#i was implying in some of the earlier works to explore it as a concept but w this particular relationship

[watcher-wilds]

Changing the beginning of my story for the 76th time

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Happy Sunday, my Darlings! I have a new Feyd-Rautha/Reader chapter up! (18+ Only)

Tags for this chapter: arranged marriage; dubious consent; breeding kink; overstimulation; blood kink; period sex; pain kink; oral sex (m+ and f+ receiving); vaginal sex; Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning; problematic smut; slow emotional burn; Feyd-Rautha having the most insane recovery period; discussions of pregnancy; implied/referenced past abuse; implied/referenced self-harm

Tags and notes for this story overall and full chapter below the cut. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged when I update!

CW for the entire fic: arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced incest; sadomasochism; pain kink; rough sex; problematic smut; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; oral sex; blood kink; breeding kink; orgasm denial; eventual switching

Just as a note: this fic was going to be a lot shorter and completely plotless but that was 40k words ago and there's no end in sight, so I'm going to make some minor edits and rewrites to earlier chapters, but this story will end up factoring into the greater plot of the story.

Chapter Five: Playin' with Fire Burns a Little Bit

He keeps his word.  It’s still somewhat dark outside when you wake to a hard cock against your backside and an arm wrapped around you, and you remember where you are and what happened.

Your ass doesn’t sting as much as it did last night; the more pressing matter is that Feyd-Rautha’s cock is slotted against the small of your back, just over the slope of your backside, and his arm that’s been looped around your ribcage is moving.  His palm presses against your stomach.  You give a soft grunt as you shift in his grasp and he raises himself up on his opposite elbow to get a good look at your face and your now-opened eyes.

“You’re awake,” he notes, voice even rougher first thing in the morning, and with that information decides to slide his hand from your ribcage to your crotch.  

“You really meant it when you said first thing ,” you say, still drowsy, voice still laced with sleep.

“I have a busy schedule,” he says, rubbing down and sliding his fingertips along your slit before giving a quiet hmm as if to say, ‘ Not quite wet enough yet.  Unfortunate .���  So he keeps circling your bud, nuzzling against your neck and jaw as you start to warm up, your breaths getting shorter.

When he wrings your first gasp out of you, he brings his fingertips back to your slit and gets the affirmation he wants that he’s getting you wet, enough that he can commence with his actual plans for you. In any case, you’re wide awake now.

You remind yourself that this isn’t the most depraved thing you’ve heard of on Geidi Prime.  You don’t have to remind yourself that even as off-putting a concept it is, it felt great last night.

He turns you on your back and wastes no further time bringing his head between your legs.  He takes just a moment to smell the blood between your thighs before he’s alternating between licking over you, wriggling his tongue inside of you, and suckling at your bud.

This time your hands are free to explore, to press against the back of his neck and scratch along his shoulders and biceps, to cup your own breasts to add to the stimulation until he covers them with his own.

He’s good at this , you realize, head falling back against the covers, hips arching up, and you have no frame of reference, no comparison for this, so it’s just a feeling.  You’re pretty sure he likes this, likes the way you taste perhaps in part because of the blood coming out of you, and you’re willing to set aside how morbid that is if he keeps this up.  You pant and moan, unconsciously grinding against his mouth and he lets you, lets you grip the back of his head as your breath comes in harsh and your entire body flushes hot.  You couldn’t form a coherent sentence if your life depended on it.

Your whimpers turn into a warning, one that he ignores as he keeps going, pulling back only to spit on his thumb and bring it to your bud as he presses his tongue back inside of you.  He doesn’t let up, either, when you shake and come, trembling against his mouth.  If anything it spurs him on, giving you too much. 

You wish he had hair so you could tug on it to pull him away and give you a moment to cool down.  You’ve never just kept on going after coming and it’s too much, it’s too intense.  And that, apparently, is the idea because he keeps your hips pulled to him, his face still buried in between your legs.  You groan, frustrated, knocking your head back against your pillow as your hips clench and you give another spasm.

He rocks his hips against the bed, devolving into grunts and moans against your sensitive skin, like this might be what sends him over the edge, too.  Not that you realize it yet but he actually could.  If he chose to, he could let the friction between his cock and the sheets below him get him there.  But that would be a waste of his seed that he’s bent on spilling inside of you.

So after a minute he pulls away so he can sit up and flip you onto your stomach, pulls you up by your hips, and takes a moment to look at the remnants of the damage he did last night.  It must be still sufficiently red and look as tender as it feels because he wastes no time squeezing the cheeks of your ass, probably smirking at your responding pained whine.

He chose this position on purpose, you realize.  You’re still sore from last night, and you’ll feel the sting of his hips slapping against your ass, especially at the punishing pace he often sets.  Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he quickly, wordlessly, assures you this morning’s no different.

When he makes a ponytail out of your hair and tugs, spurred on by the noises you’re making, you wonder about the collars in the armoire.  Are those because women on Geidi Prime don’t have hair to pull? Or will he use those collars on you, too?

He starts talking; a little unusual for him, since he doesn’t normally talk while he’s inside of you, but the words spill out of his chest in his gravely timbre. You just have no idea what he’s saying, it’s all guttural Harkonnen battle language that you haven’t learned yet.

You barely manage to hold your upper body upright, and you’re sure that’s mostly because of Feyd-Rautha’s grip on your hair.  He stops talking altogether and his speech devolves back into grunts and growls with each snap of his hips that almost drown out your moans and whimpers.

And then it’s done, he comes, one hand clutching your hip and the other still buried in your hair.  For a few moments he stays there, still holding you onto him as he begins to soften, then he moves his hand from your hair to your stomach, coaxing you up until your back aligns with his chest.  He breathes in, shifting his hand upwards until it curls loosely around your neck, which you turn in alarm to try and face him.  Your blood is quickly drying, tacky and dark, on his mouth as he tilts his head and presses those blood-stained lips to yours.  He only gives your neck the lightest of squeezes, a reminder of what he’s capable of but not a real threat, before moving his hand to your breast, palming it roughly.  He keeps at it, kissing and fondling every exposed part of you he can reach until he gets hard again and you gasp at the feel of it, him filling out and stiffening inside of you once more.

Is this…normal?  It can’t be, right?  You’d probably have heard about it if it was.

He’s not a normal man , you have to remind yourself.

He took you in this position a couple of nights ago, when he had you brace your hands against the headboard as he fucked you, but right now the headboard’s too far away and so you rely on him holding you onto him, one of your hands reaching behind you to grab his hip as the other rubs down against your bud, your cries high and reedy as your fingers brush so close to where he’s pistoning in and out of you.  His grunts and growls against your ear grow ragged; you half-expect him to snap his jaws and sink his teeth into your neck for the animalistic way he fucks you, like being inside of you makes him an even baser and more primitive creature.  It makes you rub harder, feeling helpless to do anything else.

He lets you come this time.

For a full minute afterwards, he holds you to him, his breath going from panting back to normal, his pulse slowing back down, before he wordlessly tilts your hips forward and coaxes you on to your front before pulling out of you.  You shut your eyes for a moment, hearing the telltale sounds of him padding over to the bathroom and take a moment to readjust yourself, shifting to lie on your side, waiting for him to come out.

When he does, his face and cock have been cleaned off and he heads for the dresser, and you’re about to get up to use the bathroom for yourself when he starts talking.

“I’ll grab you again in three hours for breakfast,” he says as he reaches into his drawers for clothes to train in.  “When you didn’t show up yesterday my uncle was concerned that I may have been too much for you and wanted to verify that you’re still in one piece.”

“Was he really?” you ask.  The best opinion the Baron seems to have of you is one of polite indifference; an adequate broodmare for the Harkonnen line.

“Harkonnen men can get overzealous,” he says.  “He wants to make sure that I’m taking care of my new bride.”

That’s one way to put it , you think, shifting again to sit on the edge of the bed.  It’s an effort, and even though the sheets are soft you can’t help but wince at the feeling of them against your well-used backside.

“Fine.  I might get an hour or two of sleep before then.”  You could certainly use it; your husband has certainly proved his stamina and energy in bed.  

He glances over at you as he reaches for a training shirt.  “I’m going to have a door installed connecting your quarters to mine.  It’ll make it easier for us to meet at night,” he says, as if it wasn’t already easy.  “Save us the trouble of having to get dressed before and afterwards.”

You could almost laugh.  It would figure that’s his reasoning.

“Alright, I’ll be up in just a second.”

You’re a little surprised he’s not openly smug about how he wears you out.  You’d almost expect him to joke about how hard it is to keep up with him, but he must realize he doesn’t have to.  The way your legs shake a little as you walk over to your discarded clothing, the way you wince as you bend over to pick them up, speak for themselves.  He does watch you, though, the rest of his clothes momentarily forgotten, as if trying to commit the sight of you to memory before you leave.

**********

You manage to get another hour’s sleep in which you quickly realize that sleeping on your back is out of the question for now.

Idrisa comes in shortly after you wake up to bring you water and coffee and prepare a bath for you.  You’re so grateful for it that you could cry, hissing as the water hits your backside.  

Idrisa peers in, concerned.  “Everything alright, Na-Baroness?” she asks.  

You look over at her.  “Would you be so kind as to get me a glass of water and one of those menstrual pain tablets?” you ask.

**********

You finish getting ready just in time for the Na-Baron to greet you in what you’ve gathered is his typical politician’s attire; black, clearly high-end and well-tailored material to show off his form.  Too formal to train in but fitted for ease of movement.  He has a holster on his thigh that holds a knife in its scabbard.

He gives you his arm for you to take; it’s almost whiplash how he oscillates between fucking you like a beast and having you on his arm like a courtly gentleman, but you accept and stroll down the hall together in silence for a moment.

He looks ahead as he says, “It’s going to be uncomfortable for you to sit down for a couple of days.”

“I figured that out earlier, but thank you,” you say.  

“He’s going to notice and he’s going to bait you.  Don’t acknowledge it.  Getting flustered will just add fuel to the fire,” he adds.

“ You like seeing my discomfort,” you tell him.

His jaw tightens.  He opens his mouth enough to run his tongue–strangely pink despite everything else being black–over his teeth before he clicks his tongue against them.  “I like it for my own amusement, not his,” he says.  

You reach the Dining Hall, with a spread being set out.  It’s already too much food for three people, but with the Baron it’s unlikely that it’ll go to waste.

You stop and curtsy as Feyd-Rautha pulls your chair out for you.

“Good morning, Baron,” you say, face downcast, waiting for him to give you a nod before you sit down.

Feyd wasn’t lying, sitting in a chair’s even worse than sitting on a bed.  You try not to shift around to get more comfortable; you just know that they’re going to notice. 

“I suppose you’re still adjusting to Geidi Prime and married life?” the Baron asks you.   You know he really means, Still adjusting to getting railed by my nephew, eh?  Can’t say I’m surprised; I’ve heard that he’s hung like a donkey.  

“Yes, Baron.  It is getting easier, though.  Everyone’s been accommodating,” you tell him as you take a sip of juice and avoid looking directly at him.  He can probably sense your dislike despite your best efforts to be polite and deferential.  He probably doesn’t care.  He probably likes that you have to simper and fawn over how gracious he is when you wish you never had to speak to him.

“The relaxation chambers are still at your disposal, if you’ve changed your mind,” he says.

“Thank you, Baron, that’s an excellent idea.”  And it is, much as you hate to admit it.  All that worries you is the idea of anyone but you, Feyd, and Idrisa knowing that there’s no way that you’re pregnant yet.  You’ll have to investigate first and see how bad the risk is of exposure.  If word got back to the Baron…you’re certain he would be less thrilled than his nephew.

Conversation quickly turns to Arrakis. Since regaining it from the house of Atreides Rabban apparently has been struggling to overpower Fremen rebels.  You’re a little taken aback that they’d be willing to discuss this in front of you and realize that it’s because you have no one to talk to about this anyways.  The Atreides have been all but exterminated, not that you really knew any of them in the first place.  Even Father was shocked to see how swiftly they met their end when it happened.

The Fremen, it turns out, are another story.  It’s not a surprise that they can match the Harkonnens in brutality; they’re the only ones who inhabit a planet just as hostile and unforgiving as Geidi Prime and they’ve found ways to adapt to Arrakis that the Harkonnens haven’t needed to before.

“We’re going to need to train our men harder,” Feyd-Rautha says.  “We’ve allowed ourselves to get complacent when we can’t afford to.  The Sardaukar army helped us win back Arrakis; we need to hold ourselves to their standards.  Until then, Rabban needs to stop trying to ply his ego with direct combat and use aerial strikes instead.”

The Baron looks up from his food and sits back for a moment, considering his nephew’s words with a small smile.  See, this is why you’re my successor and not him, he seems to think, even when their conversation leads elsewhere.  It’s the look of a man who’s playing a game he has yet to reveal, and it sticks with you for the remainder of breakfast.

What else does he have planned for his nephew?

******

Feyd-Rautha walks with you out of the Dining Hall, still playing the courtly married man, taking your hand on his arm as you pass slaves and soldiers alike who lower their heads in deference.  It’s going to take some getting used to.  He apparently has a meeting to attend, though, as he escorts you back to your quarters.

“I’ll see you this evening,” he says, with no need for innuendo.

And so it continues for a few days.  At night he takes you into his own bedchambers, tastes you until you nearly weep from the overstimulation, fucks you until you’re sore and shaking, sleeps with you, and wakes you up early the next morning to do it all again before he leaves to train.  You save your energy during the day by staying more sedentary than you’re used to, remaining in the library or your quarters and listening to recorded lessons of basic Harkonnen words and phrases.  Your pronunciation when you try to mimic the guttural tones is laughable, but you put in an effort.  You’ll save the relaxation chambers for when you start training.

The fourth night, before he buries his face between your legs, he has you do the same to him; has you kneel as he sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his cock into the confines of your mouth.

“ You’ll learn to take everything, ” he tells you, one hand buried in your hair as he pushes you down farther than you’ve managed before, until tears spill out of the corners of your eyes and the noises your mouth makes around him sound utterly obscene.  He lets you brace your hands on his legs and it’s between then and when he pulls you off of him to bring you up into bed that you notice something.  The scars on his inner thigh have an uneven mirror; there are scars on his other thigh, as well, along an invisible inseam, but they don’t match.  Those other scars look shorter and like they run deeper.  It’s yet another question you’re sure you won’t get to ask anytime soon.  Before he devours you, though, he cups your chin in his hand and looks over your tear-stained cheeks and lips puffy from sucking his cock with unrestrained lust.  

“What is it about me like this, husband?” you ask, after it’s done and he’s come inside of you.  You’re both naked, sprawled, and spent in his bed.  The blood’s been lighter and lighter and soon you imagine these visits will go back to just the evenings.  “Do you only like tasting women when we’re like this?”

He looks over at you and draws one arm behind his head.  “Not only then,” he says.  “But I like enjoying something other men are too weak to even attempt.”

You wait for him to continue his explanation, but he doesn’t.  You’ve been continuously worn out and sore since your wedding night, but there’s something pleasant in your ache. Perhaps it’s just your body getting used to being thoroughly debauched on a regular basis for the first time in your life, but there’s also a part of you that’s starting to enjoy it.   

“It’s time,” he adds.  “To start training you.  It can’t last long so it will have to be comprehensive.”  

“I already have training,” you tell him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says.  “Tomorrow morning.”

You consider this.  “Fine.  Do I sleep here tonight or in my room?”

He gives it a moment’s thought.  “Yours.”

You’ve been sleeping with him the past four nights; you suppose it had to end eventually.  You’re surprised at how easy it was to fall asleep next to him even with the early mornings.

“Now?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation as business-like as possible.  It’s just easier that way; to shut off any impression that you want intimacy from him that he simply can’t provide.  You’re pretty sure it’s impossible for him.

He looks over at you, considering.  “In a few minutes,” he decides.  “I’m not sure if I want to go again tonight or not.”

As it turns out, he doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from glancing over at you a few times, his eyes-half-lidded as his gaze goes up and down the length of your body.  When you meet his gaze he looks back at you as if to say, What?  Am I not allowed to look at my own wife?

He finally tells you what hour he wants you up.  “Get a good night’s rest,” he adds.  “You’ll need it.”

He sits up to watch you as you rise from bed, padding naked over to his dresser.  He stares unapologetically at your form as you get dressed and leave for your quarters.  Construction for the door connecting your bathroom to his is almost complete, and soon you won’t need to leave your quarters to meet him in his.

********

Idrisa wakes you up early.

“My apologies, my Lady, but the Na-Baron wants you to meet him in the Training Halls before breakfast,” she says, holding a pair of flat boots and a couple of other garments in her arms.  “He has this for you to wear,” she adds, setting the boots on the floor and everything else on the dresser.  “Your coffee is on the desk.  He’s given you half an hour to get ready and wants you to bring your dagger.”

You blink, trying to take in what she’s saying before rubbing the heel of your palm against your eyelid.  Right.  The training.

“Would you like any assistance, or would you like me to wait by the door?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, wondering for a moment if Feyd-Rautha was preparing you to get up this early for the past few days knowing that you’d be training with him.

Probably not.  I think he just wanted to fuck in the mornings too .

You sip your coffee before plaiting your hair and taking a look at the clothes your new husband wants you to wear.

It's a practical training outfit; you're pretty sure that Geidi Prime doesn't make training clothes for women, and that he had this commissioned for you given that it fits better, especially in the hips, than you expected.  Women on Geidi Prime don’t serve in combat, much like your own planet and if there’s any formal training for women you haven’t heard about it yet.

You manage to make it to the Training Halls in time but still not feeling fully awake.

Feyd-Rautha senses you from the moment you enter, even at the farthest end of the room.  It occurs to you that you haven’t seen him in something as innocuous as training gear yet; simple trousers and boots, a fitted but breathable black shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders, a holster strapped to his thigh.  If it weren’t for his bearing he could almost blend into his surroundings.

“Good morning, Na-Baron,” you tell him with a polite incline of your head, figuring that his most formal title would be best to address him in front of the very men he’s meant to lead.  You imagine that you make an unusual match for him as it is given how unambiguously foreign you are.

“Good, you’re here,” he says.  His tone is casual, light; in front of his men, you may as well be an acquaintance.  “We have a lot to cover, but today my main agenda today is to see your skill level as it is now.  When we first met you said you were out of practice.  How long has it been since you’ve sparred?”

You try to think.  “It’s been about eight months since I’ve done anything,” you admit.  

“And when did you start?” he asks.

“Age fifteen,” you tell him.

“And how often would you train?” he asks.

“About an hour, two or three times a week,” you tell him.

He looks both unsurprised and unimpressed with this new information.  Instead he takes a small, black device from the waistband of his pants and holds it up.  “Have you used one of these before?”  You immediately recognize it as a shield activator.

“I have, Na-Baron,” you tell him.  “During fighting lessons.”        

“Good.  You’ll be using one for all of our sessions, just in case.” He hands it over to you to clip onto your own waistband before he signals to another man who’s slight of build and several inches shorter than him.  The man strides over to you and lowers his head in deference.

“Na-Baroness,” he says.

“This is Korvo,” Feyd-Rautha says.  “He’ll make a suitable opponent,” he says, looking you both over as if to confirm that the two of you are in a similar enough weight class.  “Which are you more familiar with?  Knife or dagger?”

“I would say the dagger,” you tell him.  

“Then I’ll start you off with the knife,” he says.  “Start with mid-range fighting and work from there.”

“Alright,” you say, looking over at Korvo, who finally raises his head to look you in the eye.  They’re dark brown; there’s a scar along where one of his eyebrows would be.  His expression is entirely neutral; if he has a single opinion about you, you’d have no idea.  It’s been a week since the wedding and you still don’t know how any of Harkonnen's subjects feel about you.

Feyd-Rautha pulls a knife from one of many lining the walls and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the handle.  He releases it immediately, watching you adjust it in your hand.

“How’s the grip?” he prompts.

“Fine, thank you,” you tell him, glancing over at him before he steps back to a safe distance, and turning your attention back to your opponent as you turn on your shields and settle into position.  Korvo does the same, staying still until you both hear Feyd-Rautha’s voice give the simple command, “ Go. ”

You circle each other, and you try to remember your footwork, trying not to cross one leg in front of the other, keeping your stance guarded.

Korvo waits, letting you get nervous as you keep expecting him to make the first move.  He makes no offense until you finally think, Oh, get on with it, and lunge first.

For a minute Korvo seems to let you get reacquainted with the practice; one of you strikes, the other blocks, still circling each other.  You remember to play to your strengths, which you’ve been told is your form and your flexibility.

So far so good, you think as you block a blow to your shoulder.  Then he sweeps his leg, nearly tripping you, and you realize that you haven’t been paying enough attention to his footwork, too preoccupied with his upper body.  You startle and recover, regaining your balance just in time for him to swipe, and he’s closer than you realized.  When did he get this close?

Too fast! you think, gasping as you try to lean back, as Korvo’s knife swipes just under your breasts, your ribcage protected only by your shield that reverberates with the resistance so hard that your teeth chatter.

“One,” Feyd-Rautha says.  He sounds like he’s moving to get a better view as you and Korvo progress.  You try to tune him out, inhaling sharply, before finding an opening at your opponent’s left side and lunging.

You’re proud of yourself for about two seconds in which your knife meets Korvo’s shield, even as the humming of it reverberates in your bones.  Korvo counters with a knock of his forearm against yours with a force that knocks you off balance again before you realize that he’d been holding back.  There’s a mechanical coldness in his eyes as he moves.  You can only counter and have no time to lunge or attack, just trying to keep up with the barrage of swipes as he gains on you, forcing you back, before he lunges.

You stumble and trip, falling flat on your ass and in the blink of an eye Korvo’s on top of you, his blade at your heart, and you scream.

Were it not for your shield you’d be dead , you think as you stare, panting and wide-eyed up at the man who’s far more lethal than his appearance would suggest.

He immediately withdraws the knife.  “Na-Baroness,” he says, tone apologetic, as he offers you a hand to guide you up.  You’re just glad you fell on the flesh of your backside and not your tailbone.  You hadn’t realized it was happening, too caught up in your work with Korvo, but people are watching you.

Of course people are watching; you’re new, you’re unfamiliar, and you’re the future Baroness.  You sense their gazes on you but you ignore the embarrassed flush and turn to look over at Feyd-Rautha.  It’s been a while since you’ve practiced this, and longer still since you felt so out of your depth.  

He considers you, head tilted, arms crossed, as he looks between you and Korvo.  Finally he speaks, stepping in closer to you both.  “Alright, you have some decent baseline form and technique but you still need to reacquaint yourself, especially with speed and footwork.  Korvo will continue to train you.

“Speaking of which,” he turns and immediately punches the man hard in the stomach and as the man drops, raises a knee to spike him in the jaw.  You recoil at the sickening crunch.

“For scaring my wife,” he explains to the man now crumpled on the floor.

“ Was that necessary? ” you demand, voice cracking.

“He’ll be fine,” Feyd says.  “We have Healers for anything broken, and I can help you with the rest of our session today.  I’ll test out your skills with that cute little letter-opener you keep hidden in your boot.”  He grabs another shield activator from a nearby table and clips it on.  

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Korvo slowly getting up and spitting a small wad of blood onto the floor before shuffling to his feet.  An attendant quickly comes to his aid and escorts him from the Halls.  You look down, not wanting to see whatever Feyd-Rautha may have done to his mouth or jaw.

“Now I’m going to want to get an idea of where you stand with the dagger,” Feyd-Rautha says, getting your attention again, holding out his hand for you to hand over the knife, which, once he has back, he hands over to another attendant to set amongst the others.

“Let’s see it,” he says when he turns, nodding at your boot.

You haven’t pulled it out of its holster since your last lesson eight months ago.  You’ve been carrying it around with you more as a good-luck charm rather than a weapon since then.  You pull up your pant-leg to unclip it and draw it out.  It’s a very pretty blade, if you do say so yourself.  The handle was made with a woman’s sensibilities in mind.  Feyd-Rautha waits for you to unclip it from its holster and tilts his head when he sees it.

“Ornamental,” he says.

“Still functional,” you tell him as you hand it over and watch him twirl it in his hand and examine the blade.  It was designed specifically for you, so it’s almost baffling how deftly his larger fingers twirl it with such ease.  He looks at it as if it shares deeply guarded secrets about you before looking back at you.

"The dagger's close range," he says, as if you didn't already know.  “What were you taught about evasion and disarming techniques?” 

“In the event of an ambush, don't rely on brute strength, don't hesitate, and don't bother trying to fight honorably.  It’s not a duel; they're not looking for a fair fight, either.”

“Good.  Let’s start with disarming techniques,” he says.  “In case you’re caught unarmed or unable to reach your weapon.”

The first exercise is easier; it’s one of the first things you’ve ever learned, the way to grab his wrist and pinch the flesh of his palm.  This is familiar, and you ease back into the confidence you’d had earlier.  After a few goes of it, Feyd-Rautha watching your form, decides to move on–you have no doubt that he’ll come back to this, go faster, go meaner.  This all seems to be a diagnostic, something he can use to gauge your potential.

“Alright, you get the concept,” he says.  “Let’s move on to disarming an opponent who’s behind you.”

Fine .  You assume nothing will phase you quite as much as sparring with Korvo earlier as you get back into a neutral stance, waiting for the tell-tale signs of moving feet, but instead you feel the long, chiseled lines of your husband’s chest and stomach against your back, his free arm wrapped around your ribcage, and your own dagger at your neck.  Or rather, you feel the hum of both of your shields vibrate at the contact.

Oh.   This kind of close range .  You inhale sharply.  You don’t need to see Feyd-Rautha’s face to see the unrestrained delight in his eyes.

“Nervous?” he asks.

Exposed .  Your pulse quickens.  He hasn’t done anything, he’s fully dressed.  His hand is on your ribcage, not your breasts or between your legs, but you feel like the two of you shouldn’t be doing this with other people around.  They have their own training to get through, of course, but they’re noticing.  Even as they keep their heads down and try not to stare, they’re paying attention.  They’re probably wondering how you take the Na-Baron's cock inside of you each night. 

The vibration of his shield merging with yours doesn’t help.

You take a breath and twist in his arms before he tightens his hold.

“Sloppy work,” he says.

You would argue in your defense that your previous instructors for this weren’t men who’ve been inside of you or licked your pussy until you screamed from the nerve-shattering pleasure of it.  It’s more distracting this way.

He starts the position again, his front against your back as he presses the dagger just up against your shield, the hum of it so close to your throat it gives off an almost-purring sound.

Do you like being pressed up against me? you want to ask.

He answers before you get the chance.  “I changed my mind.  I’ll instruct your close range fighting personally.” 

You could laugh, but instead you simply reach behind you, grabbing his crotch and twisting hard–with the shield it won’t hurt him in the slightest, but you were told it was one of the most effective ways to disarm a male opponent.

He snorts and presses the tip of your dagger further against your neck.  “Should’ve known you’d go there, pet,” he murmurs in your ear.  “It’s not always a reliable technique.”

He’s aroused.  You can feel the outline of his cock straining against his trousers as it presses against you.

“Try again,” he says.

*********

Two hours later you’re worn out and beset with what you’re sure will become bruises.  So, all in all a very typical two hours with your groom.

You part ways so you can each shower, change, and reconvene for breakfast.

“Unless you’re actually sick or he’s elsewhere, my uncle wants you to attend breakfast and dinner with him as a sign of respect,” Feyd-Rautha tells you.  “But you’re free to do as you wish and go where you like during the day.”

That freedom would sound more appealing if you enjoyed going outside, but you still get short of breath easily every time you go out under that black sun, so that means more research, more time listening to language recordings, and more time re-learning everything you forgot plus everything you hadn’t realized you didn’t learn about self-defense.

But today you end up re-reading from books you brought from your old home and writing letters to each of your family members.  You write to them about learning basic battle language, about how your husband has recently taken the liberty of teaching you what he knows about self-defense to build on what you’ve already learned.  You ask them about the weather, about your friends, about how their lives have changed since you last saw them.  It feels far longer than a week.  You ask about the stars, about the natural light displays.  Your planet has a beautiful night sky.  You have to keep reminding yourself that you’ll see it again one day, even if it’s not as soon as you’d like.

Feyd-Rautha’s as polite and restrained towards you at dinner as he always is in his uncle’s presence.  During your meals together he seems detached, almost indifferent to you when you’re pretty sure he’s not.  He doesn’t show an ounce of warmth but always pulls your chair out for you and waits until you’re seated to sit down himself. 

You find that you prefer it; you don’t want the Baron to get so much of a glimpse of the carnality of your marriage and the way his nephew takes you apart with enthusiasm that’s almost frightening.  

The only indication that Feyd gives of his interest in you is when you’re both leaving the Dining Hall and he stops to mutter in your ear, “Tonight I’ll come to your chambers instead.”

You think about how he’d gotten hard during practice.  When you’re getting ready for the night’s rendezvous you wonder if he took care of it himself in the bathroom later that morning or if he decided to hold off until he could unleash his pent-up lust on you.

You get your answer when you’re in only your robe.

“Your husband, the Na-Baron,” Idrisa says, eyes downcast, as she opens the door for him.  He’s barefoot, in just a pair of trousers he quickly undoes, and it’s clear both that he’s already hard and that he’s wearing nothing underneath.  Your eyes widen.  

Idrisa’s still in the room! you want to snap at him.  She doesn’t want to see you like this!

Instead you watch as he steps out of his trousers and hands them off to Idrisa without a word or a look back at her.  She inclines her head, accepts the garment, and turns to neatly fold it and place it on top of the dresser.

“Thank you, Idrisa, you are relieved,” you tell her, and she inclines her head and leaves after a soft, ‘ Thank you, Na-Baroness .’  You drop your robe, standing beside the bed as he comes closer.  You look at each other for a moment.  He raises his browline at your wide eyes.

“Is this another test?” you ask finally.

“Just something new,” he says.  He glances towards the bed and back at you.  Go on, get in , he seems to say.

You keep your eyes on him as you slide into bed, sitting up with your hands braced behind you as you wait for him to follow, unsure what position he’ll want you in.

As it turns out, you’re exactly where he wants you.  You feel the dip of the mattress as he gets in, planting one knee in between your legs, then the other, before descending upon you.  He leans in and you lean back, letting your head hit the pillows as he braces himself above you and latches his mouth to your neck, nipping and sucking what you’re sure will be little pink and red marks that his men will notice tomorrow when you train.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for hours,” he says.  “I was nearly about to fuck you in the Training Halls during our session.”

“There were other people there,” you tell him.

“I could’ve told them to leave,” he says, in a tone that suggests he wouldn’t have cared either way.  “Next time I might.  And then I’ll pull down your pants and claim you on the floor.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to give you a rebuttal before he kisses you fiercely and you can’t help but respond in kind, as spent as you feel.  

You cry out, back arching at the first full thrust of him inside of you, and he smiles.

Oh yeah , he seems to think.  I’d make sure everyone can hear the noises I draw out of you .  He braces one arm beside your head, holds your hip with his free hand as he normally does at first when he’s taking you in this position.  He watches your face, your breasts and the movement of them as he rocks into you, his mouth open as he slides his hand from his hip to the small of your back.  And then he sits up on his haunches, taking you with him.  You gasp, a high-pitched moan spilling out of you at the change of angles.  You scramble to get your knees under you in time as he continues thrusting upwards, one arm around your back and his other hand still clutching your hip.

“Ah!” you manage, sliding down onto him.  It’s the most leverage you’ve gotten with him, making you gasp and whine as you hold onto him; it’s the most he’s really let you move and it comes instinctively.  He lets you take over the rhythm that he started as you roll your hips on top of him and clutch at his back.  

In a sense it feels almost like you’re the one fucking him, him rocking up to meet your movements and his hands on your hips encouraging you.  The heat grows faster this way, with the angle and the friction and the way he eases up and follows your pace, his harsh breath against your ear as you keep thinking about how you want to kiss him but your gasps and moans against the open air are too much for you to collect yourself enough for that.  The desperate noises that he pulls out of you, that you pull out of yourself, spill from you without thought, louder than his own grunts and growls.  You just keep moving, faster and harder, your nipples stiff and your entire body flushed as your body chases after your release.

I’m close.  I’m so close , you want to tell him if only you could speak.  Instead you find a spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and lean down to bite down as you keep grinding down on him.  That’s the moment that does it for him, and you gasp, rocking down onto him one last time as he comes within you.  Your hips jerk and stutter as you feel him painting your insides and remove your mouth from his neck with a sloppy lick and try to find your bearings.  You’re still on top of him, he’s still inside of you, you’re both panting and you wonder if he feels as close to delirious as you do.  You’re still hot, still pulsing, and give a closed-mouth whine as you squirm on top of him.  C’mon, please , you want to tell him.  I was almost there .

He presses his forehead against yours, panting against your mouth, before with a snarl he grabs your hips to hold you still and brings his thumb down to where you’re joined.  It takes only a few passes, especially when he brings his mouth just under your ear.

You come around him, shutting your eyes around the intensity and digging your nails into his shoulders; you’re starting to grow them longer for this very purpose.

He holds onto you, his forehead resting against your shoulder.  He stays inside of you as he wraps one arm around your back, uses his free hand to clutch your hip as you readjust for the second time and he lowers you back down on the bed. 

You assume that once you hit the mattress again that he’ll pull out and pull away but he doesn’t; he pulls his hand out from under you but otherwise stays where he is, buried inside of you and draping over you to rest his head against your sweat-damp collarbone.  It’s like he’s sinking into you, laying on you, still inside of you even as he’s going soft.  It feels oddly nice.  Like he’s finding a home within you.  As if the two of you are actually coupled by choice rather than mandate.  Even the weight of him on top of you feels somehow reassuring.

You absently stroke his back and wonder what he’d look like with hair.  What color would it be?  What texture?  He has long eyelashes, but there’s little else to go off of.

“Is my hair going to fall out?” you wonder aloud after a moment.  It’s a reasonable question to have; none of your body hair has grown in again, not even a hint of stubble.  

Feyd-Rautha pauses and raises himself up on one forearm to look at you properly, perhaps trying to figure out if there’s an implied insult in your question.  

“I just wonder how all of that works here,” you tell him. 

“You can’t lose something that never grows in the first place,” he says.  “People born on Geidi Prime never grow any as long as they’re living here.”

You frown as you run your fingertips along the back of his head.  “But you weren’t born on Geidi Prime, either.  I looked it up; you were born on Lankiveil.” 

“When I came here I was ordered to have everything shaved off,” he says.  “None of it ever grew back.”

You consider this, enjoying the tenderness he’s letting you show him for now.  “Is that why you have eyelashes?” you ask, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.  There’s the faint memory of freckles on his cheeks; it makes you wonder what his pigment would be on a planet with a proper sun.

“Yes.  He didn’t think removing them was necessary,” he says, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is, and his tone is clear: I don’t want to talk about my uncle while I’m still inside of you .

Fair enough.  He sinks back down, content to forget the entire conversation, and you drop it, but because this is the first time since you’ve met that you truly feel comfortable with him, you keep talking.

“What was it like on Lankiveil?” you ask him.

He gives an irritated huff.  “Why,” he says.

“Just curious,” you say.  “The climate sounds a lot like my planet.  I grew up surrounded by water, too.”

He sighs, his chest expanding.  “Then there’s not much to tell you, now is there,” he says again, voice flat.  After a moment, “Even if you were blind and deaf you could smell that you were on an ocean planet just from the salty air.  It was cold, damp, dark.”

“ Hmmm .”  There are so many questions you want to ask.  Did you like it, though? What did you like about it?  Have you ever missed it?  Were you happy back then?  Did you love the family you’ve lost?  Have you ever tried going back?  You won’t ask them, not anytime soon and potentially not ever.  “It’s not a smell you ever think you’ll miss,” you say instead, both hands absently stroking his back and shoulders in no particular pattern.

“Didn’t say I missed it,” Feyd says immediately.

“I do, though.”   You already miss the sounds of the ocean crashing against the rocks and stormy sunsets over the rolling tide.  Geidi Prime has nothing.  It’s a wasteland devoid of life, devoid of seasons.  You try not to think about that, and instead the new information Feyd-Rautha’s given you.

Your children will be hairless .  You’d implicitly assumed, but it paints a more vivid picture of what to expect.

“You miss home already?” he asks.

Of course I do.  Geidi Prime's atmosphere is overwhelming and you're far away from your family.  Idrisa’s the only friend you've made and she's obligated to spend time with you.  Of course I'd rather be home than here.

But you're not about to tell him that right now, not while you’re the closest thing to content that you’ve felt since you landed.  “It’s just what I’m familiar with,” you tell him.  “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

He finally slides out of you as he raises his head again, and you can’t place his expression, but you’re struck with a thought as you bring one hand to his face.

I really want to kiss you right now.

You almost do, and maybe he can see it in your face.  You’re not sure how you’re looking at him but he blinks, looking at first your eyes and then your lips, and before you can lean up he gets up, slides out of bed, and pads over to your bathroom.  You turn to your side to watch him go, to see his shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, the slope of his ass, and those long legs and how even when soft his cock hangs between them.  Tomorrow construction will be complete and your quarters will be connected to his.

Given his abrupt departure to the bathroom, when he returns you expect him to pull on his trousers and leave, but instead he slides back into bed alongside you without a word.

He settles for a moment, turning to face you.  He seems thoughtful for a moment.

“Even with the protections you have, it would reflect poorly on me and the Fortress if we had you training while you’re showing, if you’re not pregnant already,” he says.

“I’m no Bene Gesserit,” you tell him.  “I can’t tell if I’m pregnant yet, can’t control or predict the sex of the baby–”

“I wouldn’t want a Bene Gesserit wife,” he says.  “I can barely tolerate them as is.  That’s not the point.  We train you as well as we can for the limited time you have.

“But while we're talking about the Bene Gesserit, they will be visiting in three weeks for my birthday.  They'll be able to sniff out right away if you're pregnant or not.”

“Given the rate that we’ve been going, that won’t be an issue,” you tell him.

He looks down at your stomach, as if picturing how soon it’s going to swell with his progeny.  “Training to be a warrior starts early,” he says.  “I was seven when I began and that was later than normal, so I had to work harder than the others to make up for lost time.

“This is not an easy planet to grow up on, so the training is necessary.  Especially with Arrakis.  We’ve been in conflict for decades and it’s only gotten more severe.”

“Spice production isn’t your only means of industry,” you tell him.  What Geidi Prime lacks in vegetation it makes up for in fuel and minerals that get heavily mined.

“Maybe not, but it’s our most lucrative, and until we find a different planet with as much spice as Arrakis, we won’t end our occupation there.  In any case, we need to remind the Fremen of our might.  I want to build my troops to be the most powerful in the universe.  That’s what our children are meant to inherit.  That’s what I want to lead and for our son to take over after I’m gone.”

After I’m gone .  

 Within ten minutes he takes you again, against your headboard as he holds you up, hands under your ass and your legs wrapped around his hips.  He mounts you like you’re an animal he killed for sport and hung up on his wall as he murmurs something in Harkonnen battle language against your neck and all you can make out are my woman and something about his semen.  He controls the pace this time, fucking you up the length of the headboard as you hold onto him, moaning and panting.

Afterwards you lay side by side, and you look over at him as he starts to doze off, one arm across his ribcage, the other behind his head, one leg bent at the side.  His lashes flutter closed.  He looks peaceful.  He'd be blond, you realize.  His lashes are fair so his hair would be some shade of blond.  Or rather, he was blond, once.

Perhaps he’d be too beautiful with hair and a normal mouth, you think.  Maybe the strange appearance is another layer of armor.  The teeth certainly are; he must dye them with some kind of charcoal.  

“What,” he says again, his tone annoyed even as he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Nothing,” you say simply, and turn away.  When you’ve slept together it’s been with his chest against your back.  Neither of you have discussed it, but you both seem to prefer it.

As you drift off you picture a version of him with more pigmentation; sun-kissed skin sprinkled with more freckles; wavy blond hair and tawny eyebrows, a white-toothed smile.  A version of him almost too pretty to look at, in a life he was never going to have.

**********

You wake up as the early morning trickles in a sickly gray from the window.

Feyd’s turned away from you at some point during the night and it registers as odd, not having the already-familiar sensation of the warmth of his body against your back and his cock nestled against you.  You blink, turning around, and seeing that his back is turned towards you.  For some reason his scars look worse in the morning light.  Your pink little scratches and bite-marks will fade soon and be replaced by others; the lash-marks will probably never go away.

You reach out, fingertips skimming his back.  The unmarred skin is so soft, stretched over the sinewy muscle, that the raised skin of his scars feels like a road map of what he’s quick to endure.  You wonder about the scars along his inner thighs, if he’d let you touch them.  You think about how you’d like to, how you’d like to explore more of his body as you trail your fingertips along the deepest and ugliest of his lesions.

No sooner do you think that then you can sense Feyd waking and turning to face you in an instant.  It takes you by shock, barely able to comprehend what’s happening, as he grabs your wrist in a vice.

His pale eyes look silver; his nostrils flare, his jaw clenched.  For a moment it’s like he doesn’t see you.

You want to pull back but he holds onto your wrist–for a moment you worry that he’ll squeeze tighter and shatter the delicate bones.  The two of you stare, caught in silence.  Then he blinks and seems to take in the fear and confusion in your eyes, and whatever he saw wasn’t you, not with the recognition sinking in.  He releases your wrist, looks away, and rolls in the opposite direction of you.

“What are you–?” you start, stunned.  You feel utter whiplash from the difference a few seconds could make, unsure exactly what you did.

He gets up without a word.  He doesn’t look back at you as he pulls on his trousers. 

“What did I do?” you ask him.

He pauses, starts to look back, and turns his head back to the door and leaves.  You stare after the door once he’s shut it behind him, wondering what happened.

You don’t go back to sleep.  You lay in bed for the hours it takes for light to more prominently trickle in.

Not that he said it out loud, but you think you just got confirmation for how he got those scars.

Tags: @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai

[eddiediaaz]

hellooooo! i read a lot of buck/eddie fics, literally everyday, and earlier this december i thought "why not share some of my favorites that i have read this month?" so here we are! i couldn't include everything i've read and enjoyed, the list would be really long. but i've picked a few fanfics that i've read (for the first time) in december that were really huge favorites and stayed with me for a little while these past days/weeks. i will try to make these on a monthly basis, because fanfic authors deserve all of the recognition! oh, and happy new year!

both blades and branch by @cal-daisies-and-briars 62k | mature | canon divergence | completed: december 2023

The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

this fic is absolutely incredible. i couldn't put it down once i started. it's extremely well written and brilliantly planned out. the angst is heavy but so is the reward: this is an amazing story. easily an all-time favorite!

my blood on your skin (my rose on your snow) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels 80k | explicit | alternate universe | posted: october 2023

When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies.

another exquisite fic from this author. they never miss!! this one explores a dynamic i don't read that often (sub eddie) but it works SO well here. extremely well done, as usual. i also absolutely love this buck here.

burn a bridge, learn how to swim [series] by watermelonshorts 34k | mature/explicit | canon verse | completed: july 2021

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

they are GIANT disasters in here! really loved the humoristic tone of this whole thing. i just wanna shake them and yell learn how to communicate properly damn it!

dead reckoning by euadnes 28k | mature | canon verse | posted: december 2022

In which a tragedy on the edge of a firestorm leaves part of the 118 stranded and struggling to survive in the wilderness. Left entirely to their own devices, the survivors fight to come home, alive.

buck, eddie, and ravi survive a plane crash, and it's amazing. incredibly well written, i was hooked from the very start and couldn't put it down until i was done.

here comes the jackpot question in advance by @lamardeuse 4k | teen+ | canon verse | posted: december 2023

Buck is determined to start the new year right.

this is very very very cute!!! i always love a cute holiday themed get together story. as always, this author nailed the characterization!

being eddie by @cal-daisies-and-briars 79k | teen+ | canon divergence | completed: august 2023

When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica

incredible concept!!! all the moments chosen for eddie to revisit are perfect and make so much sense for his character. this was such a great read and an absolutely amazing character exploration fic.

a blaze in the dark by @woodchoc-magnum 117k | explicit | canon verse | published: december 2023

Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

okay so i literally read this in one sitting and went to bed at 7am to finish it. i couldn't put it down. the angst is SO good and frustrating and delicious and painful. but the payoff is so worth it!! this is really really really good. i loved all the dynamics, especially eddie and karen's friendship.

[umemiyan]

ROBIN!!! im absolutely in LOVE with postmortem/postpartum, its such a good fic and its so refreshing honestly to see such a creative, interesting concept be explored especially with so much care and love. i said this in my tags but thats rly what fanfic is all about, EXPLORING!!! exploring canon, exploring characters, putting them in new situations and seeing what happens. i love love love it. and seeing gojo in such a brand new, vulnerable light, with both him and reader navigating life as a disabled-coded person following his death and resurrection, is so fascinating. and when he did the divine dogs hand motion to megumi i literally almost cried. if its ok with u, i had a couple questions!!!

what was reader before the incident? a teacher at jujutsu high? just a friend to satoru? im interested in what role they played prior to everything that happened. obviously megumi knew reader, but im curious what that relationship is!!

how with it is satoru? reader had to pick out his outfit and bathe and feed him, we’ve seen that much, but is he able to dress himself? how well does he move - walking and such? does reader always have to help feed him or was that just a one time occurrence to encourage him to eat?

SORRY if im bombarding you with too many questions, i just love this concept so much and im so fascinated with it 🤍🤍🤍

AH HELLO!!!!!!! omg i saw your wonderful tags earlier while i was working and i was just so giddy to read them!!!! thank you so much 💕 i really am enjoying exploring this story and am happy that others are as well 🥹 i felt like maybe the whole thing would just be something only i would be interested in LOL which would’ve been totally fine tbh but i’m thrilled to see it resonating with other people!!

no worries about asking questions at all! thank you for doing so! i realize some things have been rather vague thus far and probably have a few people wondering what the deal is lol

more details will be revealed somewhat soon in the story i suppose, but so far my intention has been for reader to be a sorcerer—not necessarily a teacher, but many sorcerers do of course tend to engage with the school and its students, so that’s where the familiarity comes from. it will also be implied that they and gojo were either classmates or otherwise very close in age during school (that’s a specific detail i haven’t exactly landed on yet lol)

as for satoru, i’ve honestly been playing it a little loose when it comes to his condition thus far, though i would like to perhaps refine some of these details in my mind. however, it’s purposefully meant to come across a bit wishy-washy since it’s truly something that everyone is learning as they go along. in my mind, the time since satoru’s revival/awakening has really not been long at all—maybe two weeks at the most. new things are being unearthed every day.

however!! he is very much inspired by brain injury patients as well as autistic individuals with higher support needs (somewhere in between levels 2 and 3). it’s a bit of a concoction of both (as well as tidbits of other things) based on my own observations and research rather than something that’s more clearly defined as being coded as one or the other, especially since what happened to him was… not normal LMAO so there are some supernatural aspects as well that sort of make it its own /thing/

his motor functions are pretty normal for the most part aside from perhaps the occasional coordination issue, though i almost imagine that his six eyes/powers are automatically trying to overcompensate for such things?? which would in turn cause extra fatigue at the end of the day. but tbh that’s something i’m going to put more thought into!!

one of his biggest issues is with executive function/initiating tasks and making decisions. the cognitive impairments are what require reader’s prompting and assistance a lot of the time. however, reader is also potentially overcompensating (or lacking) in some areas as well simply because they haven’t been able to accurately gauge all of satoru’s capabilities yet and are overall not used to caring for someone at this level.

so while he is actually physically able to perform most tasks, the cognitive function isn’t quite there, nor are the memories on how to engage in certain tasks (probably mostly those with more steps/complications) without prompting and reminders. it can take his brain a little bit longer to calculate and process several things.

i just have this image in my head of reader pulling underwear over their pants or something while trying to demonstrate to him how to get dressed without having to fully intervene LMFAO since they are trying to maintain some modesty/distance at the moment. which… probably won’t last for long tbh because it’s not quite practical at this stage.

but there is maybe a little room for neurological improvement on his end! however, it is not my goal for the story to see that he is “fixed” or anything of the sort, nor do i want it to diminish his person. it’s a balancing act!

sorry i just rambled a lot skdjsjsnshdudidie but once again, thank you so much for reading and asking!!! discussions like these really help me understand my thoughts a lot better and i really enjoy hearing yours as well! it certainly helps keep the inspiration flowing rather than all of these little things getting trapped up in my mind lol 💖

[sepublic]

It's kinda funny seeing people mourn the original concept for The Lego Ninjago Movie, which involved the ninja traveling back in time to stop the Great Devourer from biting Garmadon, and fighting snake warriors. Because we still kinda got that, in the very same year no less?

Hands of Time is an interesting case in that it's kind of a transitional season, the end of an era; It came out the same year as The Lego Ninjago Movie, and was meant to take up the Winter slot before TLNM showed up for Summer. It was our last season with the traditional designs, and for a while our last season with a Weekend Whip-style remix of intro, before TLNM and led to a soft reboot in the Oni trilogy. The Oni trilogy gave us updated designs based on TLNM's, under the original plan of attracting new fans from THAT continuity over to the main one. I believe it's even jokingly implied within the show that the butterfly effects from the time travel of S7 led to the S8 redesigns! And Legacy kinda contributes to that idea...?

The point is, 2017 was a strange year for Ninjago with a lot of change, even in different writers who temporarily replaced the Hagemans, who eventually did leave for Wildbrain to take over. One could argue Hands of Time was created as a way to pad out time between Day of the Departed and TLNM's releases! And Day of the Departed drew a lot on prior Ninjago entries, so it was like a whole year just waiting for TLNM to premiere before applying it to mainline Ninjago canon.

And I think that applies to Hands of Time, because a lot of it is based on that old TLNM concept I mentioned earlier! Early designs for the snake warriors from the first draft of the film were repurposed for the Vermillion in Hands of Time. It was a story about time travel, and so is Hands of Time. The Great Devourer plays an important role, being the incident the ninja are trying to prevent in TLNM's first draft, and in HoT, the mother of the Vermillion horde.

Obviously there are differences; TLNM's first draft centered around the past as the primary setting of the story, and it was about the heroes trying to undo a past evil. Whereas for HoT, time travel isn't achieved until the last episode, and it's about villains trying to undo past good. But a lot of the concepts were clearly carried over and repurposed, because they were perfectly good concepts drawing on previous ideas mainline Ninjago already explored (snake warriors, the Great Devourer's legacy, time travel).

A few years later we even got the Golden Hour short, which continues the story of HoT just a bit more, and has Wu almost allowing Acronix to unwittingly prevent Garmadon from being bitten by the Great Devourer; The original goal of TLNM's time travel draft. And probably how that draft would've ended, if Lego had rolled with that plot instead.

So while some are insisting TLNM should've been about this original concept, it's ironic to me because we technically still did get that first draft, in the same year as TLNM, right before it! So 2017 really is the year of TLNM, all of it, even Hands of Time. And as I said with Day of the Departed, it also draws upon a lot of past Ninjago events, lore, and concepts, such as the Serpentine War, Elemental Masters, Great Devourer, and Chen alluding to Ray and Maya. Krux was introduced via his alias in Day of the Departed. It kinda feels like a remix, like the Legacy and Core lines we'd later get.

That again gets me back to the idea that it's almost as if Lego was trying to do a final callback/retrospective on classic Ninjago as we knew it, to prepare us for a new era heralded by TLNM, and they used up basically a whole year as they waited for the people working on TLNM to figure things out. Before DotD is Skybound, which is technically retconned, and that makes Possession feel like the last big arc for Ninjago (before TLNM) that brought new, lasting things and wasn't worried about being second fiddle to some other production. It did give us ghosts, the sixteen realms, and establish Nya as a primary ninja. Possession is also the latest in terms of Legacy representation; Skybound, Day of the Departed, and Hands of Time are left out.

[spotlightstudios]

Wow, look at this neat abandoned building. Robot? Idk what ur talking about.

Outside Upgrades Lore beyond the Cut! (A lot of writing, feel free to skip.)

Hi guys!!! This is a doodle for my new and improved Outside Upgrades! Ruin edition!

The characters (ocs) pictured are N (left) and Light (right)!

N is an urban explorer by trade, making and posting videos of her explorations online. (She has no self-preservation skills, which is why she's so popular.) Meanwhile, Light was a FazCo. employee back in the day, and currently they're unemployed.

The whole point of this AU when I first made it was that Light was there the night the Plex collapsed (and would've escaped with the help of Moon). They lost their leg in that injury, and FazCo basically paid Light off to not spill the secrets of the company, and they got to keep Sun/Moon. Eventually they'd discover Eclipse mode, which was their caretaking protocol.

This update? Light was close to the entrance when it collapsed and was eventually found by a rescue crew (they were searching for Vanessa) with their leg pinned under sone rubble. They've been in recovery for a few years by the time they return with N to the Plex. The pair arrive shortly before Cassie, but they shimmy under that gate where it looks like Monty shoved through and go a different direction before she can keep up.

Eventually, they find their way to Gator Grub where Maskbot is and N snags a mask, but a lot of obstacles they can brute force through better than Cassie could. And by the time they get to the daycare, Cassie's already been through. Eclipse is there.

Seeing Light kinda, snaps him out of that "clean up" mode, and after some sappy moments, Eclipse decides to join the two explorers in their adventure and eventual return to the real world.

I like to think that they *do* catch up with Cassie, whether that be after the elevator crashes or before she goes to the basement to confront the mimic, they find her by complete chance. And of course, this is a whole child? Who put her down here??

Eclipse feels terrible that he sent her on her way earlier, Light is dumbfounded as to how she got so deep, and N (who's piecing together what Helpi has been talking about this whole time) is ready to confidently just undo the hinges on the door Cassie needs through so that Roxy doesn't get deactivated. And it *works*.

They all face the mimic, and whether they scoop it, or Eclipse and Roxy are enough to overpower it, or they just get to the elevator safely, it doesn't matter. They get out.

And then soft AU that it originally was ensues, with Eclipse getting repairs done and sticking with Light as a Healthcare assistant robot.

(N also slowly but surely recovers the other animatronics, with Light's help, and gets them repaired and puts about 30 firewalls on their programming. Roxy's the first, with Freddy being the last to be recovered fully.)

And of course, Cassie is implied to at least have a dad, so I imagine she'd find her father, and since he was *also* implied to be a Faz-Technician, he'd fix up Roxy best he could, and when Cassie introduced N finally (Light was busy) her dad offered to repair anything else she brought him, so she brought the band.

I'm not sure how much I'll write/draw for this, but originally I abandoned the idea because it had a y/n. I wasn't sure how I'd write about chronic pain or the loss of a limb or ptsd for a wide enough audience, and it eventually drove me to not write it at all. (Why you see me post AEB the mermay au more than the original-)

I'm glad that I made the choice to drag this one into oc land. Outside Upgrades was always self-indulgent (I made Eclipse a soft-boy and actually put together and decidedly not a whore, and it was pure luck that Canon Eclipse matches up so well) and it will remain self-indulgent.

Of course, if anyone wants to use the design or drop their own character in rather than Light, not like I'll complain! Tho I'd like ppl to @ me if they do use this concept or design cuz I'd just love to see it! :D

Bonus: EYE STRAIN WARNING

The original ver is this obnoxious Bright Red. I was staring at this for like 3-4 hours straight tonight smh.

[krowspiracyanon]

I’ve picked on Krow enough, someone else gets a turn now. So for Halloween you get a short story with two villains. You get a taste of Horror Krow. You also get little sneak peeks at one of my OC Doves prior to a future reveal. (I joke about ‘Dumbve' but there are actual sympathetic reasons for their naivety.)

Basically this is exploring an old ‘what if’ scenario, some cool headcanons I have about Krow’s house (without being too spoilery) and figuring out how hard I can play a bunch of people with existing tensions off each other with one inciting incident.

Please excuse this being a bit rough as I really rushed to finish before October 31st.

My OC is written into the role of Dove. But the nickname/concept of a 'Dove', Gabby, Eliyah, Krow, Naila and LT all belong to @thekrows-nest/@winndycakes.

Content warnings: Stalking, kidnapping, mild gaslighting, implied murder/potential character death, possibly implied serial killing, creepiness, yandere behaviour played for horror, workplace and mild sexual harassment, one brief racial microaggression, physical intimidation, violence, head injuries.

Brief descriptions of injury, someone being in strong pain, implied PTSD flashbacks or panic attacks, implied coma, implied organ harvesting, unhinged behaviour. Also slight misgendering. (Despite the button Eliyah and Gabby may not be aware Krow is NB.)

This was specifically written to contain nothing graphic. There is no sexual assault, no threatened sexual assault, no drugging, no animal death or cruelty, and no gore.

"Double Shot"

The late October sun slants through the windows of the small independent cafe, golden like the patchwork leaves outside. Dove and Gabby are working the same shift as usual.

Eliyah is also hovering. As usual. He's waiting on a pourover coffee, leaning on the end of the counter and talking to Gabby’s back while she ignores him and lines up other orders. 

The five minutes for the hot water to drip through the fine grind is achingly slow and the background noise is insufferable.

‘This is the smoothest way to have it you know, other than drip coffee. I was first introduced to it while photographing in Peru.” He humblebrags. "This way it’s strong and full bodied.” An unwise idea seems to dimly strike his brain. “And time brings out a hint of sweetness under the bitterness….” 

To this Gabby remains stubbornly silent with her entire back.

Eliyah is emboldened and his eyes slide over the side of her face. "The only thing missing is the crema. That’s got a fantastic mouthfeel to it and… uh... it’s a creamy tan."

Gabbys face and shoulders grow rigid when he alludes to her skin tone. “Shut up asshole.” She grits. "I don’t want to hear it."

“I was just talking about coffee dear!” He whines, wounded. "I still don’t understand why you just don’t like me. I thought you’d let go of our little spat. It was years ago."

Gabby knows the line for what she can get away with and keep her job but after an earlier incident she’s on a shorter leash this week. Plus both she and Dove need the tips. 

She wishes that that interminable damned coffee could be served more quickly while it was still scalding. It was going to be handed to him so abruptly it slopped onto his shitty cashmere turtleneck or his punchable face.

---

Krow is outside peering surreptitiously at Eliyah’s van, casually giving the windows a polish when a few people pass by. They then confidently enter and make a beeline for Dove. 

Eliyah is immediately on edge. “Hey! Don’t touch what isn’t yours!” Adding sullenly ’That van’s just been washed.’

‘A b-bird pooped on it, which can smear the windscreen or eat at the paint. G-genius. But then you don’t know that. You’ve never had to worry about your own cleaning.'

“And if you keep your grubby hands to yourself I won’t have to."

Gabby smirks sidelong as she preps the drinks, enjoying their agitation in spite of herself. God, the only consolation for having both of these shitbirds here at the same time was watching them fight. 

She catches Eliyah watching her smile and coldly turns away.

Krow suppresses the enraged rush of blood to their head in an effort to stay smooth. However they soon relax a bit and glow while ordering their favourite from gentle Dove. 

“I-it's glorious outside. H-how has today been Dove?” Krow stays casual, sticking to small talk and detailing their plans for the lovely day. Debating internally whether it’s still too early to ask if Dove has any of their own plans for after the shift...

Unfortunately Gabby was good. Much faster than chatty Dove who was new and more suited to front of house. 

Gabby had begun grinding and tamping as soon as she felt Krow darken the door, got to pulling the shots and steaming the milk as soon as he started to make small talk after ordering, and a few practiced flicks of her good wrist made short work of the syrups. 

Her flat loud voice cuts across their conversation in no time. "Regular and white mocha blend?”

Krow hides their chagrin. This was their expensive weekly treat that was painstakingly budgeted for and their precious day off… they had hoped for just a little more time to bask in Dove’s friendliness. There still was hanging around to sketch while savouring their mocha but they wouldn’t be able to chat at the counter again for a few more days without looking pushy. Gabby’s perceptive foxlike face is smug.

No matter. A certain someone had been smiling, was always looking coyly down while Krow bantered, and sometimes winkingly gave them an extra pump of syrup or free shot ‘for making it so slow'. Krow still felt the tingle where their hands had brushed in passing the drink over. 

Even better the cute barista been chuckling and expressing envy when Krow talked about birdwatching and sketching in the sunny park later! Maybe after a few more chats they could suggest coming along... Things were looking up for the lucky artist. They could be patient for a little bit.

Krow's mouth and chest are warm, filled with sweetness.

Then their expression flattens and Gabby’s smug smile drops too. Both of them watch in horror as Dove hands Eliyah his damned pourover and they hear him shoot his shot. 

Krow stops tasting their drink and their chest turns hollow. Gabby’s stomach drops and she tastes bile.

Dove chews at their lip, muddling on it. "I don’t know… I don’t date customers.” They are looking at their feet, not seeing Gabby’s appalled ‘cut’ gesture and Krow shaking his head.

“It’s just to get to know each other a little and enjoy the scenery. Think of the experience! You could try out some of my equipment for a portfolio! It’s so hard to get started in bigger cities like Columbidae."

“I… I guess?” Dove thought hopefully of the opportunities. 

They hadn’t been able to bring themselves to tell Gabby about their living situation much less ask to couch surf. Shrewd Gabby would never have found herself in such a precarious situation. And they didn’t yet have any friends beside her in the city.

“It’s not a big deal. It’s in the afternoon. And how can you have an opinion until you’ve even spoken to me? Just get to know me dear.” 

They really needed the money any side hustle could bring... this guy with his soft hands and bland expensive clothes seemed nonthreatening. He seemed like a nice guy that was trying to help a new arrival out? It was in public. And it wasn’t like it was a date...

The date is set.

A sickly green glow beams out unnoticed as everyone absorbs what just happened.

---

Eliyah and Dove take his work van to a remote park with ‘unspoiled beauty'. Eliyah is buoyant and a little too chatty, full of facts that nobody asked for.

Dove laughs along nervously and looks out of the window. Unease fills their stomach at just how far the drive is but they let it pass as the van pulls up to the park. It’s a fairly large park with a concrete path, benches, and open grass areas ringed by trees and shrubs. The changing leaves are variegated fire.

Eliyah opens the van door and begins rummaging through his equipment, explaining a special lense.

Then after shooting for a while. “Your friend doesn’t like me much, does she?”

“Oh. Gabby’s just like that.”

Gabby in fact seems to dislike Eliyah more actively than she usually dislikes others. Even Krow, which is surprising. She hates him. But Dove hasn’t pressed her about it. They don’t understand Eliyah’s constant references to the past because they can’t imagine the two ever having been friends.

“Has she ever said anything to you?” Bringing the camera over, his eyes probe for Dove’s own although they keep sliding away. He’s standing a bit close. Dove shrugs uneasily, going nonverbal.

He steps closer and persists. “Really I’d rather let bygones be bygones. I just don’t understand why she won’t give me another chance. You two are thick as thieves, perhaps you can tell me why. You could put in a good word for me right? Dove! Just answer me! I deserve another chance don’t I?"

Eliyah is getting angry now, leaning towards Dove to force them to look at him, and there’s a sharp edge on his breath. Dove doesn’t like strong eye contact. Dove doesn’t like people being so close to their face. Their heart is fluttering like a frightened bird and their breath is short. They step back. And back. And fall.

---

A “birdwatching" Krow suddenly drops his binoculars and pounds through the grass to his scooter, cursing the discreet distance.

---

Gabby is much closer. She erupts immediately from the treeline making it to Dove in seconds.

Eliyah shows nothing but startled glee. “Gabby… you came looking for me! You care!”

“Fuck off you prick! What did you do to Dove?!”

"You have forgiven me. You just saw me chatting to your friend and were too prideful to admit you were jealous.”

“What - ?”

“It was a misunderstanding. This is just the push you needed."

“Shut up shut SHUTUP - ” Gabby is alternating between yelling hoarsely at Eliyah and frantically pushing him off Dove while he tries to get them up. It’s chaos.

The scooter roars into the middle of them deafening them both. It skids sideways sending Gabby sprawling back as Krow jumps free and flails heavy sickening thumps onto Eliyah’s head and chest. Krow flicks out a gleaming knife in rage but stops at the suddenly registered sounds.

Dove is in a bad way. Their skin is damp with a grey undertone. they are retching and incoherently moaning as their body is jerked by Gabby’s lifting.

Gabby tries harder to pull her friend into the van but her bad hand keeps releasing its sweaty grip, her ankle twisted when she tripped over Dove and she is losing precious time in haste. 

Too slow. There’s no time now to haul ass into the van and floor it. Dove is dead weight. Now Gabby can’t and won’t run. 

Krow is sprinting over to to scoop Dove up. Gabby panics and starts lashing out with her cat ear keychain to defend her friend. Krow restrains her before she can reach her mace and he’s a lot stronger than he looks. The inexorable grip on her wrists hurts but is anchoring.

Krow speaks firmly. “G-gabrielle. Stop. STOP. Just let me help Dove, w-we need to get them out of here. N-now."

Gabby would rather be anywhere else in the world right now. She’d rather trust a snake. This always indefinably creepy guy has gone fully nuts with freaky glowing eyes like a cat - he even smells inhuman up close, generically clean like disinfectant in a hospital. A hospital! 

But her bike won’t carry them both… not with Dove’s injuries and Gabby’s ankle. Not over that distance. And not if this crazy asshole flips out and won’t let them leave. He’s gotta be taking them to a hospital though. Short Fry obviously cares about Dove’s state and they need to be seen.

There’s a shrieking and stuttering argument about who drives but Krow is persuasive and time is racing. Gabby doesn’t want to leave Dove alone with the creepy shitbirds in the back so she finally gives up and steps in. 

Krow gets both the baristas settled, Gabby supporting Dove. The limp Eliyah is then dumped facedown on the floor, Krow flinging the photographer's own heavy camera contemptuously after him onto the back of his head. Their own scooter and Gabby’s now bent bike are strapped on the roof. Childlock is immediately deployed and the van is efficiently pulling away.

---

Gabby rests. The afternoon light is almost gone and begins to cool into evening quickly. The adrenaline is wearing off into grey exhaustion and everything hurts.

The window tint is dark. Darker than should be legal. And there are curtains. Why is it taking so long to get to the hospital? Gabby suddenly freezes.

She scrambles to see with her sputtering lighter, spilling a folder of photos featuring nude tan women with long dark hair. Short ass son-of-a-bitch. Has he used the child lock? What is with this van? She leans sideways trying to twitch a curtain to gauge direction or see landmarks. A muscle is cramping in her side and a bead of sweat is sliding down from her underarm despite the chill. The inner latch isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The handle… WHERE IS THE HANDLE? 

The enclosed darkness is all too familiar. Gabby can’t move. She’s being touched, and there’s the weight of someone elses body on her. There’s no way out. The ride to Krow’s home is eternity. Dove is heavy and weakly moaning on her lap. Eliyah is silent on the floor. Gabby is pinned and hyperventilating, lost in her own scalding churning memories.

---

Eliyah is dimly aware of a garage or warehouse door locking audibly behind them. He is semi conscious and re-experiences a childhood memory of being carried half asleep from the car. 

But he must still be dreaming. He is being dragged though a surreal space, part abandoned ruin and part paradise. 

Colourful birds flit through wooden beams, forests and nymphs swirl kaleidoscopically past incongruent ’trees’ of exposed timber posts. It’s all unnaturally bright and blurry too. Dazzling to his delirious blown eyes. Overwhelmed, Eliyah lapses fully into unconsciousness. It’s the last thing he sees.

---

Krow walks back past the lovingly painted murals that cover the rough extensively repaired walls with beauty and distract from the renovations in progress. They are still elated from carrying a pale insensible Dove bridal style into their home.

Black market medical attention has already been called for and Dove is going to be just fine. They are going to be so cared for when they wake up. Giddy at the thought of nursing them back to health, Krow fidgets. Please Dove. Just open your eyes!

They practically float past one of their favourite scenes. Maybe with the money Krow and songbird will take a beautiful trip to their ancestral India. Visiting those carefully sketched temple interiors for real, seeing the flashy peafowl, and intimately sharing the juices from those vibrant painted mangoes. They salivate.

Sigh. Back to reality for the moment. 

On opening the bolted door Gabby scrambles like a cornered animal in a sudden rattle of shackles. 

After the initial recklessness for Dove’s sake, the penny had dropped quickly for the smart woman. She had needed to be wrangled into this second location and even with plenty of time to tire herself out or calm down her distress and hatred was immeasurable. She just wouldn’t stop fighting. Screaming for help. Refusing to eat anything not sealed. Shutting down in terror.

Dove could use a friend to watch over them for now while Krow worked... but Gabby was devilishly clever in escape attempts and they hoped she would quickly become unnecessary. 

They relock the door and leave her alone. Soon it would just be the lucky two alone together. The couple. 

Now to check on the other distraction. 

Striding on to a different area, Krow doesn’t even glance at 'The Black Paintings' in the corner. They don’t want to dwell on that phase of their life. That’s all over with now.

Then they float past a rendition of the Trevi fountain, fondly imagining a holiday in Rome with Dove. Their perfect smooth hands holding Krow tightly from behind on a Vespa. Licking gelato. Together at the fountain, sitting so close. 

Finally there it is, that clever mural that camouflages an imperceptible join in the painted wallpaper. The elaborate swirls of the leafy ferns, round bird nests and curved sweeping wings boggle the eye, visually breaking up any clean straight lines underneath and giving the illusion that the papered wall underneath is solid. 

The eyestrain of extra ultraviolet style colours and patterns (as they would look to birds) also ensures that nobody could look that closely for too long.

Krow runs the back of their pocket knife along to find the join and awkwardly wrests open the heavy door.

Their low warm voice is still humming ‘Il Dolce Suono’ on descending the stairs into the secret room. The air is icy and reeks of bleach. 

A humming generator is hooked up to a fridge-freezer and the sturdy work boots clomp over the damp concrete floor - Krow even stumbles slightly as they accidentally kick a portable cooler but Eliyah still doesn’t stir. His slumped form is tied to a chair on an iv and the windowless room obscures most of his lower body in shadows.

Krow clicks a mini torch into Eliyah’s eyes. He is breathing but the pupils remain fixed at 4mm and there is no reaction to the light. There’s no hurry. There is a little time to call around for the right price.

Satisfied, Krow does call off work planning to sweep the disturbance at the park and retrieve their binoculars.

They exit and slide the concealed soundproof door firmly shut.

Krow makes their way over to the most special place now and admires the very specific single themed mural covering the entire room. 

Painted from ceiling to floor is an exact replica of the cafe where Dove worked. Where they first met.

Everything has happened unexpectedly quickly, but they can take a little more time to finish painting and setting up for their sleeping songbird. They want to make some changes to commemorate a very special day.

Soft hazy eyes glowing green, a flustered giggling Krow adds radiant sunbeams with the slanting warmth recalling the russet leaves they remarked on.  Perfectly preserving the memory of that late October.

Once it’s finished and Dove is safely in their cage Krow will get to relive their early courtship every single day, forever! And once they wake up... so can Dove.

.…

Optional ending:

LT wakes from this nightmare. Between experiences Gabby has shared, his own intuition and what he’s fought in his life Gabby’s paranoia and nightmares are rubbing off on him. He's also been having such vivid dreams since meeting Naila.

He goes over the dream, trying to slow his heartbeat as he sips at a glass of water. 

How could it be he wasn’t there for Gabby? Why would such a careful person have charged alone into danger? There are answers. (Her intense loyalty, her fear that her own experiences would happen to Dove, possibly a feeling that - as a man or because many people have not believed Gabby - LT might think she was overreacting.) 

Back in bed they cuddle and talk. He believes her about the intense weird energy of the short artist, the way the slimy photographer just won’t back off from her workplace. 

They talk about safety as a team.

[av-potatogun]

Grievances and spoilers for TUA under the cut

Okay, so first, Ben in the subway/train for the end teaser of season 3, they said it would be explained in the new season and that it was defo sparrow Ben, but i did not find an explanation anywhere

actual grievance preface; many of my issues would be solved if this season had more fucking episodes. the lack of depth stems directly from being only allowed a pond. a 4 hour difference loses so much already barely there depth (i still lament what they did to s3 Allison). also i miss my 45 min episodes w 22 episodes a season :(((( what happened to being able to show the amount of effort in the quality by the sheer amount of plotlines that deserved their own episode to explore.

anyway, to actual grievances. first Five and Lila. it has a weird implication that reminds me of early tua Five x reader fics where-in the only reason they get together is because theyre trapped alone together for years. You can develop a codependent relationship without it being romantic or sexual. In fact, it would make more thematic sense for the two individuals with major trust issues from the same source to become too intrinsically trusting of one another that the fact that they even developed trust is what is destroying their connections to others.

also it would arguably be more compelling for the wedge Five is driving between Lila and Diego to be completely projected by Diego instead of being an actual concern that he was right to have. Let Diego be insecure and need to process and learn from that to become a better partner, don't let him be justified in his insecurity. Diego has been built on insecurity this entire show, make him confront it.

Real quick- characters who suffered from the lack of showtime: Claire, Grace, The Twins (did they even get named in show), Lila's whole family, Abigail, Jennifer, Gene and Jean and their cult, the cultist CIA, etc. There was so much that could be done, and not enough time to flesh any of it out. Hell, even the siblings (and Lila) all suffered from the lack of showtime, they just had previous seasons to counter-balance.

Genuine plot issue for no reason other than to poke fun I think ? Luther being ape bodied upon marigold entering his system.

also bs, the marigold durango thing- 1) why would marigold at the least not be introduced by name earlier, 2) why are they catastrophic when the explanation just implies supersymmetry, or should it have been further explained that someone else had made their own element that direct counters Abigails? 3) why tf are their names marigold and durango? genuinely why, they could either be more scientific sounding names or names with meaning that imply their use. When you're gonna introduce new concepts so late in the game, make them fit seamlessly into the world you already built, make them fill in blanks, not create more.

This leads me to the ending, which I hated. it felt like a copout, to say that they could never escape the shadow of Reginald's perceptions of them and grow as people because their very existence is a mistake. This was not an ending that fit for them. I'm not saying it needed to be a happy ending, but it needed them to break Reginald's molds and ideas, not Abigail. The ending could have been sad, it could have been emotionally draining, instead I just watched eight people die mad. This ending could have fit if the effort was put into it (which calls back to the lack of time), but as it stood, seemed blotted on as a way to end.

I would have loved for them to have consequence to their existence, losing what they'd worked to get, because none of it was in the original timeline. Each of them strapped with new burdens, but they'd lost one or two of the siblings in the struggle and it drove them all apart, this time for good. I would have accepted that as my sad ass ending. Not some shit about how you can never change the circumstances of your existence and you'll always be exactly what your adopted father saw in you.

Speaking of, I do kinda hate that we cannot know more about s1 Reggie. This man had completely different aspirations from the sounds of things, and it implied he knew of Viktor's coming explosion, so what made him so different from Sparrow Reggie. And I don't mean in later life, I understand the Sparrows drugged him.

Anyway, plot hole time again; Ben arrested for crypto despite people never actually seen using modern devices. Arrest him for a better crime, give him one that earns him sympathy points with Jennifer so I believe their connection pre touch better.

I am nowhere near done complaining, it is a favorite past time of mine, however this post is very long.

[triptychgardener]

if i may ask, is early june implying that alpha timeline(?) june egbert is genderfluid in the same way as gt, or that gender identity between the different jegbert splinters can diverge? bc some parts gave me the impression that alpha june is repressing her gender fluidity while some gave me the impression that she is transfem

Hey, so thanks for asking, this is a great question.

The short answer is that it's a little bit of both!

Obviously, gender divergence as a concept is a thing that Early June plays with heavily, but it's also a concept that's sort of evolved with the work itself. The issue of it being a serial work is that sometimes, as time goes on, my views become more nuanced or solid in a way that is contradicted by earlier segments in the fic (see my current opinions about transmasc Roxy). When it comes to things like the Striders, the things that change about them and their genders are their experiences! Dove chooses womanhood in active spite of the toxic masculinity that Bro enforced upon her, Davepeta fuses with Nepeta to create some sort of Ideal Self, and Dave is still figuring stuff out about himself, which of course goes for all of them! They're sixteen right now, and will have a lot of time to change and work on their identities as they grow older.

When June starts being confronted by different versions of herself with different genders (i.e. June Crocker and GT), she starts getting a little bit worked up, partially because she's built up her identity as a solid trans woman up in her mind pretty heavily at this point. She literally had yet another version of her predestine her gender and then Tell Her That's What She Did!

And her experiences with being reluctant to explore further stems from

A fairly common (in my experience at least) thing among trans and queer people in general to stake yourself Very Hard to your identity as a defensive reflex. When the world is constantly telling you to do One Thing (for example, Not be a trans woman), allowing any nuance in can at times feel like a concession to those authorities. At the same time it can be a defensive measure in order to better assimilate into a rigid structure of gender and sexuality (like Rose was grappling with in Was That All)

She keeps getting pushed on by knowledge of all these different identities and she's getting a little bit ticked off by what she feels like as everyone pushing her around (and in GT's case, because he's a bit of an asshole, actually pushing her around.)

She just needs some time to maybe explore with these ideas! Relaxing a bit and allowing herself to explore is going to come with time! It's not a massive hurdle or some character flaw she needs to overcome, it's just a bit more growing up to do.

Also, pulling back the curtain a bit, in June's case the gender divergence is partially a result of bringing @gendertrickster onto the writing team (I'll lob this to her to add anything else). We have somewhat different views on Egbert's gender, and I was pretty rigid at the start because, on a personal level, I was also dealing with similar stuff in My gender.

Alpha June is still and always will be transfem, they'll probably just be exploring some more fluidity as time passes and they grow older.

[thezanyarthropleura]

March 6 (1999)

Happy 24 years to Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris, the third film in the Heisei trilogy.

And if you know anything at all about Gamera movies, I probably don’t need to tell you this one is good. Like, not just ‘I enjoy it’ good, but objectively good. Of course, like with anything, opinions will vary, but this film is generally regarded as one of the best Kaiju films of all time – and along with the rest of the Heisei trilogy, genuinely good movies without even considering a preference for ones with monsters in them.

But what I’m going to talk about is the fact the three most important human characters in this film are women.

No corner-cutting, no "Asagi is the most plot-important but these other two are the male leads” like we get with Guardian of the Universe, if you are looking for a male lead in Revenge of Iris, you’ll have to either pick the minor villain who gets crushed by a building, the comic relief guy who gets a serious arc but is absent for the climax, or the kid who gets tentacle-slapped out of the grand finale. Or Gamera, I guess.

Our main character here is villain protagonist of sorts Hirasaka Ayana, a dark mirror to the child-bonds-with-Gamera concept that has been explored in various ways throughout the films prior. Having lost her parents due to Gamera’s fight with Gyaos four years earlier, and having subsequently suffered abuse at the hands of her aunt and uncle, Ayana walks down a dark path of vengeance with the aid of a juvenile kaiju named Irys (Iris in the subtitles and some versions of the title) whose origins are… never really clear but we get a few options. Also never really clear is whose negative emotions are corrupting who, or if it’s a little of both, but the end result is a roaring rampage of revenge against Ayana’s abusers up-to-and-including Gamera himself, leaving a trail of destruction that Ayana can’t put a stop to even once she realizes she wants to.

Re-joining from previous entries in the trilogy are Nagamine Mayumi, the ornithologist whose experience with the first Gyaos aids in studying recent attacks by a new Gyaos subspecies, and Kusanagi Asagi, whose previous bond with Gamera draws her into the investigation of Ayana’s similar bond with Irys. Inspector Osako (aforementioned comic relief guy) also returns and completes his minor arc throughout the three films of overcoming his cowardice and returning to investigative work, and his reunion with Miss Nagamine is genuinely touching, both in the film itself and with the addition of several deleted scenes that expand on their conversations. The pair’s team-up is brief, however, and Osako’s purpose throughout the rest of the film is simply to get Moribe into the right place at the right time to get tentacle-slapped out of being able to do anything important.

Instead, the focus of the latter part of the film is the intergenerational team-up of both major female protagonists from the first movie in the trilogy, who never once said a single word to each other in that entire film but are now, four years later, actually getting to meet and bond and put their wits and resolve together to help save a young Ayana from both Irys’s ill effects on her mind and the efforts of a pair of human villains to use her to bring about the apocalypse. Gamera is, of course, the true hero in the end, but the two women’s concern for Ayana is made the driving force of the narrative, to the point that unlike in the previous films, the military and government take a backseat and a lot less time is spent going over the science of how to stop the monster of the year.

The one male character that even makes it to the final plot-important moments of the film (Moribe, after miraculously recovering from being tentacle-slapped out of his hero moment) feels like a complete afterthought and a shoddy attempt to imply a future romance. Right before he wakes up (long after the action is over) and rushes over to comfort Ayana, there’s a shot that lingers on Asagi and Miss Nagamine gently helping Ayana up by the shoulders after she’s been revived, and that really feels like what the core of this movie is.

…Oh, and there’s also giant monsters, I guess.

Gamera has a dark, spiky, edgy design that heralds his return to a destructive, semi-villainous entity like in the 1965 original, however this time it’s explicitly an ‘ends justify the means’ scenario wherein he’s laser-focused on destroying the Gyaos as quickly as possible to prevent even more death in the long run. Gyaos gets the cool, wyvern-like Hyper Gyaos redesign and there’s a neat special effects shot that’s unfortunately very easy to miss, wherein one of their sonic scalpel beams cuts the Shibuya 109 tower in half down the middle (on the first 3-4 watches I mistakenly thought it was a continuity error and the tower was destroyed twice). Irys has the single-glowing-eye-set-deep-inside-a-skull look for the head, and is certainly a subscriber to the wisdom that the best superpower of all time has already been invented, and it’s Doc Ock tentacles. There’s notably less overall monster action in this film than some others, but what’s there is a very impressive mix of suits and CGI that, except for maybe one or two broad daylight scenes, holds up well to this day.

This film’s ending is often a point of contention, giving us an apparent cliffhanger showing hundreds or perhaps thousands of Hyper Gyaos converging to attack Japan right before the credits roll. To clear it up, Gamera wins, according to authorial intent, and whatever reservations one might have about Shusuke Kaneko as a director, the film also implies this by its tone – we end on an announcement that the military will join forces with Gamera to fend off the attack, while Asagi and the others make clear his determination and that he won’t be alone in this fight. It’s a triumphant moment, not a bleak one, and IMO, a perfectly fine ending to a movie and a trilogy.

Jumpscare warning for some very brief but horrific scenes where we see the results of Irys killing people by draining them to withered, skeletal husks. Also, minor squick warning for one scene where it looks an awful lot like some consensual, but very non-platonic tentacle stuff is about to happen, although after seeing how the English dub handles this part and consulting other readings of the film, I’ve concluded that the scene where Ayana starts unbuttoning her shirt collar and says “Iris, I’m so hot…” right after Irys has evolved from juvenile to teenager form, is actually meant to imply her body is literally overheating from the bond and she is beginning to feel physically ill. Whatever the case, the scene cuts away and all we’re later told happened is that Irys attempted to merge with her, something a fully-grown Irys tries to do again later in the film.

Overall, it should be easy to guess that this film is extremely high on my list of favorites, although competition for the top spot is very fierce as you’ll see when we get to a few of the others. Only real drawback is that it is a tinge dark and loses out some on the ‘fun’ factor because of it. And just because it’s part of what I look for in a fandom, shippability takes a hit here because I just haven’t been inclined to seriously ship anything from this film alone, mostly because the age differences between the three main characters are all just right past the point where it starts being down to personal comfort zones. I’m not entirely opposed to Asagi/Nagamine since they’re both adults here and the film focuses on that as their dynamic, plus Nagamine is meant to be especially young in her field per a conversation in GoTU. Adding in villains and side characters, Nagamine/Asakura has potential since they’re set up as rivals early on, I wouldn’t say I’m quite on-board with the whole “redeem the religious zealot child kidnapper” angle but I can see an Asakura who survives the ending left directionless and with shattered faith. And I guess you could always add insult to injury and ship Ayana with Moribe’s sister instead of him, they seem like they could’ve been friends if Moribe wasn’t always getting in between them.

(I would also endorse the idea of some kind of AU/rewrite/reboot/remake that casts Asagi and Ayana as same-aged childhood friends, with a friends-enemies-lovers arc that leads to a direct Gamera-vs-Irys face-off with both of them bonded at the same time. Having them be true mirrors to one another, with a personal conflict over Ayana’s parents’ deaths and Asagi’s faith in Gamera, is really this big, obvious idea the film put on the table the moment it introduced Irys, but could never do anything with because Ayana wasn’t part of the original plan for the trilogy and had to be worked into a universe where Asagi was older and her bond with Gamera already broken.)

[the-mspfa-200-favourites-project]

Untitled Fanventure

Ahhh, the practice of titling something “untitled.” It’s an interesting thing to do, because the title is clearly a major part of setting the mood and tone of the work, similar to how the first thing most people will see when clicking on a fanadventure is not the introduction sequence nor even the first page, but the logo and the title of the work. So, naming your fanadventure “Untitled Fanadventure” says something to me. It’s very…metatextual? It’s like, “look. We all know what’s going on. All I need to do is show you a bunch of trolls and the vague concept of a platonic fanadventure, and you’ll be able to grasp what I’m going for.” At least that’s what I’m getting from the title.

Oooo this fanadventure uses alt text! I think I mentioned this before in an earlier review, but in case I didn’t, I really like these accessibility features in Fanadventures. There’s even quirkless dialogue…kind of. It’s in a separate dialogue box that’s underneath the original dialogue box. This is a good enough solution, because I’ll be honest, sometimes reading Troll Quirks is headache inducing if you’re not in the right mood for it, and probably downright impossible if you’re using a screen reader. Again, love this kind of consideration of accessibility.

For Story considerations, it seems to be just another SBURB Fanadventure with trolls in it, though seemingly more thought out than maybe that reductionist idea would imply. This fanadventure wants to (partly) explore what exactly the “ideal society” Feferi would’ve set up had she become heiress, and that’s an interesting enough hook to hang a story on…

Okay this is genuinely a cool idea for an introduction page on page 51. Essentially, this character is up to some shady business, and has an introduction page, but—get this—all the information is in fact, blacked out from the reader so that they only really know one thing, which is that most people think that this character is doing something ironically, but this character is in fact doing it sincerely. Which also tells us that people are not probably getting any of the other stuff that’s buried underneath the blacked-out text. It’s really cool and neat and I love it.

I think that this fanadventure has like, a little bit of a tendency to just. Kind of say what the text is going for? Like, right after I wrote that paragraph above, the text basically states what’s going on with the redactions, instead of letting the audience figure out for themselves that, hey, yeah, if this character is being unusually candid, where *did* those black bars come from? Earlier they also just blatantly stated that “yeah killing the big bad doesn’t actually change anything about the system or systemic views that have been baked into the system,” which is a good stance to take, but again…kind said out in the open. I don’t know if I like that or not, just that I think it’s worth noting.

This one was pretty good, and I have heard from a source, by which I mean, I looked at the recent pages tab of the fanadventure, that this fanadventure is still actively posting new pages, which is always cool, at least, in my opinion. I have no idea why that last sentence was basically in quirk? But, whatever.

[manifestopaulo]

A Techno Story Part. 3

Going back to my early days of clubland, true believers still existed, embodying a seemingly more innocent time where curiosity was encouraged. People were allowed to explore and openly embrace ideas of unity. Hip Hop, Brit Pop, and Rave were still making waves or lingering around during this time. It’s good to remember how eclectic our influences was back then. Many concepts connected to hip-hop and street culture created and fostered a sense of unity. Similar to the sense of togetherness that acid house once nurtured with messages like "We'll live as one family" and "Brothers, Sisters, we'll make it to the promised land," these sentiments, though they may seem quaint today, relics of a more innocent era, still lingered in people’s consciousness. Song lyrics, to some extent, influenced how people lived back then or, at the very least, shaped how a certain generation approached their nights out. However, more and more this post-modernist attitude eventually set in, shifting the cultural landscape. With it, Cynicism became en vogue, transforming once-cherished ideals into targets of bemusement. People I encountered in recent years seem to regard the once-earnest sentiments of unity and solidarity as patronisingly cute at best, evolving into perceptions of gaucheness, silliness, and quaintness. This was a coarsening of the landscape with our generation and a distinctive shift towards individualism. In this recent episode of the Not A Diving Podcast featuring guest Manpower, host Scuba posed an intriguing question towards the end: Is the right wing the new counterculture? I find myself disagreeing, as I don't believe that right-wing individuals embody the new counterculture. Our Western societies have drifted significantly to the right, often without awareness, becoming inundated with corporate influence and excessive conformity. Progressives must cease imitating the right. The belief that success can be achieved by having everyone conform to a select elite's standards is both hubristic and patronising in the extreme. It implies that the average person lacks the capacity to determine their own behaviour. Its a same old preoccupation with competition, the focus over who belongs in the party or fighting over dwindling creative industry jobs that only reinforces this division. This might allow you to remain in your own progressive bubble while ignoring broader societal issues, avoiding the challenges that most people face. It’s as if you believe this democratic, progressive utopia will magically come into existence, even as living standards continue to decline and the right becomes more unifies more effectively. I apologise if I sound like a middle-aged man longing for the past, but revisiting earlier ideals may help us address current oppression and reclaim our freedom. In my experience, the environment I come from was much more socialist and democratic. There was a stronger sense of social obligation among community members, fostering a democratic atmosphere centred on collective goals rather than individual success, promoting collaboration over competition. Like anyone else, I recognise that our daily lives ultimately come down to practicalities. We're all just trying to navigate our days and move forward, but it seems that challenges are increasing. With work and financial pressures making life more precarious, communities aren’t being built as they once were. Social connections are fraying, and people are becoming more unkind to one another. This is particularly important when a person goes to vote, reflecting on who they stand with and support. As old-school folks, we’re still here, but we see the social fabric unraveling, and it worries us. We can’t help but wonder what will replace us when we're gone.. I apologise for framing this in leftist terms; I'm not trying to convert anyone back to old-school Marxism. Ideally, people should feel free to be themselves and not compelled to conform to any ideology. Yet, I often find that the language and tools available to discuss these issues stem from those older frameworks.

[processsandenquirysophie]

Brief research

Evolution & unpredictability

Since receiving the brief, I found myself questioning what does evolution & unpredictability actually mean? And so I started my brief research by looking further into these prompts so that I can successfully respond to this brief.

EVOLUTION

Definitions from Oxford Languages evolution 1. the process by which different kinds of living organisms are believed to have developed from earlier forms during the history of the earth. Similar: Darwinism natural selection 2. the gradual development of something."the forms of written languages undergo constant evolution" Similar: development, advancement, progress, expansion, extension unfolding, transformation, adaptation, modification, revision, reworking, devolvement

Evolution implies something transforming or changing into something better. An extension and expansion of what it already was - this can be biological or metaphorical. When I think of evolution, I think of the gradual change in living organisms - the human evolution but I also think of the more metaphorical evolution of an individual - the way that a person flourishes and reaches their fullest potential.

I began thinking about my own 'evolution' If we are to develop through time, how do we know when we have evolved? When does this evolution happen? Are we constantly changing and developing every day? With every decision-making and choice we make?

I also thought about the evolution of art, how we went from finger painting with pigment on cave walls to what we know as art today.

UNPREDICTABILITY

Definitions from Oxford Languages  unpredictability inability to be predicted; changeability. "the unpredictability of the British weather"

Unpredictability implies that something or someone cannot be predicted; the outcome of an event or action cannot be known until it happens. This means that any possible result can occur, and so it is completely unforeseeable. The word can also be used to describe something that changes suddenly without reason or warning - there is no time to predict that it will happen.

I started thinking of examples of unpredictability. I thought about how people can be unpredictable - sudden actions or abrupt mood changes. The unpredictability of natural disasters and weather. Thinking about how the world itself is unpredictable - like how the dinosaurs went extinct - started to think about how our lives are unpredictable and that anything can happen.

Thoughts so far

I am interested in exploring the unpredictability of life and its links to anxiety, the fear we have of what could go wrong and not knowing how things will happen and how this holds us back from reaching our potential. It could also be interesting to explore life and death, how we can't predict what happens after death, whether we ascend to our fullest potential and the idea that we evolve once we die.

Thinking about the brief and possible paths for my concept

I created a mind map as a way of writing my thoughts for each of my ideas for the brief - it became that I was more so looking at each words of the brief separately and finding possible ideas for each of them but in some ways the two words linked together e.g I am interesting in exploring the unpredictability of life and it’s links to anxiety, our fears of death but this also links to evolution and the idea of rebirth.

From completing this mind map I am most interested in exploring the unpredictability of life itself, including subjects of anxiety and death within this. I also want to look at evolution, more so focusing on human ascension and inner rebirth and so i plan to do research on this. I also plan to research artist that explore similar ideas as I am very interested in how other artists depict the anxiety of unpredictability and death.

I am interesting in working with video and sound for this and looking at text. I think it would be interesting to look at words I use myself when anxious about things I can’t predict, sentences like “what if…” “but this could happen..” and also looking at words associated with life after death “is there a heaven and hell” “is there an afterlife” “where do we go” “will I see them again?” “Is it just emptiness when we die?” I am thinking it could be interesting to create a work that depicts what this after life could look like, perhaps of the worst of our fears that there is nothing after death which could share this anxiety with the viewer. I plan to note these ideas so that I can explore and develop these in further workshops and in my own studio time.

[michel-tanguy]

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What Percentage Of Mail-order Relationships End In Divorce?

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[penguwastaken]

The idea of Junko managing to convince 15 different innocent people into becoming unstoppable despair terrorists who are willing to hack off limbs and murder their family in less than a year is a concept that feels so absurd even beyond Danganronpa. It comes across as something Yasuhiro would suggest during a Nonstop Debate.

Even if they could figure out how to make that work, it's simply not what Kodaka or the writers wanted. If Kodaka wanted a story revolving around Junko manipulating Class 77 in a year, he would have wrote one, but he didn't. I already wrote about it here, but brainwashing was always the intention ever since it was established in Danganronpa Zero, which came out before Danganronpa 2.

You're entitled to your opinion, you can dislike Danganronpa 3 and you're allowed to be disappointed in the direction it took. However, "it didn't happen the way I wanted it to" is not a criticism. Things should be judged for what they are, not for what they aren't or what you personally wanted. This is what the brainwashing is:

It is a tool introduced earlier on in the series that Danganronpa 3 used because it was a part of the series' established lore and the intended explanation given how many times the word "brainwashed" is used in Danganronpa 2.

It is introduced into the story, plays a key role in it, and is well paid off towards the end all within the 24 episode limit.

It is written in a way that is realistic in the context of the series and is written consistently.

It is integral to the anime's "anime theming" similarly to how things like the virtual world are integral to Danganronpa 2's "video game theming."

Its existence in the anime does not contradict anything in prior entries as it is a piece already established lore, read Danganronpa Zero.

It reinforces the themes that were already established by the series.

It does not erase the characters individuality or "different" viewpoints as the series makes clear with characters like Nagito, Sonia, Kazuichi, Mikan, etc., and as I already mentioned the video does not "create" despair, it amplifies the despair you are already feeling. The characters do not lose their own personal views on despair in any way and the anime never implies that. Them all getting despair from Chiaki's death does not mean that they all now share the exact same ideology.

It is not "hypnosis," it's hardly even brainwashing (during Ryota's explanation, he says it simply just uses some brainwashing techniques), all it does is amplify emotions. This is not to be confused with the separate video used on Aoi in Future Arc, I wrote about the difference in my larger brainwashing post.

It does not remove any emotion from the story, as not only does it require emotions in order to amplify them, it plays an important role in characters' arcs, especially Ryota's.

And lastly, judging by all of this, it is clear it is what Kodaka had always intended.

TL;DR, there's nothing wrong with brainwashing besides "I wanted it to happen differently."

And to be honest, that goes towards most of the criticisms towards Danganronpa 3. The anime is fine, good even. The characterization of returning characters is spot on, it brings back pre-established lore and introduces some new lore as well without contradicting it. All important characters are given depth and are explored thouroughly within the anime's 24 episode limit. It has a few flaws, just like any other entry, but it's far from bad. Its biggest problem is just that it didn't play out the way you wanted it to. That's perfectly fine, you're not obligated to like something and you're allowed to be disappointed, but that doesn't make it bad. Those are my two cents, anyway.

If you want to read about my thoughts on the anime and some of the criticisms, I'll leave a lot of my posts here. Or don't, you're not obligated to.

About Brainwashing in Danganronpa

"DR3 makes the Remnants of Despair blameless"

Why did the Remnants of Despair do that?

How much does Makoto know about brainwashing

Junko Enoshima lying about Izuru in Chapter 6 (Part 1, Part 2)

Nobody Understands Mukuro Ikusaba

Danganronpa's Most Misunderstood Mastermind

Headmaster Naegi makes perfect sense

Izuru Kamukura Crying

They could never make me hate you Ruruka meme

Monokuma's presence in DR3

Danganronpa 2 Never Said Chiaki Never Existed

As I've seen you talking about how the brainwashing plot point in DR3 makes more sense than the haters want to admit, I remember that DR3 itself also completely deconstructed the haters' idea that, to put class 77-B to her cause, she used her analytic prowess to find their dark secrets, and then she manipulated and gaslighted them until they became her loyal attack dogs, with Mikan's conversion into Despair.

As we know, at the middle of Side Despair, Mikan is kidnapped by Junko and Mukuro to be used as a guinea pig for the Despair Video, and by the time she has completely turned, the rest of Class 77-B had noticed her disappearance and were very worried for her, implying that, if Junko had cared enough for Class 77-B to brainwash them in the "using her charisma" sense, she would have been stopped before she could turn them all thanks to the unturned classmates acting out in worry for their brainwashed friends.

I don't think Danganronpa fans realize how next to impossible the idea of Junko managing to convince 15 different high schoolers to all become despair terrorists in less than a year is. Call brainwashing silly as much as you want but it still makes infinitely more sense from both a logical and writing perspective.

[stainedglassthreads]

You ever think about how the Epic of Gilgamesh is one of the oldest stories we still remember, even incomplete, and it may be a deconstruction? The implications? Gilgamesh citing other stories, some of which we’ve lost, as to why he won’t accept Ishtar’s proposal. The whole concept of ‘this is Gilgamesh, he’s unbelievably arrogant and handsome and strong and he’s two-thirds god and a king-- and now we’re gonna explore why he’s a complete asshole and his subjects dislike him, and how for all his greatness he too is just a human with very human faults and fears, and how he had to walk a VERY rocky road to become an ACTUALLY wise and benevolent king.’

Just like. One of the lessons of my theatre classes that always stuck with me is that every play is a point in an ongoing conversation about dozens of different things, and I think that applies to other mediums of art as well. You see enough of a specific trope or argument made, you make your own response by deconstructing or subverting or reconstructing or defying that trope. If the Epic of Gilgamesh was a counterargument, how many original arguments as stories existed, until someone went ‘you may all have a point. But listen to this.’ 

I’m familiar with a few other Mesopotamian myths that may have been earlier, fragmented as they are, but it just makes me feel So Many Things to consider if the Epic was a deconstruction and how that implies prior existing works-- conversation!-- and how long humans have just. Told stories. How many of those works we’ve lost were counterarguments? How long back does it go? Probably to the beginning, but man. To just someday die and look down at the world and see the conversation of humanity in its entirety... what I wouldn’t give...