avoiding the conversation wholesale. The thought of almost dying at the hands of a cannibal. Logan’s personal figurative boogeyman.

Logan hadn’t realized that much damage had been done to him, and that bothered him more than anything. He was unsure if it was the proximity to his own death, which if not for Janus and Virgil, he would have certainly died a very painful and gruesome death; or if it was the fact he was blinded before Dark had placed him in that room with his cannibal demon child.

Talking about Bim and that night was much harder than Logan thought it would have been. Even saying his name took a lot out of him. It was shocking, and then infuriating. Logan told his therapist as much, that he was angry and frustrated and he should be above this.

Logan was reassured that it was more than a normal reaction, the fear and the frustration. He had been attacked and his brain was reacting the way hundreds of thousands of people reacted to trauma.

While comforting every once in a while it didn’t alleviate the frustration. His first step really was to try and make the treat feel lessened, at least in his mind. Bim was still a danger to everything that breathed around him, he was a cannibal. He — Bim — deserved nothing more than to rot in prison, away from people.

Then braver Logan got about Bim, the more brazen he became. That Dark still had enough of this city dancing to his corrupt beat to keep Wil, and his children out of prison. The police were obviously afraid of Bim. Something about Bim made people afraid of him.

But Logan was angry and he refused to bow to that fear. It had taken hold of him for too long. And Logan knew this was a dangerous undertaking, but it had to be done. If he could put Bim in jail he would sleep easier, he just knew he would. If he could beat him, he surely would have nothing to fear. Bim would be beatable, depowered, and while still a threat he was not worth being afraid of.

His logic was sound.

But as he would learn shortly, also flawed.

From his undercover work, Logan knew a bit about how Bim hunted, what he liked to hunt. He was a serial killer, kidnapping co-eds and transients and then killing and eating them. Dark had no interest in stopping Bim, in fact he fed the monster that he and Wil coddled like a child.

His notes also gave him a pattern, times when Bim would be more likely to feed again, to hunt some unsuspecting soul. After a couple failed attempts to find him, Logan got lucky, and had of course signaled for backup. There were too many variables not to come without Abe or someone else’s assistance.

Bim was walking next to someone about his age. They looked drunk or high out of their mind, and Bim was doing most of the talking.

It was easy for Logan to shoot a bolt to push the person out of Bim’s hands. Bim reacted as any other predator would to another disturbing his prey. He turned and glared at Logan, hissing at him.

“Do I know you?” Bim hissed, a flash of recognition in his glowing eyes that caught the moonlight like a wild creature, reminding Logan that they’d never met while Logan was in his Logan outfit.

“Not in this costume,” Logan told him flatly, a pit forming in his gut at the sight of Bim again. “I am Logic.”

“Right one ‘a their brainiacs, that’s right, you do have the visor,” Bim recognized, then he pointed at the unconscious person on the ground. “You want to apologize to my friend, pretty sure you guys aren’t allowed to shoot people.”

Logic wanted to say something confident and reassuring but for a couple seconds words got caught in his throat. He cleared it and managed to speak.

“Bim William Trimmer, you are under arrest for the deaths of 65 people, a number that grows by the week and is a pale reflection of the death toll you have wrought over your life,” Logan told him, starting to read him his rights.

“Buddy I’m not going back to that cell,” Bim flashed his teeth, they looked sharper than they should be. He was slowly reaching for the unconscious person and another hand going for his black suit jacket. “So go and fuck off and leave me be.”

Then the body suddenly shot away and disappeared, Bim’s pupils dilated when he realized his quarry had been taken from him and almost disappeared into thin air. Bim let out a cry that locked Logan’s legs and muscles in a distant memory, the half human gripped his lapel in reflex and suddenly a portal opened up behind Bim and gore hand that buzzed with Dark’s red and blue aura appeared and quickly yanked Bim through the portal, protectively encasing him in his aura as Bim screamed in rage and tried to break through.

It took a second or two but Bim was gone and Logan didn’t realize he was shaking until a hand came towards his arm and Logan jumped when he saw it coming towards him before he realized who it was.

Roman had his hand a couple inches from Logan, and pulled a bit further away when he saw his boyfriend jump. His mouth was moving and Logan realized he was talking but it took a second to realize it was his name.

“Logic?” Roman’s voice finally sounded in his ear. “Hey, pocket protector, it’s us, you’re safe now.”

“R— Princey?” Logan recognized.

“Yeah,” Roman smiled, looking relieved.

“You okay?” Silver asked, Crank suddenly appeared out of thin air beside him, Silver was carrying the currently unconscious almost-victim.

Logan nodded, “I may have overestimated my ability to fight him. He is more inhuman than he appears.”

“Yah think?” Roman reminded, touching his forehead to Logan’s. “I applaud bravery, but if he had grievously injured you I don’t think I could handle the shock.”

“I would like to go home,” Logan decided, “and rethink my next approach.”

“And how about you leave the overdramatics to me, my dear,” Roman asked him, smiling.

Logan nodded, but promising that next time, he would best him. He didn’t know when but he’d make it his life’s mission to not let Bim kill another soul again.