#is pivotal to his decision to poison him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rogue-durin-16 · 16 days ago

Text

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part II/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, mild allusions to violence? Idk this is surprisingly mild (for now lol)

A/N: in case you couldn't tell, this chapter came out of the notes I had written down for "Poison In Your Coffee". It's one of the snippets I was DYING to flesh out, so here's to a little self-indulgence from time to time. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

I noticed.

My eyes didn't miss Liebgott's rushed half turn when we were dismissed after our Friday night march. It stood out to me; he didn't wait for anyone, not even Grant or Tipper.

I figured he was just eager to get to the barracks after a long day and didn't think much of it.

At least until our Commanding Officers retreated each to their own quarters, and Talbert hurried to fall into step with Luz, a few feet ahead of me and Shifty. I didn't catch much, but the hushed words 'beaten up' from Tab and 'again' from Luz as the latter tentatively explored the faces surrounding them stirred suspicion in me.

"George." Calling his name was enough to make the two of them slow their pace with mildly concerned faces, allowing me and Shifty to join them.

"You were marching with Liebgott, right?" I nodded in response to Luz's question, Talbert's inquisitive gaze on me. "You saw where he went?"

"Looked like he was headed to the barracks." The way both men scanned the moving crowd of soldiers made me become unsure of my own reply.

"He took a turn." Shifty corrected me, motioning ahead of us before taking off his helmet. "Second on the left."

"What the fuck's his game?" George complained, swinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Malark— hey," he stepped in the ginger's way, making Penkala, Muck and More come to a confused halt. "Mind helping us out?"

"What's wrong?"

"Liebgott's at it again." Tab finally disclosed the obvious, making all of us let out different levels of desperate groans and sighs. "If Lip finds out—"

"Is he tryna get himself kicked out of the Airborne?" Don rhetorically inquired with raised brows. "Where'd he go?"

"Shifty says he turned left. Y/n says the barracks."

More's eyes pivoted from Luz to me. "The barracks? Really?"

"I'm not his babysitter, Alton." I spat, taking off my own helmet to hold it under my arm. "I don't know where the fuck he went."

"Weren't you two marching together?" Muck echoed George's question whilst gesturing at Perconte to join us.

"In case none of you noticed, we don't have the smoothest conversations." I retorted. Just like Talbert was growing tired of covering for Liebgott in front of the other Sergeants, I was growing tired of getting the third degree everytime he disappeared.

"This about Joe?" Perconte chirped in, and without missing a beat, his thumb pointed behind him. "He was in a rush to get to A Company's area."

A flash of realization flashed across George's face, the back of his hand nudging Talbert. "What's his name? Bailey?"

Oh. That one asshole from Able. The one who was double Liebgott's size. Taking a peek among the group sufficed to let me know we all were on the same page.

"To hell with getting kicked out," I blurted out, worry seeping through my words. "he's gonna get himself killed."

"He's an idiot."

Penkala's words were followed by Don's decisive steps. "C'mon, we're no help here."

"Wait," I took a hold of George's sleeve. "you're gonna go to Able's barracks?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Maybe." I mused about it for an instant before striding back. "You guys be careful."

"You're not coming?"

"I'm gonna try the smarter option for a change." I replied to Don's baffled question in a slightly louder pitch before rushing to the Winters' quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word had spread faster than a forest fire over the weekend about the incident that never happened.

By the time our friends had found Liebgott on that Friday night, he was being led back into the camp —along with Bailey and three other men from A Company— by Winters, Able's First Lieutenant and a couple of privates who happened to be on patrol duty that night.

The eight boys who had gone looking for him hadn't said a word about what they knew, or how they thought the event had unfolded for Liebgott to come back to his barracks in one piece and with nothing to say.

He didn't get to leave the camp that weekend.

None of the men disclosed anything, yet somehow rumors still ran around; whether or not they carried my name in them was up in the air. Of course, it mattered little to Liebgott, who more often than not found a way to tie things back to me.

This time, though, he happened to be right.

JOE'S P. O. V.

It wasn't the violent swing of the mess hall's door that brought some of the men's attention to me, it was the fact that I stood still at the entrance, scanning the place with intent and how I zeroed in on her before making a beeline across between the packed tables.

"You couldn't mind your own business, could you?!" I didn't need to call out her name for Y/n to look up from her breakfast. The way my hands slammed her table as I leaned on across from it made her jump on her seat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." It was barely a mumble and she was trying to make it sound like a careless response.

"Cut the act. You reported me off camp." I looked away with a bitter sneer at her discomfort, my voice loud enough to draw unwanted attention. "Got my weekend pass yanked because you couldn't help being a prissy."

She shifted in place, trying not to look around too much as she struggled to stay composed. "Maybe you shouldn't have been sneaking around where you don't belong."

"That’s rich, coming from you." I snapped, leaning in for only her and the ones close to hear. "I didn’t think you'd stoop to snitching, Y/l/n."

A part of me had expected to be wrong, so when she struggled to even meet my glare and her voice turned quieter, the anger brewing inside me bubbled to the surface.

"It’s not like you didn’t bring this on yourself." She made an effort to gain control in our conversation, but her fidgeting was giving her away. "Maybe you should think twice before picking fights with people twice your size."

Wait, what?

"How the hell did you know about that?"

"You're not exactly quiet." It was an instant, almost unnoticeable, but she averted her eyes. "Don't you think?"

With suspicion, I followed her sight and found Talbert who, unlike the rest of our nosy company-mates, seemed more interested in his breakfast than in the confrontation I was provoking. "You kiddin' me?"

Another hit to the wooden table on my part visibly shook her, and it dawned on me that she wasn't only uncomfortable— she was uneasy.

"What? You want a thank you?"

"I wanted to have breakfast in peace." She snapped, her emotions tilting more towards anger now.

"And I wanted my weekend pass. Go cry about it."

She jolted up and mirrored my stance. The soldiers around her moved away as if being too close to us would get them caught in the crossfire.

"Don't worry. Next time I'll let them take a swing at you." It took longer than she would have liked for her usual temperament to start up. "See if I care."

"That's what you should've done, instead of tampering with someone else's business."

She squinted at me with an irritation that reflected mine. "I think you're just mad someone had to bail you out of trouble."

"And I think you don't know how to stay in your goddamn lane." She had that piercing look in her eyes; the one that only showed up when I had her on the ropes. "I didn't ask for your help."

"Okay, you got your little moment," She grabbed her tray, threw a leg over the bench she had been sitting on. "now leave me the fuck alone."

I scoffed and, unwilling to let her walk away for whatever reason I myself didn't fully understand, I stalked around the table, only to be stopped by Toye's arm, lazily raised to block my path.

"why don't you sit down, alright?" His raspy voice sounded tired.

"Yeah, knock it off, Joe." Malarkey jumped it, a mild concerned on his demeanor.

"Piss off." I countered, smacking Joe's hand away and resuming my walk.

By the time I reached her, the tray had already been returned to its place and she was about to exit the mess hall.

I huffed, trailing behind her. "You don't get to walk away on me—"

The words were knocked off me when she halted dead in her tracks, did a half turn and took a step forward. "After the bullshit you just pulled," her index finger dug into my chest. "I get to do whatever I want." I opened my mouth but no retort came out of it before she clapped back, as if she was reading my mind. "You don't need my help. Noted. I'll make sure to remember that next time you get a whole squad running around to stop you from getting beaten up."

"I didn't say—"

"That you needed their help either, yeah. You're such a tough guy, aren't you?" Unlike me, she wasn't rising her voice, which was just as infuriating to me as the bite in her sentences. "You're a fucking idiot, that's what you are."

I didn't have the chance to follow her out; Lieutenant Winters crossed paths with her, getting a quiet salute from a flustered Y/n before his inquisitive, unreadable gaze fell on me.

"Liebgott." It was a warning disguised as a greeting. I wasn't that stupid.

"Sir." I repeated Y/n's salute and took Winters arched brow as a cue to sit down at the nearby table.

Guarnere, having breakfast by my side, muttered something under his breath after giving me a side glance.

"What?"

"C'mon Joe," Luz sighed, turning from an adjacent table to make eye contact with me. "You really think you would've won that fight?"

"She made you a favor." Smokey clarified.

"She's got no right to make that call." I grumbled, stealing a bite from Perconte's plate, earning a muffled complaint from him.

"Jesus Christ, Lieb." Muck complained, shaking his head. "Bailey could deck you any day. She's looking out for you. We're looking out for you."

"Yeah, can you think about the rest of us for once?" I rolled my eyes at Luz's tell-off. "You know the amount of crap we'd get from Sobel if he ever finds out?"

"Alright, that's enough." I dismissed them with a grimace. "I get it. 'M sorry for the trouble. Jesus."

"Good." Penkala nodded, pointing at the door. "Now apologize to Y/n."

"Don't hold your breath, Penk." I retorted before standing up to grab a proper breakfast for myself before drill training.

Maybe the boys were right and I did owe her an apology. Not that she would ever get it, though.

22 notes · View notes

susannaius · 13 days ago

Text

Justice and redemption in Arcane

First of all, I would like to declare that I really enjoyed watching Arcane. I had fun, the characters are great (although I probably wouldn’t want to make friends with most of them), the artwork is simply brilliant, and the story was entertaining. But.

I am not happy with how Arcane handles the topics of change, justice, and redemption. This is mostly because what it says on the surface level about these topics is in stark contrast with what the narrative tells us.

TLDR: On the surface, Arcane tells us that it is never too late to change, repent, make amends, and start working for a better future. In contrast, the characters who have sinned but wanted to make amends all died.

Arcane s1 was brilliant because it set up a world where characters had VERY limited room to manoeuvre. Of course, this was partly limited by their own nature, but they had very little wiggle room to start with, due to the system around them being extremely limiting. The season felt like watching a car wreck in slow motion: you know it will blow up in your face, but you cannot look away.

In s2 (and partly already in s1), characters realised that the way things are sucks and they need to change. This is what I call the surface-level message of the show: the characters finally started to care for other people, changed themselves, tried to change the world and save their city – because it is never too late to change, and the city can be saved. And the city was saved. So all is good in the end. Right?

Wrong.

Because all those characters who made the biggest mistakes die. Let’s see.

Vander: Not sure about his role in the first rebellion, but he did try to kill his kind-of-brother at one point. Even though he then became a father to two orphans and a pivot to his community, he was killed fairly early on (and then two more times – ouch).

Silco: He was a crime boss and quite a ruthless person, all in all. He told himself that he did everything to free Zaun, but when he was offered everything he ever wanted, he was ready to turn it down for Jinx, his daughter, the only person he really loved unconditionally. He was ready to leave all the shit behind and start over with Jinx. But then he saw Vi and Cait, he lost his temper, and got himself killed – by Jinx.

Heimerdinger: He was there from the founding of the city, and he stood by as things went to shit over the course of 300 years. By the time he realised he had messed up, there was no easy way out. He decided to help, did his best, and then gave his own life to let Ekko return home.

Jayce: He was an idealist, he wanted to make the world a better place BY creating Hextech (that is to say, he wanted to create hextech). In order to do that, he let himself be manipulated by Mel, and each bad decision led to another. Later he realised it was wrong to try and force Hextech on the world, he wanted to undo the damage, and he confronted Viktor, eventually disappearing from the world. Whether he died or not, he will no longer be part of the community of this universe.

Viktor: More than anything, he wanted to end suffering. For the most part, he wanted to live longer so he can create a cure for other people. When he became Cyborg Saviour, ending all suffering remained at the core of his cult. He just forgot that suffering, or at least the possibility of suffering is closely tied to being able to feel joy, and unfortunately one cannot exist without the other. (I would not have minded if Jayce hadn’t said that “there is beauty in imperfections”, considering that Viktor had lived his life in pain and had a short life-expectancy to start with, all as a direct consequence of the privileged half of the city poisoning the less privileged. For reference, see the time in X-men when the lady who can make rain tells “we need no cure” to the girl who kills everyone with a touch. But I digress.) After Jayce reached him, Viktor repented, fixed as much of the damage as he could, then disappeared from the universe alongside Jayce.

Jinx: Jinx did some shit. She killed several people, both directly and indirectly. She very directly killed her second stepdad (Silco) and blew up the Council. But then she met Isha, managed to rebuild her family, played a prominent role in saving the city, and finally saved Vi – just to be killed alongside Vander (who was dying for the third time at that point).

Now let’s see those people who did some horrible things but did NOT end up dead:

Mel: Mel’s people were the privileges, and she was all about power plays. She manipulated Jayce into pushing Heimerdinger out of the council, made him allow the corruption of the council members continue undisturbed, let him create Hextech (which led to horrible consequences) – then discovered the truth of her origins and used her power to defeat her mother (and tackle the political side of the last problem).

Cait: Cait was most interested in keeping up law and order. She was very young and quite inexperienced, which made her an easy target to manipulation. Albeit lawfully “elected”, she became a dictator and declared martial law on Zaun. In the end, her love for Vi was strong enough to turn her against Ambessa, whom she recognized as a force against the autonomy of Piltover. Through that fight, she became an essential player in saving the city.

Ekko: Not sure how many people did he kill during his Firefly raids, but his real focus was always building his own community under the rubble, and this is what made him work that hard toward solutions that might work for everyone, or at least as many people as possible.

Vi: Vi was given the role of protector since the death of her parents (or maybe even before). She was taught to power through every problem and stand strong. She did her best every time, she tried to stay open, she tried to trust, she tried to stay gentle (she was the one who first tamed Beast Vander). She was not given one chance to have a proper breakdown in all this clusterfuck of a shitstorm (the only emotion she was systematically allowed to express is anger – like she were a man). The closest she got to her well-deserved breakdown was when she shut down for a moment seeing a possibly dead Vander – which the narrative promptly retaliated by killing her sister.

In these two lists, the main difference is not whether these people made any mistakes or whether they were guilty of any crimes. It is how much they changed throughout the two seasons. The people in the first list committed atrocities, but then realised their mistakes, and tried to change for the better and make amends. The people in the second list did not change that much.

How do you want your story to advocate for change and atonement if you kill of everyone who changes and wants to atone?

To make matters worse, Mel and Cait were both in officially acknowledged positions of power, actively doing what was best for the city and its people according to their conviction – even though they did abuse or misuse that power (unlike Heimerdinger who just let things slip). (They are both women of colour too, for diversity points. Yes, I know Cait is white in the game, but in the series she has very Asian features.)

Similarly, Ekko and Vi also always worked strictly for their community. Ekko had an actual community around for that, while for Vi this mostly meant her family (especially as she had no network after the death of her stepdad and spending long years in prison).

This is only mitigated by how Mel, Cait, Ecco, and Vi were always in the “cared for other people first and foremost” camp, however small that group of “other people” were. This indicates that they did not need to start or restart caring for people, did not need to repent or atone anything on this front – they did not need to change in a manner relevant to the narrative structure.

So, what does this say about justice and redemption?

If you stray from the path of the righteous, you die.

Even if you realise your mistakes and try to make them right.

Unless you are in a position of power given to you by law (as opposed to community) AND you don’t feel guilty for what you have done.

OR unless you always stay calm and collected on the surface so others can rely on you, masking through your existence.

This is a very strict, very law-based justice system where the path of virtue is narrow (made even narrower by adhering to the word of the law) and where sinners cannot avoid punishment. Coincidentally, it is a very Christian world view as well, but that is beside the point.

The importance of staying on this narrow lawful path is driven home by the visit to the parallel universe. Here Vi is dead, probably Jayce too (meaning that Viktor never got the chances Jayce’s existence provided him with), but the world is somehow much better – because we have to assume that at some point Piltover realised that they had to start caring about the people of Zaun too and help them instead of dumping their toxic waste on the lower city – you know, as people in power do, out of the goodness of their heart. Meaning that the work of Jayce and Vi was not only unnecessary, but downright harmful. Both of them were people who were working for a more equal community, and here we are, saying that their drive for change was detrimental. This says that power should have been left in the hand of the oppressors, because they would have done better eventually. Trust Me, Bro™.

And this is why there is no easy fix to this story. Because I would very much like to fix it, as I’m unhappy with the strict retributive justice system that allows no room for growth and healing for the community (unlike restorative justice as presented in The Owl House, She-Ra, Steven Universe, or Miraculous). I would very much like Ekko pull himself together just in time to save the falling Jinx, then take her away to his community tree and let her work through her feelings through agricultural labour (get a good Ghibli therapy, like the kids in Thrice Upon a Time, the latest NGE film). I wish breaking the cycle was as easy as letting the last victim of the narrow retributive justice system live.

If we accepted the idea that Jinx somehow took advantage of the energy surge in the Hexgate and got away, that still would not fix the trend of “sinners who know they are guilty getting removed from society”. Not even if we accepted that no one should be forced to make amends with the toxic community that is responsible for their trauma. On the individual level, it is totally understandable that Jinx would want to walk away, and it would not be a bad thing for the character. Staying would not really be a good option even if she lived, but her leaving would still fit the trend I am complaining about.

The whole Christian(like) concept of sin and retribution and the narrow path of the righteous is so deeply ingrained in this story that I don’t see there is an easy fix to it. The surface-level story is in such a great contrast with the narrative message that I do not see a way to reconcile them. Saying “Yes, a lot of shit had happened, but we came together, vanquished the evil, and built a new community” is in such a painful contrast with the fact that in this new community there still isn’t any room for the people who made mistakes. Just to make clear: I am not saying the characters are beyond redemption; I am saying the city cannot handle the concept of redemption. Justice is not there to make wrongs right, justice is there to punish.

This is made all the worse because from s1, it is obvious that it was the system that created the tragedy, not the individual people. If you do not change the system, you cannot expect the new community to be better than the previous one. Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it. (At least not everyone who has any insight on what went wrong was killed off: we still have Mel to teach about power plays and Ekko with his limited knowledge of the Arcane. Hurray.)

So, to sum up: we have a story in which first we map out how fucked up the system is through how it fucks up people. We are shown these people trying to change for the better and make amends. But then we are shown these same people being killed off one by one, all while the city is saved, and a better future through a systemic change is promised. It’s just not a future that has room for our fucked-up friends.

This sends me mixed messages. I see a glaring contradiction between promoting change for the better and excluding people who actually changed. You cannot be both for and against change. You cannot create a different future by excluding the past.

In this sense, the real tragedy of Arcane is not how systemic injustice fucks up people and inevitably the system itself (see s1 and Jinx blowing up the Council in Piltover), but how the narrative fails the supposed message that you should start caring for other people. I’m not sure if it is intentional or not. If it is intentional, that is insidious. If it is not, because the concepts of sin and retaliation are too ingrained in the writers to notice what they were doing, that is just tragic.

#arcane #arcane series #arcane analysis #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane season 2 spoilers #justice in media #redemption in media #my five cents

20 notes · View notes

zalrb · 7 months ago

Note

Would it be fair to say that Stefan had some kind of a Madonna whore complex with Katherine/Elena. (Not a Stelena anti, just wanted to hear your thoughts on this)

The stark differences in Stefan's relationships with Katherine and Elena suggest that he does exhibit signs of the Madonna-Whore complex. hear me out for a second..

As you're probably aware, Madonna whore complex describes the idea of feeling less sexual arousal and more lovey duvey feelings for a woman perceived as pure, and intense sexual arousal for a woman perceived as fallen or debased.

Katherine embodies the archetypal 'Whore' in Stefan's eyes. She is portrayed as sexually liberated, manipulative, and morally ambiguous. Stefan's intense sexual attraction to Katherine is evident, but it is coupled with disdain and mistrust. He acknowledges her prowess in bed and is undeniably drawn to her sexually, but this is paired with a persistent inner voice that views her as untrustworthy and immoral.

A pivotal moment that showcases this dynamic is in Season 2, when Stefan and Katherine are trapped in the caves. The tension between them is palpable, and Stefan’s struggle is evident—while he is drawn to Katherine's seductive nature and provocative demeanor, he simultaneously resents her manipulative and deceitful behavior. Every time I watched their dynamic unfold I used to get this vibe of Stefan thinking "I'm attracted to her but she sure is poison for me." Almost like he felt he was is just too moral to love someone that duplicitous and manipulative.He initially "loved" her because he thought she was an "angel", he loved the sweet/innocent/perfect image she portrayed. once she showed anything else, he couldn’t accept it. She became a monster to him.

And the reason he fell in love with Elena was because she was "the opposite of everything Katherine ever was." He fell for the sweet/innocent/perfect image once again (the ‘exact opposite’ of katherine). That’s definitely enforced by the fact that elena was human, which automatically made her pure and perfect in stefan’s eyes. since elena was ‘the opposite’ of katherine, and human (which is automatically ‘good’ according to stefan logic), she could do no wrong.For better or for worse, Stefan places a lot of value on character.

Beyond their sexual encounters, Stefan’s treatment of Katherine on a non-sexual level is filled with scorn and a lack of genuine respect. He sees her as a fallen woman, whose value is diminished by her moral failings, reinforcing the idea that he views her through the 'Whore' lens of the complex.

Elena Gilbert - The 'Madonna'

In contrast, Elena is the epitome of the 'Madonna' in Stefan's life. She is perceived as pure, virtuous, and deserving of his love and respect. Stefan's relationship with Elena is characterized by deep emotional intimacy and a protective, almost reverential attitude.Stefan is about what will bring Elena peace of mind, what is important to Elena, what would Elena want, what would Elena need, what would Elena’s life be like, what is the aftermath of a decision.

Sexual Dynamic: While Stefan does feel sexual attraction towards Elena, the nature of their sexual relationship is different. It almost felt like his respect and admiration for her purity and goodness temper his sexual desire, often resulting in a less primal and more tender expression of their intimacy. Stefan views Elena as pure, virtuous, and inherently good. His love for her is deep, respectful. This is further supported by their gentle, coming together, transcendental, connective, we-are-one, let me discover every inch of you, be with you, be inside you, soulful lovemaking sex.

The difference in Stefan’s sexual dynamics with Elena and Katherine can be illustrated by comparing intimate scenes with both women. With Elena, the moments are tender and filled with love, whereas with Katherine, the encounters are charged with raw sexual energy but underscored by a lack of deeper emotional connection.

Internal Struggle: Stefan's interactions with Katherine reveal a struggle between his lustful desires and his moral repulsion. This internal conflict is a hallmark of the Madonna-Whore complex.

I ask this because I've heard irl personal experiences. (I would love to hear your thoughts)

*Deep sigh* OK. So, if you spent a little time on my blog, like ten minutes even, you had to know I would disagree with this reading. The primary problem with the Katherine aspect of this ask is the complete disregard for the fact that she ruined his human life

once she showed anything else, he couldn’t accept it. She became a monster to him.

Is that what happened? Or did she bite him

compel his obedience

compel him to drink her blood

compel him to keep it a secret from Damon

and start a war in his town in which he died?

You make it seem as if Stefan simply looks at her as the "whore" because he finds her desirable but immoral for "reasons":

he acknowledges her prowess in bed and is undeniably drawn to her sexually, but this is paired with a persistent inner voice that views her as untrustworthy and immoral [...] Every time I watched their dynamic unfold I used to get this vibe of Stefan thinking "I'm attracted to her but she sure is poison for me." Almost like he felt he was is just too moral to love someone that duplicitous and manipulative.

when he doesn't see her as a "whore" but his anger and disdain is because he experienced severe trauma because of her -- trauma that she continues to inflict in the present

[...] she hijacks Elena’s body in season 5 and attempts to seduce him even though that is unbelievably fucked up, she doesn’t think about the consequences that would cause for Stefan and how that would mess with his head.

It’s why in season 2 she threatens to kill Elena while he watches if he doesn’t break up with her.

which keeps him from fully trusting her because of course it would. She has manipulated or attempted to manipulate key aspects of his life and when that doesn't work, she physically harms him

Is this actually true, though? Or are you referring to the part of 2x11 that Katherine puts in his head in an attempt to seduce him? Because this

is all a part of the sex scene, which is a part of Katherine's mind games

Because outside of that sequence, whatever tension there is -- and I actually don't think there is any narratively, Dobsley chemistry is a different story -- comes about because he is playing her for information.

He initially "loved" her because he thought she was an "angel", he loved the sweet/innocent/perfect image she portrayed.

Again, is that true? Before they get together physically, before she bites him, before she compels him, she makes a mockery of rules

she's heavy with the innuendo

He was was always attracted to how free-spirited and impulsive and fun she was, that's clear. Understandably, his feelings changed after she did what she did to him. It's not a loss of innocence, rather a betrayal of trust.

Yet, as season 5 indicates, Stefan still views her as someone worthy of compassion and sympathy and grace

So, no. I don't take the argument. I don’t think he has a “whore” complex with her, I think he sees her as a person who has caused him serious harm.

I definitely don't take the "Madonna" argument for Elena.

He fell for the sweet/innocent/perfect image once again (the ‘exact opposite’ of katherine).

Again, is this true? Or did he fall in love with a person who wouldn't do something like compel the person she supposedly loved to be with her, to die for her (that's what her compelling Stefan to drink her blood implies, that she was going to turn him into a vampire without his actual consent) because while Elena is flawed, she isn't meant to be an inherently selfish character? Did he fall in love with someone who, like him, places value in friends and family and who will do what she can to protect them instead of abandoning them?

Unlike Katherine

Could it be that that's what he meant when he said "you are the opposite of everything she was" and not oh my god she's so pure and innocent and sweet?

For better or for worse, Stefan places a lot of value on character.

Character. Not idealizations.

Honestly, speak for yourself? We could talk about the fact that when she is a vampire and can physically handle the extent of Stefan's primal nature, they go for it

and he gets off on her primal nature

but the show deliberately made them not have sex as vampires so she could have that experience with Damon.

But really, my thing is wanting to fuck in her parents bedroom

Being so loud that Jenna can hear even though they're supposed to be broken up

Having sex and not caring that Damon can hear -- which was her idea and which turns him on, which is why he laughs before they go under the covers --

speaks to something primal to me. Buuuuuuut that's just me, I guess.

And I already did a post on the evolution of "assertive Stefan"

Idk, I find too many holes in this argument personally.

Perhaps an argument could be made that the show frames them as the Madonna/Whore dichotomy from how they dress, to how they use or don’t use their sexuality, to their dialogue, to their morals, but that’s the show and how the showrunners/writers/creators develop the characters and not Stefan and how he views them. And I don't necessarily agree with that argument either but that's less of a stretch for me.

#stelena #steferine #the vampire diaries #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #katherine pierce #tvd #dobsley #stefan x elena #elena x stefan #stefan x katherine #katherine x stefan

35 notes · View notes

samijey · 19 days ago

Text

disjointed mega rant about how im very into the Bloodline vs Everyone developments from last night

im rarely that positive about main roster wwe but the more i think about the opener + main event from last night the more i like it. i was legit so into the drama of seth and sami that when drews ass hit the claymore i was like WHO IS THAT like a fucking idiot because i was so focused on that killer line from seth of "i love your heart but you need to start using your head" and sami's facial reaction to it because its such a perfect line that conveys right and wrong on multiple levels

YES seth completely has a point, he was sassy about it but he DID somewhat repent for his role in roman's descent into villain status by being cody's (literal) shield at mania and getting the poison that was the title off of roman.... but did he not also prey on roman's trauma (WHICH HE CAUSED) to bait him into hitting that chair shot?

i can see both arguments and it's fair to think seth really believes everything he says right now... but is he going about it the right way? recycling the "you're not family" shot against sami when we JUST established that yes - he IS family was low and even the crowd immediately called him out by chanting 'sami uso' to the point where he had to pivot and acted flustered by adding that he loves 'sami uso' (so then what's the point youre trying to make, man?) but he still IS right in questioning sami's decision to ally back with the bloodline

because seth's correct on one thing - roman hasnt apologized - he hasnt shown real regret for his actions the past couple of years... but he also told jey they were all proud of him, he saved sami from a solo spike, he nodded a silent thank you to sami when he first did the same for him the week prior, he asked the crowd to acknowledge jimmy and offered solo a hug at wargames, before hugging all the others as if he truly loves them... so theres an argument to be made on how he might be incapable of using his words to apologize at the moment and is instead slowly trying to do it with his actions? then again, hasnt he accepted the very people he hurt and pushed away in the first place back because he needed their help? or isn't - as cliché as it sounds - that what family should be? to help you if you hit rock bottom (hehe) and forgive and forget past mistakes as long as you show repentance in either words or actions?

idk once again theres multiple positive/negative arguments you can make for roman too so which is the babyface and which is the heel which of them is right? if you listen to crowd reactions, they both are! even though they are hardcore dunking on each other from a distance while mutually avoiding the other in a way i can narratively dig into for hours but funnily conjures the image of doctor frankenstein being able to turn the monster back into a regular human after 10yrs and now things are super weird between them because yeah you fixed me but you're also the one who fucked me up in the first place so uhh i kinda hate you still; while the doctor is like yea i fucked up but it felt right at the time so idk how sorry i really am about it and also you did do some messed up stuff so uhh AND THEY'RE BOTH AS RIGHT AS THEY ARE WRONG

meanwhile sami is clearly still ridding the buzz of being accepted back into the bloodline and into the family once again - in front of a super supportive crowd and by the man whose acceptance he had to work the hardest to get. it was a perfect echo of the moment jey stepped up to defend him at the tribal court - raw 30 vs post-crown jewel '24 - so OF COURSE hes protective of jey. they have built such a meaningful bond that they got pops for months for simply greeting each other for 10secs backstage for no reason other than to show theyre still in touch... HOWEVER, for someone meant to be an understanding, emotionally mature babyface, brandishing a chair while threatening a fellow babyface SCREAMING at him to admit he attacked jey.... was pretty wild - objectively speaking that wasnt very babyface of him and YET it was understandable and justifiable to the point where the crowd gasped and cheered when he got the chair instead of booing, so yeah he had (not many) reasons to think seth might be responsible but should've taken his own usual advice and thought things through before acting (all heart, like seth said) so there's another whole debate to happen here.

i know the brand split doesnt mean much these days, but even what little of it we get bums me out because having cody and kevin more directly into this mix would elevate it even more because at the moment, kevin and seth have very similar opinions on the roman issue - from a heel and babyface perspective ofc (...for now???) and seth's silence on cody teaming with roman at bad blood has been DEAFENING but thats a whole other topic and im trying to be positive.

i havent even mentioned drew coming back (who has done nothing wrong ever except for all the atrocities <3 and also has common ground with seth and KO rn) and cm punk who's in the wings being a menace and dangling that heyman favour over the narrative's head but yea yea that opener and main event were good stuff - it will probably go to shit eventually because it's wwe main roster but last night had moments of greatness and i will cling to and overanalyse those until my eyeballs start peeling off thank you

#not proof reading it i just want to get it out

19 notes · View notes

spockandawe · 2 years ago

Text

Something something Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao as foils to each other, specifically in terms of their experience of family.

Jiang Cheng starts out surrounded by family. It's not perfect, certainly, and he's got a lot of understandable doubts about how much his father really loves him, but he is AWASH in open love and care from every other member of his family unit. And that all gets chipped away, piece by piece, tragedy after tragedy, until the only thing left to him is his dead sister's baby son.

Jin Guangyao was very well-loved by his mother. But both of them were mistreated, and once he was thrown out into the world, all of the hopes he had for his father's family were crushed under the heel of even more overt mistreatment. He finds a place with the Nie Sect, and his peers exploit and mock him. He's elevated to a position of authority, but then, uh, things happen. His father finally recognizes him, but even as part of the family, the overt mistreatment continues. He finds a wife, he finally gets his father to allow him to marry, and then the revelation--

That's not even close to an exhaustive list of the setbacks in his life's game of chutes and ladders, and there's some real variability in terms of like... personal culpability, incident to incident. But much like Jin Guangyao is also a foil for Wei Wuxian, there's a clear and tragic path for what led him to the point where he would make those bad decisions. And most tragically, to me, his life seems like... a search for safety and stability. In this world, that's easiest to achieve through family and/or sect structures, and it is genuinely heartbreaking how often he tries to reach for happiness or security and gets viciously slapped down.

(is there good jin guangyao & mianmian fic? because that would be a fascinating pair of characters to put in a blender)

By the time of story present, Jiang Cheng's lost everyone who ever loved him before the sunshot campaign, and Jin Guangyao has managed to claw out a safe place for himself, but his marriage was poisoned for him before it ever happened, and his son is dead and he absolutely refuses to try for another. And the link between them, of course, is Jin Ling.

There's some quiet bitter flavor to both those relationships, how Jin Ling's parents died is still an open wound for Jiang Cheng, and he was right there for his big sister's death. Jin Guangyao knows exactly who set off events leading to those deaths, and is directly present to see the ways Jin Ling is still very much hurting from that loss. But I still will die on the hill that both Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao are genuinely attempting to account for the shortfalls in their own childhoods with him.

Jiang Cheng goes behind the scenes to set him up for success, and doesn't scold him for not being good enough, like his mother did with her children. And despite the loud threats, Jin Ling is offended that anyone would think his uncle would ever lay a hand on him. Jin Guangyao grew up poor, and perhaps he doesn't address the emotional root causes of Jin Ling's tantrums, but he gives him an expensive spiritual dog. His father gave him impossibly difficult tasks and then punished him for failing, and Jin Ling is not given any consequences ever for being a bratty little shit. Instead, Jin Guangyao steps in to cover for him when Jiang Cheng arrives at Jinlintai after Jin Ling broke out his prisoner and ran away. These are not necessarily good executions of parenting techniques, but it's so clear to me that they're trying, and specifically trying not to pass along the ways they themselves suffered as children.

And in that sense, it's so fascinating that he's also the intersection for their two very small family units. He's the one person Jiang Cheng has left. Jin Guangyao has finally managed to get high enough that nobody else can stomp on his fingers as he climbs, and he's finally got a small little family that loves him. Jin Ling is a crucial pivot for the mdzs cast as a whole, nobody has ever nephew'd this hard in all of recorded history. But when these are the two adults most involved in raising him, he really puts their differing perspectives into sharp relief. For the two uncles he's closest to, on the one hand, 'this is all I have left', and on the other 'at least, finally, I have this'

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #jin ling #abuse mention/

150 notes · View notes

caffinatedcastiel · 6 months ago

Note

explodes you

i read your fic (very interesting so far) and you said youd like to talk turtles ‼️ whats your interp of bad future donnie?

Is explodes

Hello there, my first turtle caller. I’m very happy to answer your question (with some information omitted to avoid spoilers for my Leader Future Donnie fic)

Im going to mostly focus on Donnie’s role as leader here- since that is probably where my interp of future Donnie differs from most fanon, but I can go into his interpersonal relationships and other details at another time too if that is of interest.

I like the concept of Donnie taking the lead at the start of the invasion due to Raph and Leo’s conflict that we see at the start of the Rise movie. Raph has learned from the end of the series that their way of life is not just dangerous, but is life-threatening. He’s seen this through Splinter’s memories and the death of Karai. So post-series and pre-movie, he wants to impart that onto Leo so he doesn’t have to learn it the hard way by losing people. Leo sees this as a lack of trust in his abilities and a criticism of his leadership, and gets defensive as a result. They both want to see their family succeed and thrive, but ultimately get in their own way while doing so. They are teenagers, they get insecure about their place. It unfortunately happens to play into a larger conflict they had no knowledge of.

This conflict and strife is what brings the team to fail circa the start of the first Krang invasion. Leo and Raph’s fears both come to light when they lose and resentment has the opportunity to boil over and poison the team’s dynamic. As such- neither are in the right mental or emotional headspace to lead effectively.

Enter Donnie. Donnie already has had a few lessons in leadership without actually taking on the position in the past. We can see this in a few circumstances.

In Donnie’s gifts and Mind Meld, Donnie is doing what he thinks will be best for the team. He gives his brothers technological aid (just as he has given himself with his battle shell) and enhances their mental performance (in a way that is exactly like him, focusing on intellect rather than other points of knowledge). And it doesn’t work because his brothers are not Donnie. He is the brother that probably understands best that trying to get people to do things the way he would, rather than they would, is not the way to lead.

These circumstances also help to expose Donnie to failure. Of the turtles, Donnie has had the ability to fail and recover quite often (Lair Games anyone?). To fail is to be a scientist. It doesn’t paralyze his decision making process as badly as it might with his brothers. He just pivots to find the next thing that could work. (and some things he’s just bad at, but he does anyway!)

Additionally, I headcanon that Donnie is the turtle that came to terms with his and his family’s mortality first out of the brothers. The creation of his battle shell is especially telling here, but a majority of his tech also reflects this. The Turtle Tank having defensive and offensive capabilities, Donnie’s gifts, the Donnie pods… Donnie knows that at any point, something can come around that can hurt his brothers and take them out of his life. So- he chooses to focus on evening the odds rather than despair over the possibility.

I also headcanon this as to why Donnie is less in tune with his mystics at first. Hamato Ninpo is triggered by the desire to protect the family. Donnie’s always been able to protect his family with his tech. It’s only when that fails that he needs to look inward for other options. (Example- Raph unlocks his mystics when he jumps after Leo from Big Mama’s roof. Donnie didn’t need to. He had his tech to protect and catch Mikey). And it still manifests in the way he has protected his family in the past- through manifestations of things he can build.

While this has led him at times to feel that his tech is his best and only contribution to his family, he has also had opportunities to accept that isn’t true. This is especially evident during his time in Witch Town. He failed, seemed discouraged and hopeless about who he is and what he is able to do- but April pulled him out of that. It is just really unlucky that Leo didn’t have that chance as leader. His first major obstacle just happened to be near unbeatable.

End-all-be-all: Donnie understands he can’t do everything himself. He understands that he needs other people to succeed and people have areas of knowledge that he may not understand that will push them to their goal of survival. He’s grown out of his pride to an extent and is able to see how to make up for his weaknesses with other people’s strengths (though his ego still can surface, he is still a kid after all).

These experiences and details all combine into how I see Future Donnie operating. He makes sure people are put into positions where they can thrive and in positions where they can fail safely. He doesn’t want people to get discouraged at their odds, so a structured environment that is built for learning and growth is his focus for regular, non-leadership positions in the resistance. He’s seen how pressure has impacted the people in his family (including himself) and doesn’t want the life threatening and dangerous world they now inhabit to lead to an implosion of panic and hopelessness through any level of his ranks. He knows firsthand that is the best way to lose.

He also employs this logic with his inner circle. Mikey is a particular asset when considering the well-being of people during their day-to-day operations. April’s extensive experience from her many different jobs makes her personable and versatile in assigning positions. Raph and Casey aid in training staff and soldiers and Leo focuses on scouting and recon. (Donnie also makes sure people have a rotation through positions they are good at, positions they like, and positions that they need multiple people to learn. He doesn’t want anyone to feel like they are “just the science guy” or anything of the sort. He feels that the focus on roles in his family did ultimately lead to the divide that got them in this mess).

I like to think that if the Krang were any less unbeatable and Donnie and his family actually had time to prepare in the way they did with the Shredder- Donnie’s leadership would be successful. He got an impossible hand, but also does help queue up their actual success in the movie.

This turned really long- and I apologize if it isn’t exactly the answer you were looking for. But I absolutely love the purple turtle and could keep going on and on if I don’t force myself to stop here. Thanks again for the question ❤️

@docaid

#rottmnt #future donnie #future donatello #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #docaid #answered asks #tldr #Donnie’s time as leader is actually great!#until it ends #and boy does it end #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #leader Donnie! AU

9 notes · View notes

bellstrom · 3 months ago

Text

Full Name: Benny Modig Hellström

Age & Birthday: 34 / January 30th, 1990

Occupation: Baker at Everything Goes

Preferred Pronouns & Gender: He/him & cis-male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Birthplace: Suffolk, Virginia

Length of time in Briar Ridge: 7 years

Neighborhood: Downtown

🖋 Played & Penned by: Bill Skarsgård / Syd

Welcome to Briar Ridge … BENNY HELLSTRÖM! ... He is best known for [ his height, as he tends to tower over most at 6'4'' ] and [ that he carries a deep secret that haunts him every day, preventing himself from experiencing true peace ]. What is really important to know about them is [ that he moved to Briar Ridge seven years ago to reunite with family and has been here ever since ]. PINTEREST

Abuse, Death, Murder, Blood, Illness, Drugs TW

Benny grew up on a humble farm in Suffolk, Virginia, with his younger sister, mother, and father. It wasn't very lively, as they only had a handful of animals, their crops barren and land unkempt. His younger years were spent walking to and from their large piece of land, trudging through unpaved roads just to get to town. His entire life was on that farm, and he never thought about anything beyond the forest that surrounded them.

The only version of his father that Benny knew was the distant drunk who couldn't bear to spend any real time with his own family. Hank Parker was always off doing his own thing, known to never be without a beer in his hand, mumbling things to himself whenever he thought no one was around. Benny learned very quickly to steer clear of his father and to never bother him. He was always a better father when he wasn't in the room.

In the summer of 1999, Benny discovered he had more family— most importantly, cousins. Learning this marked a pivotal shift within him, the void inside him filling the more he was around them. They played games on the farm, hiding in spaces Benny never thought he'd be playing in. It was the first time he felt happy in their home of a wasteland. What he failed to realize, however, was the absolute torment his father had stirred within him.

The Parker brothers' relationship could be described as a one-sided rivalry, which greatly influenced Hank's life. It seemed as though every decision he made was in response to his younger brother's accomplishments, even starting a family. Despite not seeing each other in over two decades, Hank was riddled with the fact that his younger brother was doing better than him. His kids had clothes on them that seemed to have been bought within the year, and it reawakened a sense of competitiveness he kept buried for a long time.

When the Parkers left, Hank changed. The awful aura around him seemed to turn up a notch, and the next four years were hell on earth for everyone. Ulla, however, had a plan. Benny is still haunted by his mother's promise, but he always believed in her, even if her promise was as ominous as "taking care of it." Unfortunately, her idea of "taking care of it" involved poisoning his food, but she didn't consider the correct dosage, and Hank woke up in a fit of rage. His zombie of a father tore through the living room to get to her, and Benny had to take matters into his own hands.

Blacking out was a new experience for Benny, happening for the first time at the age of 16. He remembers waking up, kneeling over his father's lifeless body, covered in blood. The first thing that came to mind was not the people around him or how scared his younger sister and mother might've been, but that his best friend was supposed to come over that night— they had planned a sleepover. In a fit of panic, Benny started to spiral until his mother gave him some money, a backpack, and an order. "You leave and never come back. I'll take care of it now, and I'm so sorry you had to do that. I'll find you when everything's done."

Benny dashed out of the house, encountering Gabe outside, who was completely oblivious to the monumental shift about to unfold in their lives. Their bond resulted in a commitment to stick together, and within a few days, they found themselves in Chicago, where they remained for the next decade.

In Chicago, Benny made a living by working in various kitchens. He began at the bottom, cleaning bathrooms and floors, and eventually progressed to washing dishes and clearing tables. It wasn't until one of the head chefs took Benny under their wing and taught him how to cook—a skill that transformed everything for him. Benny learned quickly and proficiently enough to get behind a stove, and he began to make a decent living for himself. Life started to feel stable until his mother/younger sister managed to find him.

After learning that his mother was ill, Benny decided it was time to reunite with his family. Despite the bittersweet and extremely painful decision, he had to leave Chicago behind, even if he didn't want to. He had to make it home to see her. After doing his best to tie up loose ends, Benny made his way to Briar Ridge, where he learned his younger sister and mother were staying.

Over the next seven years, Benny does his best to make Briar Ridge his home. However, the longer he stays, the more he realizes how hard it is to bear the weight of what he did while being around the ones he loves. In Chicago, he had left everything behind, and it was easier then. Now, he has to face them all, unsure if anyone knows the truth.

Born in Suffolk, Virginia, 1990

The Parkers visit for the first time, and Benny learns he has cousins, 1999

Benny's mother fulfills her promise and drugs her husband, but the attempt was futile, and Benny had to take matters into his own hands, 2006 (Benny flees Virginia)

Benny finds residence in Chicago for the next 11 years and leaves in 2017 after getting back in touch with his younger sister.

Seven years later, Benny is now residing in Downtown.

*character inspiration: Sirius Black (Harry Potter), Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead), Steven Hyde (That 70s Show), Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop), Patrick Verona (10 Things I Hate About You)

#intro #click the read more to view more of benny's story #as well as a quick timeline glance and some character inspo!

4 notes · View notes

attonposting · 2 years ago

Text

I think it's really important to distinguish that even a light side romanced-the-Exile Atton isn't motivated by goodness for its own sake. He has a stronger sense of responsibility than before, yes, and he'll get involved when the whim strikes him - and a light Atton will have more of those occasional chivalrous, or maybe just cocky, impulses than the keep-your-head-down man he was at the start of the game.

But he's still a scoundrel by nature, horribly jaded, very comfortable with problem-solving via murder, and he believes in neither the Jedi Code nor the pursuit of atonement. His morality is more Exile-centric than anything else, as in “I'm going to do this to protect them” or “I guess I'll do this stupid dangerous thing because they'll think I'm cool.” Love doesn't make Atton a better person, but it puts him through the motions (and if reciprocated, it'd make him a happier one, which would at least improve his behavior a bit.)

All in all, it's something where I think the game's alignment system can be misleading. People look at Atton mirroring the PC's alignment with that big beam of light behind him and go “he's a good guy now!” But nothing in-game really supports that. Does he approve of a LS Exile's actions? Yes, even if it confuses him and he's tsundere about it. Would he do the same thing in their shoes? Nope – that's why he's so inspired by them. Because they went through the same shit he did and still held onto the things he couldn't. Because he fought alongside Jedi in two wars, watched the pacifists cower as the galaxy burned and watched the war heroes turn into psychopaths, and he doesn't trust it at first, but this carved-up shell of a Jedi, the one who pulled the plug at kriffing Malachor V, is the closest thing he's ever seen to what the Jedi were supposed to be. Atton's portrait is gonna be pretty dang light sided while he's ranting at your Exile that all the Jedi who died on Malachor deserved what they got, and he means what he's saying. The game can stick him wherever on that bar it wants, but it's not serenity and goodwill that fills him, it's a messy morass of poison he's been choking down for years.

His arc is more about ceasing to run from himself, sorting out his feelings and his fears, and finally being able to move forward than it is about redemption. You figure he already had his big worldview shift years ago and made zero attempt to make up for any of what he did or mirror the grace he was shown, and, like... Atton's motivations start and stop with the Exile. Everyone else in the party has some other allegiance or some further goal that shapes their path. Bao-Dur wants to rebuild the planets destroyed in the war. Mira wants to reunite the families it broke. Atton wants to help the Exile, and if they're a lady, he wants to get together with her. That's all he wants out of life... unless he goes dark side, which gets ugly real fast.

While a dark Atton crashes straight back down to the bottom of the bar, I think the lightest Atton realistically gets is the grey background with a dusting of blue at his feet. It's like Kreia says – his potential lies downward. Dark Atton is terrifying, a proto-Sion, a hollowed-out obsessive shell of a man who can only feel anything through tearing Jedi down to his level. Light Atton is just a guy.

It's for this reason that I have trouble seeing him helping to rebuild the Jedi Order as canon implies. He never stopped hating the Order, and he has no stake in it anyway, only you – heck, if you look at becoming a Jedi as the pivotal moment in all of the Lost Jedi character arcs, Atton's decision to become a Jedi is so he can better protect the Exile. It's only a personal choice inasmuch as he's decided this is how he can live with himself, offering his life to someone who's truly proven to him that they're worth it. He's got nothing else anchoring him, to the point where I think he really is better off with the Exile than left to his own devices, even accounting for the influence warp and the probable imminent death. And I think it's telling that Kreia will only predict his future when he has motivations that don't include the Exile.

#atton rand #kotor #kotor 2 #kotor ii

66 notes · View notes

coffeewithcutcaffeine · 3 months ago

Text

— in which Vlad Dracula asserts his rightful claim amidst the bloodbath of the battlefield.

word count: 5,839 words

warnings: scenes of war, violence related to warfare, gore, physical violence, blood and injuries, murder [18+; MDNI]

a/n: After writing several works that try to fill the gaps in Vlad’s story and show the more intimate side of him, I am proud to finally tackle one of the most crucial moments in Vlad’s journey as a voivode, specifically one of the most important and decisive moments that always stands out in his biography — the battle of summer 1456 that marks the beginning of his second rule. This was a huge responsibility, not only because it was such a pivotal moment in his life, but also because this is my first attempt at writing a battle scene. My own blood, sweat, and tears went into this piece. I sincerely hope you will enjoy every gory moment of this (as much as the pain and suffering allow)! ❤️️

➨ also available on AO3

August 1456, plains near Târgșor, Wallachia

A figure charges at him, stripped of armour, clad only in a gambeson and chain mail. One of the cneji, perhaps, or one of their men. His sword arcs through the air, aimed to unleash a fatal blow. Vlad remains in place. His stance is firm, feet anchored to the ground and spaced shoulder-width apart, a stable base to meet the attack. His knees are bent, ready to spring into motion as soon as the man draws near enough to strike. Every muscle coils. The clash of steel is inevitable, imminent. The world shrinks to the beat of breath.

He soon detects the soldier’s vulnerability. His neck is bare, a thin line of flesh left exposed above the protective gear. With a swift and decisive thrust, the curved blade of Vlad’s kılıç cuts the air. Steel bites into the soft tendons and tears them apart like frayed silk. Blood gushes forth, thick and fast, painting the man’s chest in a violent rush of red. The body jerks, staggers, then, heavy with death, topples to the ground.

Throughout the years of being educated in the art of warfare, his instincts have sharpened, the lessons carving their mark in his body. The glory of one’s own kill is a poison one must learn to resist. Pride dulls the edge, exposes weaknesses, leaves defences strained and vulnerable. An opponent is never dead until he lies cold and lifeless on the ground. In the chaos of the battle, one must hold steadfast to his objectives to steer oneself clear of death’s grip. Distraction is fatal. Hesitation brings doom. The soldiers before him falter, their eyes locked in terror on the corpse of their comrade at their feet. He finds his two marks with deadly precision. In a heartbeat, his blade finds ribs, slashes through guts — swift, silent. The man crumples, lifeless. Without pause, the weapon arcs again, cleaving through the flesh of the other.

The once verdant fields lay ravaged around the carnage, torn apart by war. Blades of grass are ripped from the earth in rugged clumps. The ground heaves under the weight of hundreds of feet that have carved ridges upon the soil with every step. Banners whip through the skies, their colours catching the last rays of the sun’s harsh glare. The stench of sweat, blood, and smoke suffocate the heat-heavy air. Steel meets steel, the sound as sharp as a scream, mingling with the cries of the wounded. Time snaps tight, breathless, as fate circles overhead, waiting to strike. Life and death wrestle in the fading light, one moment away from collision.

As the sun slants lower in the sky, the battle rages on unabated, denying any hope of resolution. Weariness grips Vlad’s men and settles over them like a shroud. Despite their unwavering loyalty, their previous ferociousness wanes as drowsy defences replace their once swift strikes. The exiles, fierce in loyalty and bearing courage that matches his own, now begin to falter. The resilience of the Hungarian and Saxon mercenaries that hinges on the glint of gold florins within their grasp loses its edge. Limbs heavy with fatigue ache under the weight of steel. The air thick with blood and dust echoes the sounds of men fighting against their own limits.

Vlad himself feels the weight of exhaustion dragging him down like shackles of lead clamped to his neck. His knees almost threaten to surrender to the earth as fatigue creeps into his bones. Every parry, every strike, is a battle against the enemy standing before him and the darkness that claws at the edges of his vision. Dust and blood sting in his eyes and obscure his view, blurring the world into a dark smear around him. The night looms over him, ready to descend like a blade and cut across the grasslands.

Vlad’s eyes seize another crack amidst the enemy’s ranks. The first blows of a melee tear through the battlefield. The troops on the opposing side crumble into chaos, their discipline melting into a raw frenzy. Voivode Vladislav snarls at the sight of his own men as the once orderly ranks of his soldiers have devolved into a rabid mob. They wield their weapons recklessly, wild swings clashing without aim. His voice thunders over the roar, but the men have become deaf to command, hacking away with savage abandon. His grip tightens on his blade as his towering figure forces his way through, desperate to stem the tide. The soldiers begin to scatter in all directions instead.

There lies Vlad’s opportunity to turn the tides in his favour. All it requires is for his men to maintain their resolve while Vladislav’s forces crumble under the weight of disorder. All could be decided in mere minutes.

“Hold!” Vlad roars his command, hoping his voice will not be lost amidst the clamour of swords.

Somehow, against all odds, it works. Though his men cling to a fragile thread, they refuse to yield their positions.

Just a moment...

The horn’s blare slices through the battlefield, silencing the clash of blades and the pounding of the hooves upon the fields. The interruption brings a temporary standstill, allowing Vladislav’s soldiers to catch their breath. Dust hangs in the air, thick and heavy, as the chaos of the battle subsides. Vlad’s meticulous plans snap like taut wires. The opponent’s troops retreat from the forefront of the bloodstained ground like shadows in that fading light, their broken will gathering force, reshaping itself for the next strike.

With clenched teeth, Vlad fights to keep his emotions hidden behind a mask of impassiveness, fury coiled tight beneath a layer of self-control. He cannot betray anything in front of the men who look to him for his command, his steel-cold resolution. There is no time to falter. Yet inside him, blood boils and rises in his veins in blazing torrents. He sheathes his sword and yanks the helmet off his head, freeing the sweat-drenched face from its suffocating grip. Sweat trickles down his temples and stings his skin. It sprays around his face like a grim halo when he shakes his soaked curls. That damned dog, he thinks to himself with gritted teeth, spitting onto the dusty ground. His sharp whistle pierces the air as he calls for his horse. The beast is waiting just beyond the clash, nostrils flared, impatient like him, ready for blood.

The black turkoman thunders to a halt, and before his hooves even settle, Vlad slides off the saddle. He strides towards his most loyal men, already gathered in one place. Dracea welcomes him with a grin, his teeth gleaming on the blood-sprayed face like bones protruding from a mass of festering muscle. The stench of death clings to their armour. Blood drips from their blades. They all look like they have crawled out of Hell itself, back to the earth’s surface. When Vlad glances down at his own gloved hands — filthy, bloodstained — he recognises that he looks no different.

“The mercenaries are growing dissatisfied. A second break and hours of fighting… Yet no progress is being made,” Manea states when he offers Vlad a waterskin to drink from.

“He wants to wear down our morale.”

“If he continues like this, he might as well succeed,” Dumitru’s words linger like a heavy weight pressing upon Vlad’s shoulders.

He does not need to be reminded of the signs. Those risks are already etched in the hardened faces of the mercenaries, their eyes swallowed by shadows. Men driven by the desire for gold will always be ready to fight, but only while the price is right. Their resolve is crumbling, the initial enthusiasm disappears with every minute. No fortune is worth this much blood. As the sun begins its descent, they have been engaged in combat for hours. Too many hours.

Vlad falls into a momentary silence, cracked and aching lips welcoming the water that touches them. He gulps on its freshness, then swishes it in his mouth with slow deliberation. He lowers his head and spits it out, and the rivulet pounds over the dry earth at his feet.

“Change of plans,” he finally says, beckoning a young soldier to his side. “Go to the voivode and tell him I require to speak with him at once.”

“What plan do you have in mind?” Dracea asks, his voice filled with anticipation. The battle-weary soldiers draw nearer, their eyes riveted on Vlad, hanging on the forthcoming words of their leader.

“We will fight on my terms now. Let us see how well Vladislav fares.”

He watches the young soldier hoist himself up onto his horse. He is flanked on either side by two mercenaries, their hardened faces and battle-worn armour a stark contrast to the boy’s youthful exuberance. They do not speak; they do not need to. With a sharp command, they charge forward. The horses’ hooves tear into the earth, and dust spirals in their wake. They do not pause until they reach the voivode, and their arrival is marked by the air crackling with hurried words, hands gesturing towards their commander. Vlad barely acknowledges the insistent inquiries begging him to clarify his intentions. He stands unmoving, too absorbed in the silhouettes merging with the horizon. The questions hang unanswered.

In those moments of uncertainty, a glimmer of hope presents itself as the voivode, after what seems like an eternity of persuasion, breaks ranks and charges forward to meet his opponent in the middle ground. Vlad wastes no time. With a sharp gesture, his open palm commands Dracea to follow. With a newfound resolve coursing through his veins, he drags his body to sit upright in the saddle. His black stallion, spurred by the firm strike of his heel, bolts ahead. His world narrows to the pounding of hooves around him, and they stop only when Vladislav and his men loom before them.

Meeting his long-time rival face-to-face stirs less emotion in Vlad than he initially anticipated.

It has been a while since Vlad faced him, yet the traits Vladislav bears are as familiar to him as the back of his hand. The tall and lean Dănești have always stood in stark contrast to the shorter and bulkier statures of the Drăculești. One would hardly guess that the two family branches share the same ancestors. He is roughly the same age as Vlad’s father would have been, yet the silver shimmer in his dark beard barely shows. When he removes his helmet, a mass of shorter, wavy hair tumbles free, much lighter in colour than the Drăculești’s raven tresses. Yet, above all, what catches Vlad’s eye is how rested he seems. Certainly more rested than he, who slouches forward, saddle creaking, shoulders weighed down by an ache that keeps pulling him down.

He has always detested any sneers of superiority falling upon his head, but now, he wears his dishevelled state like a second skin. He hopes the black shadows haunting his eyes, the foul stench that clings to him, and the dented and mismatched armour will serve their purpose. He hopes that Vladislav takes the bait and sees weakness where there is none. Let him misjudge. Let him think that this ruin in front of him is all that is left.

The disdainful smirk the voivode greets him with conveys a thousand unspoken words.

“Well, if it isn’t Dracul’s boy,” he proclaims, his voice echoing loud enough to stir a chorus of laughter from the surrounding men. “You appear no more than the scrawny cub you were when we last met.”

A rush of adrenaline pulses through Vlad as his eyes lock on his opponent, and he feels his fingers tighten around the sword’s hilt. “I expected many things from you, dear cousin, but I never expected you to be so spineless. The day is nearly gone. Stop wasting time and let us end it once and for all.”

“My sword is still sharp, as are those of my men. You and your fellows can prove yourselves if you dare.”

Vlad points at the corpses piling behind the horsemen. “Is all that not proof enough to you?”

He catches a flicker of hesitation in the voivode’s dark gaze. There is a precise way to wound a man’s pride. Vlad knows it well.

“Your reputation’s at stake if you cowardly hide behind them,” his words come with a mocking snark that stabs like a knife.

“Prince, do not—” Dracea’s voice reaches his ears, but Vlad’s words drown it out as he speaks over his old friend.

“Let’s settle it now, man on man. The survivor takes the crown.”

Vladislav leans forward in his saddle. “What, are you challenging me to a duel?”

“Do you fear your sword arm has grown weak with age?”

Eyes, hundreds of them, lock onto the ruler’s back. A tense silence grips the fields, choking the air. The voivode’s smile holds, but something cracks — barely visible, a fault line snaking through the mask. Beneath the stillness, something stirs, waiting to strike.

“Age hasn’t dulled my senses enough to fall for your petty taunts,” Vladislav says through gritted teeth after a long pause. “But I will indulge you one last time before I gut you like a pig.”

“When and where?”

“Here. One of my men will sound the horn after the wounded and the dead are carried away.”

“Weapons?”

“Daggers only.”

“Very well, then.” With a sharp pull of the reins, Vlad guides his horse around.

The baritone of Vladislav’s voice trails like a phantom echo behind Vlad’s retreating silhouette. “May the winner prove his worth.”

Vlad lifts his hand in a parting salute. The turkoman beneath him trembles, his nostrils flaring at the stench of war. With eyes narrowed against the coming storm, he digs his heels into the horse’s flanks. Hooves spur into a full gallop, muscles grow tense. In a flash, he vanishes in the distance and toward his men, their faces hard with waiting.

His head bursts through the surface. He sucks in the air with a jagged breath, droplets scattering around his face. The kiss of water against his weary flesh graces it like a soothing balm. He forgoes the cloth offered to him and lets the rivulets trace paths down his burning face, falling to the surface below. He cups the liquid from the barrel in his hands and drinks it, presses the wet palms against the nape of his neck, stiff from hours of fighting. Salt crystals etch patterns upon his skin and sting in his eyes as the sweat on his face mingles with the dripping water.

As dusk settled over the fields, a breeze began to sweep through them. It offers no relief. The summer heat grips them all like iron shackles. It is a dense, sticky vapour that clings to Vlad’s skin in a way that feels alive in its persistence. The air hangs heavy with the scent of putrefaction. He can smell it on himself. The blood that was wiped off his breastplate had already begun to decay after being exposed for hours to the sweltering heat, filling his nostrils with the sickly sweet stench. Sweat has soaked through everything. He can feel the drenched fabric of his linen shirt that sticks to his flesh beneath the protective gear, every movement grinding the cloth against his skin. The heat lives inside him, searing, insidious. Each breath tastes like ash. His pulse throbs with its weight, mind sagging under the strain, thoughts slowing down to necessities. It feels as though it might consume him whole, inch by inch, a relentless, blistering hunger, burning him from the inside out, mocking every breath.

He has never felt more alive than when roaming the lands of death. He becomes unanchored, reliant solely on instincts. Every second is survival. His mind sharpens, free from burdens, stripped to its core. The only thing that matters is staying alive. Kill or be killed. This is his essence. This is his truth.

Something feels different this time.

One of them shall not survive the night.

He sinks to his knees and utters a brief prayer in silence. He regrets the motion as soon as he feels the strain in his knees. It becomes difficult to rise again. He stumbles and groans, fingers digging into the earth for leverage. The soil feels rough against the palms of his hands. He waves off the outstretched hand willing to help him.

He throws his arms wide, then stands still and lets his men dress him for battle. The dents in the armour were hammered out in haste, but the plates still bear the scars of previous wars. They were wars he did not fight. The marks were already present when he purchased the armour second-hand. A fine Saxon work, the steel solid even when worn out. He refused to waste a coin on useless displays of power when it was needed elsewhere. He pulls on the gloves while the leather straps bite into his muscles as they tighten, the buckles closing with a snap. Plates of metal encase his legs again. Rough hands reach out once more to tug at the pauldrons and lock them in place. A string of questions cuts through the air. Comfortable? Can you move? Any pressure?

A pair of blue eyes observes it all from the distance, watching as each question is cut down by the same swift shake of the head. They do not blink, do not waver, staying fixed on the Wallachian pretender. Everyone steps back as if afraid of brushing against the man fate already has her claws on. They grant him the final moments of peace. He tries to warm up the stiff muscles, tilts his head to one side and the other. A faint crack breaks the silence. Lifts his arms, drops them. Twists his torso to the side. Bends low, legs stretching as much as the armour will allow. His face betrays him. The strain bleeds through the tightening of his jaw.

Dracea sighs and walks forward. His legs move of their own accord, pulling him towards his friend without a thought. The sight of that body, full of fire despite the exhaustion, pierces him with dread. His mouth feels dry, but it has little to do with the thirst that fills it. Dust seems to rise in his throat, suffocating him. That man is young, not yet twenty-five, still standing in his prime, future stretching before him like an open road, waiting. So much left undone, yet the threat of death looms over him. Dracea’s fists clench. No. Not today. Not ever. This life cannot slip away with the dark.

“Are you prepared?”

Dracea stops inches from him. Although the blonde-haired giant towers over him, Vlad dominates the space. A light smirk flickers beneath the dark moustache, almost imperceptible if only the man opposite him did not know that face better than he knew his own.

“As I can be.”

Dracea’s guts clench at the calmness in the man’s face — or is it a sign of sheer recklessness? His eyes narrow, arms folding tight against his chest now that his body has been freed from armour. He sucks in a sharp breath and blows out his cheeks, gaze flicking towards the sky.

The words shoot out of him before the lack of courage can throttle them. “I do urge you to reconsider. We can wait until the night falls, then retreat to—”

“No.”

He studies him again, noting the faint slouch in his shoulders. His mind darts back to the voivode on the far side of the field, a man twice Drăculea’s age, yet looking fresher, sharper. He has been holding back, conserving his strength. He did not charge headlong into the fight, did not bleed with his men, did not throw himself into the chaos as if he were just another soldier. Vlad did — always first into the fray, relentless.

“Dan’s army is exhausted just the same. His mercenaries likely believe they have done more than enough to earn their wages. We can wait and use the opportunity when—”

The green of Vlad’s eyes morphs into molten fire. His gloved hand snaps forward and seizes Dracea’s arm, yanking him forward. He forces him to face the northern border. Behind the plains, the terrain slopes upward into the mountainous forests. The edge of Wallachia, where Ardeal begins. The land of the exiles.

“Are you so eager to live like an outcast again? Because that is all we will be should we go back,” a hiss creeps into Vlad’s voice, his finger stabbing the air as it points to the peaks that loom in the distance.

Dracea tries to wrench himself free, but his grip is unforgiving around his shoulder, iron on bone. Vlad lets go only when he catches the first signs of panic flooding the blue eyes.

“I will not—” Vlad shakes his head, searching for words. “I am not running again, not for a second more. Not when I have his throat within reach of my hand—”

Vlad’s hand shoots up in front of Dracea’s face. His fingers coil, tightening as if he were already closing them around Vladislav’s windpipe. Dracea lays the palm of his hand across the tense fist, feeling the leather creak beneath his skin.

“We might get another chance later. There will be no second chances if you die today.”

The fields fill with the sharp blow of the horn. Everything changes, Vlad’s countenance most of all. All words are in vain. Dracea stands frozen, awaiting a response he knows he will not receive. Vlad turns away. His back becomes a wall, impenetrable and unyielding, as he strides away from his companion. His voice rings out, summoning the horse with a mane as dark as midnight, mirroring the locks of his master.

“At least let someone else fight in the duel, someone less weary,” Dracea grunts, making one last attempt to reason.

The smile that spreads on Vlad’s face is hardly reassuring. “No, Dracea. It is my throne to take. I ought to be the one to fight for it.”

He swings up into the saddle, patting the side of the turkoman’s neck. A man rushes towards him, holding Vlad’s helmet. He hesitates for a second, then reaches for it. His fingers curl around the familiar weight. He glares at it, at the dents, the scratches, then puts it on. His eyes dart to the safely hidden dagger — simple and practical, double-edged, good for thrusting as well as slashing. The key that will open the doors to the throne. His throne.

“Any final advice?” he says as he clasps Dracea’s hand in a farewell grip.

“Go with God and fight like the Devil. You shall dine in Târgovişte tomorrow.”

The troops have settled into the role of a crowd with ease. Armour lies discarded, bodies sprawl themselves across the grass still soaked in the blood of their dead comrades. The men’s eyes flicker toward the fighters poised on the precipice of glory or ruin. Coins change hands with sharp clinks as bets are sealed in low grumbles. Warm wine sloshes down the parched throats. All of it fades into a dull hum beneath the pounding of blood in Vlad’s ears.

Two banners fly in the air. The green and gold of the Dan snap on one side. The night sky with the day’s red and gold of the Drăculea on the other. Only one will stand in the end. The other will topple to the ground the moment the body of its defender lies dead in the dirt.

He quickly reevalues the odds. Vladislav is older. Taller. More experienced. Armoured in steel no one among the sea of men filling these plains has even dreamed of wearing.

The crowd’s laughter bites through the evening air. A shiver runs down his spine.

The horn blares again. Sharp and final. It is time.

Vladislav unsheathes his blade with a decisive motion. Its edge catches the fading light, glinting menacingly. Vlad mirrors his actions. A violent shout tears from the voivode’s throat as he charges. Heavy footfalls meet Vlad in a few strides. The old man’s movements are slow, mechanical, seeking balance. Predictable. Vlad bides his time. His muscles tense, poised to strike. His stance is ready — knees bent, feet grounded for quick movement. He watches the approach. Every twitch. Every breath. Come. Make your move.

In a flash, two bodies swathed in metal collide. Steel meets steel with a shriek that splits the air. Vlad grips the dagger loosely, hand ready to adjust swiftly. His sharp eyes hunt for any opening, any weakness. He holds, waits — until Vladislav is nearly upon him. Then he leans into the blow and twists his torso as the impact erupts.

Vladislav lunges forward, too close for a clean strike. His blade whips down, hunting for exposed flesh. Nothing. The blade scrapes against the breastplate with a sharp screech and skids off, leaving a pitiful scratch. His eyes widen as the young man’s gauntleted hand claws at him, tugging at the plates, yanking him closer. Vlad grinds his teeth as he finds the target he is looking for. With a brutal snap, the top of his helmet smashes into Vladislav’s visor. The man staggers back, gasping, vision swimming and exploding. He blinks, tries to clear the haze from his eyes. The world around him narrows into a tunnel of blurred shapes and sounds, his breath a ragged storm inside the helmet.

Sensing the advantage, Vlad charges with teeth bared in a snarl. Vladislav reacts on instinct. His body snaps into a defensive stance, blade up, hand tired yet steady. The enemy’s weapon slashes through the air. The steel whizzes past, grazing his armour but not finding flesh. Vlad presses on, but the fatigue begins to slow him down. Vladislav spots his hesitation, the aggression in the young man waning. He surges forward, no thought, only the sharp glint of the dagger seeking out a sliver of exposed skin between those steel plates. Cold. Merciless. The moment to strike is now.

He finds no opening. Instead, blade bites into blade as Vlad deflects at the last second. With a swift strike, he flicks his dagger to the side, sending Vladislav’s weapon flying from his grip and to the ground. But where exhaustion drags one down, fury drives the other forward. Vladislav waits until the youth makes one small mistake, succumbs to a moment of carelessness. It comes. Swift and sloppy. Vladislav seizes him as if he weighed nothing. His grip on Vlad’s left arm is iron-like, relentless. The strength catches him off guard. Before he can free himself, the older man wrenches the arm back. The shoulder yields with a sickening pop.

The pain rips his breath out of him. It tears through his shoulder like a jagged knife, jolting upward, stabbing into his neck. His arm falls limp, dangling by his side at a grotesque angle. The agony that floods him is sharp and relentless. A howl drags its way out of his constricted throat. The world collapses into silence and haze. Strong hands grip his waist and send him toppling to the ground. He does not blink, does not shut his eyes. He sees everything. Faces frozen in shock. Mouths twisted in screams. The hills looming behind them. Above him, the sky darkens. His back slams into the dry earth, and he feels it moving beneath him. The dagger flies out of his hand and falls next to him. Everything around him spirals without control. His arm. Fire. Searing every tendon. Every muscle ablaze.

A shadow comes between him and the sky. Vladislav moves fast. Too fast. In one savage motion, he tears the helmet from Vlad’s head. Green eyes flash wide as the voivode’s large hands close in. Vlad tries to roll to the side and escape the grip he knows is coming. His shoulder flares with pain and pins him to the ground. Vladislav kneels over him and straddles him. The hands hover, closer, threatening. They lock around the exposed neck—

And squeeze.

The first sensation Vlad feels is the tightening around his neck, constricting him like iron jaws. Pain scorches through his throat, molten, as if he swallowed fire. His lungs rebel and claw for air that will not come, every breath blocked by the unforgiving grip. His body spasms. Instincts kick in, meeting with nothing. Resistance. His eyes throb in their sockets, the world dimming. Vladislav’s fingers dig deeper. The pressure on his windpipe makes him gag. A ragged sound escapes his parted lips. Raw and choking. Barely human. Fueled by rage, the voivode heaves him up like dead weight and hurls his skull into the ground.

Vlad’s vision begins to blur. The edges of his consciousness fray, fading everything into a faraway smoke. He tries to fight the primal urge to thrash, to gasp for breath. He forces stillness into his limbs. Breathing shallow. No rash movement. The dagger flashes in his mind. A lifeline. Vladislav fails to notice that the right hand twitches to life, fingers crawling over the dirt with purpose. They find what they are looking for. The cold metal hilt. They close around it, pulling the weapon closer to the body lying in the dirt.

“Die!” Vladislav screams into his face.

Before the world begins to darken, Vlad’s eyes lock on the opening. A sliver of pale skin just above the breastplate, the flesh so tender and welcoming. He does not hesitate. He grinds his teeth as he raises his right arm. It drives the dagger up, thrusting into the small space of the unguarded neck that reveals itself to him. The grip around his throat slackens. The air floods back. Vlad pulls the blade hard to the side. The gaping hole rips wide open in front of him. The voivode tries to scream, but his voice is strangled. The once smooth throat becomes a ragged ruin, with dark red blood pooling and seeping from the severed vessels. He shuts his eyes as it gushes forth. It is warm, spilling over him like waterfalls, cascading across his face. A few drops seep into his lips, filling his mouth with a metallic taste. It runs down into his hair, binding it into a wet, sticky mass.

Behind the visor, the light in Vladislav’s eyes flickers, then dies. His body grows heavy with death. The armoured corpse crashes forward. Vlad barely manages to turn his head before it slams onto him, the weight of metal crushing against his chest, burying him beneath it. The heat of the summer sun still clings to the body.

From the distance, it was impossible to catch every detail. The voivode is dead. That much is clear. One soldier stands up and brushes the dust off his thighs. He walks over to the banner of the Dănești and yanks it from the ground. The colourful cloth falls discarded. But Drăculea does not move. Not a muscle twitches beneath the dead body. The hand that delivered the blow fell to the side with the blade slick with blood… and now lies there, unmoving.

The field is silent, save for the shriek of circling birds that have come to feast on the fallen. The faces of hundreds of men remain unmoving, breath caught in their throats. They wait for a sign. Any sign. But Drăculea does not move. He lies there, a body abandoned by life, giving nothing.

Dracea scans the swarm of bodies in the crowd, searching for familiar faces. There. Manea’s bone-white head. Dumitru is stumbling to his feet. Stan, frozen, shock carved into his pale face. Stoica. Buriu. Iova. Their tension mounts, second by second. Each man readies himself to drag the body of their fallen prince — their leader, their friend — from the dirt and carry it away to lay him to rest.

And then the body stirs.

“He is alive!” Dumitru cries out as he bolts past the others to get to him.

With a grimace of pain, Vlad uses the last dregs of his strength to force the corpse off him. He twists, bracing his legs, his torso, anything he can use against the dead weight. The dislocated shoulder throbs with each push, but he grits his teeth and shoves. Other hands reach down from above, rough and sudden. Men standing over him yank the body aside to free him from the crushing burden.

Vlad rolls over and, with a laboured grunt, pushes against the soil. A violent coughing fit overpowers him, lungs wheezing, gulping on the air. The blood on his face mixes with the dirt scraping him as he claws at the ground, the dust forming a hard crust over his skin. His fingers dig into the earth, anchoring him as he hauls himself up. His legs quiver, and he curls them beneath him as much as the armour allows, forcing himself up. His breath comes in ragged bursts, but he steadies himself, every muscle protesting the strain.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dumitru’s hands reach for him, helping him stand up. He lets the motion carry him, legs dragging as he is hauled to his feet. An arm wraps around his shoulders and yanks him into an embrace. The mangled joint flares with pain again. He pays it little attention. He looks around. The troops from both sides are now standing in front of him. A few of the men walk away quietly, slipping off into the shadows to find their horses. Another pretender waits. The rest begins chanting. His name. Over and over. Vlad. Vlad. Vlad. Vlad. Vlad. The cry crashes into him in the form of hundreds of voices.

Now that name truly stands for something.

Now that name represents something bigger than himself.

He pushes Dumitru’s arm aside. He screams from the bottom of his lungs. The roar he lets out is guttural, overwhelming. It bursts out and shakes the air, and the depth of the sound carries itself across the Wallachian plains. The mouth open wide reveals the glimmer of white teeth, the contrast striking in the face smeared with blackened grime. He screams until the burning in his bruised throat stops him. His voice cracks, then breaks completely.

The men keep looking at him, unable to tear their gaze off him. They see what a voivode could be. Should be. Voievod. He who leads the warriors. He who stands at the front. Fighting. Bleeding. Burning. Who better to lead them than the one who suffers with them, bleeds with them?

Vlad.

Vlad. Vlad.

Vlad. Vlad. Vlad.

In a single triumphant moment, the years of exile scatter like dust. Only the pulse of a man on the verge of his fate remains. Eight years of turmoil have led to this place. The future Voivode of Wallachia. Ready to shape the new future of his land.

It is there. A breath away. All it waits for is to be claimed by his determined hand.

Phew. What a writing journey this has been. I started working on the initial draft sometime in February and only now managed to finally mould the piece into what I hoped it could offer.

With this little work of mine, I try to establish a more detailed picture of Vlad’s character and circumstances that hint at what kind of ruler he will be. While I still try to show him as the badass he indisputably was, my biggest priority is to show him as a man first, one whose body aches and betrays him, one who does not always execute things with perfect precision. At the time of this legendary battle, Vlad certainly did not lack military experience — but it was still the first truly big armed confrontation he led himself, and I found it crucial to show that such beginnings and first times hardly go smoothly.

Worry not. Many bold and impressive moments will come. Vlad was a big fan of duels, after all. Was he a military genius? Correct. Are military geniuses just born like that? Certainly not. And so he has to go through his trials to become that formidable warrior commander. I personally think that witnessing these struggles and setbacks makes his final victory (and the future successes) all the more impactful. I will let you be the judge of that.

Moving onto the facts now!

We know that Vlad’s second rule began after he killed Voivode Vladislav II in 1456, but the exact dates vary. I have stumbled upon three different months — April, July, and August 1456. I decided to settle with August as it made the most sense given the circumstances that led to this battle. From 1454 to 1456, Vlad was appointed by Hunyadi to guard the southern Transylvanian border against any possible attacks, and Vlad’s invasion of Wallachia largely depended on Hunyadi’s help and resources. Because we know that Hunyadi led the Hungarian defenders during the Siege of Belgrade (which took place from July 4–22), it would make a lot of sense for Vlad to meanwhile stay in Transylvania in case the Ottomans won and made their way north towards Hungary. Hunyadi died on August 11, therefore, the most logical solution was to wedge Vlad’s invasion into early August.

Vladislav II’s gravestone is marked with the date of August 22, 1456. However, it is estimated that this was the date of the engraving, not the date of his death. By August 22, Vlad must have already replaced Vladislav on the Wallachian throne.

Cneaz (pl. cneji) was a title borrowed from Old Church Slavonic. It was initially used as a title for the early Wallachian leaders (before the formation of the Principality of Wallachia), but I also found it as a title used for Wallachian petty nobility. Either way, the fact is that only higher nobility or important people could afford full armour, hence why Vlad fights a man who wears only gambeson (a padded defensive jacket worn as armour separately or beneath armour) and chain mail.

As you may have noticed, Vlad’s weapon of choice is a kılıç. It is a type of one-handed, single-edged and curved sword used by the Ottomans (among others). I will elaborate on this a great deal more in future works as I have prepared a whole lore around his weapons but, essentially, while I have him do fabulously with a wide range of weapons, he has a personal preference for the Ottoman ones, simply because he underwent more rigorous military training during his hostage years. Also, he rides a turkoman — this four-legged friend will also make frequent appearances in the future, so I will not spoil much!

Ardeal is one of the names for Transylvania in Romanian.

#vlad dracula #vlad drăculea #vlad tepes #vlad ţepeş #vlad the impaler #vladislav ii of wallachia #dracea de măneşti #dumitru costescu #manea udriște #historical fiction

2 notes · View notes

freeaustinbutler · 1 year ago

Text

AUSTIN AT THE CONCERT

What’s this the image of Austin looking bored, legs crossed, while kaia drapes her body all over him?

Austin body language screams reluctant participant, rather than a party enthusiast. He did NOT want to be there. He is not holding her in that image. This is a CONCERT. Austin looks like he’s at an elderly home. For those who keep saying Austin wore a mask so he wouldn’t get noticed: IT IS MORE NOTICEABLE TO WEAR A MASK IN A HUGE PUBLIC PLACE WHERE NO ONE ELSE IS WEARING ONE! Also, I just want to point out, Austin is in a VIP area with Oscar winner, and friend of the Gerber’s: Laura Dern!! He won’t be bothered by ANY FANS!! So that argument is useless!

What the deal with the footage in the room?

I wanna HUG the person who recored that! Austin is fully UNAWARE there is a camera in the room. Kaia on the other hand, is fully aware! she, the puppeteer of their PR narrative, orchestrating a show he appears reluctant to perform. The noticeable absence of his hand in hers is a powerful revelation, a small yet significant detail hinting at a concealed imbalance of control. As the camera captures this unguarded moment, the veiled intricacies of their relationship begin to unravel. He just hates holding her.

a moment of escape presents itself—one that reveals a cunning maneuver within the confines of a PR-driven relationship. Amidst the orchestrated scenes, he uses a distraction, and with lightning speed:-without hesitation, Austin springs into action, capitalizing on the unexpected run in with the man. In an instant, he shifts his focus, engaging with him and creating a captivating moment that diverts the spotlight from kaia. It's a calculated split-second decision, a skillful maneuver designed to extricate himself from the meticulously crafted gerber. He seizes the opportunity, using the unsuspecting individual as an instant diversion from the scripted entanglement. Austin prolongs the hug with that person as a means to get away from kaia. Let’s be real, we all know if he bumped into that guy in the street, the hug would not have lasted that long.

Merely EIGHT SECONDS into the video, Kaia’s desperation becomes palpable as she fervently seeks her turn, her hand impatiently raised, a stark contrast to Austin's genuine connection with the man. The desperation in Kaia’s body language is distasteful.

At the 12-second mark in the video, a strategic shift emerges – Austin adeptly employs his body as a barrier, subtly swaying to obstruct Kaia's spotlight-stealing attempts. His deliberate movements create a visual boundary, ensuring his mini-reunion remains untarnished by her overshadowing ambitions.

At 14 seconds, something intriguing happens. Austin is clearly avoiding kaia, doing his best to keep interactions with her to a minimum. On the other hand, kaia is trying really hard to show off that they're together, but Austin seems like he's ignoring her, almost as if she's not even there.

At the 18-second mark, things get even more intriguing. Austin pulls off a clever move, using another woman as a distraction. He introduces this random lady to the man he hugged earlier. Then, when kaia goes in for a hug with the man, any boyfriend would have reveled in the moment, right? But no, Austin walks AWAY and behaves as though kaia isn't even there. It's like a dance - she moves forward, and he takes a step back every time, creating a noticeable gap between them. IT IS RIGHT IN YOUR FACE PEOPLE!!!!

Finally the ICING on the poisonous cake, as we hit the 21-second mark, a pivotal moment occurs. Kaia accidentally bumps into Austin, her supposed boyfriend, but his reaction is far from what one might expect. He plays it cool, as if he doesn't recognize her at all. The intrigue deepens when he intentionally switches his bag, a calculated move to avoid holding her hand. It's like he's employing yet another tactic to keep a distance between them. WAKE UP! This is a PR relationship. As mentioned, I have run this account for a long time. I’ve see this play out with MANY celebs!

Have an epic week! See you in the next article!

#austin butler #taylor swift #the eras tour #taylor swift eras #elvis presley #kaia gerber

12 notes · View notes

queenfredegund · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Do you think Theodebert really did kill Bilichildis? Do we know why - were they estranged (or perhaps the rumour that they killed her stemmed from the idea that they were esteangd) or was it anything else?

Hello! That's a very good question, and tbh, I don't think we could know it for sure. I really think she was killed under Theodebert's authority, probably not by his hand for sure, but surely on his command. But given the informations we have through Fredegar's chronicle, I wouldn't go for a personal matter, but rather a political matter. It's more a question of political factions playing than just the end of an old infatuation. Let's dig that further.

The Fredegar's chronicle just says that she "was killed by Theodebert" in 610 (Chron, IV, 37), but doesn't explain why or how, like if she was poisoned, or strangled, or beaten, this isn't even mentioned. But it's true that the way it's written kinda implies that it could have been some sort of official execution, like in after a public trial, or by royal decision.

The truth is that Bilichildis was a really important figure during the first part of Theodebert II's reign. She was the king's consort and apparently the most proeminent female figure of his court, a very influential one, as Fredegar says she even ruled the country instead of her husband who was too stupid for it. (I don't think Theodebert was mentally ill or something like that, rather that Fredegar bad-mouthed the king by writing this, although there is some possibility that Bilichildis was remembered as an important person as well, someone with capability and perhaps powerful protectors).

So, I really think Bilichildis may have become a pivotal figure throughout Theodebert's court, as she is seen discussing political matters with the proceres (aka the important members of the court, sometimes high-ranking military figures). And I think at some point during Theodebert's reign, she embodied a specific clique in the court, a sort of political party which was seeking for peace, rather than launching a war against Theodebert's brother, and even engaging embassies with Brunehilde, grandmother of the two kings. And according to Fredegar, she was this important that the proceres even warned her to not put herself in danger by meeting Brunehilde, fearing that she could die if this was a trap. This indicates how much Bilichildis' figure and position at court were seen altogether as an important matter by people of the court.

So the way she died quickly, and that shortly after her death, Theodebert eventually launched the war against his brother (a war he dramatically lost btw), it makes me wonder if Bilichildis was not killed because she represented too much of an opposition towards him and his will to go against his brother. So by killing her, maybe he was in fact dismembering a political faction hostile to his authority. At least, it's the way I'm seeing it.

#bilichildis i #merovingian period #merovingian queens #7th century #how i love bilichildis' figure she's so underrated and yet so interesting!#ask

3 notes · View notes

toaarcan · 1 year ago

Text

Guess Twitch isn’t retiring just yet.

Alright, here’s the plan. Vulcan will be leading the charge, and will be Double Kicking his way through Spinda, Linoone, and Vigoroth. He should be able to bring them all down in two hits apiece.

We then pivot to Primeval. He’s still a baby, but his combination of Toxic and Protect means that the Slaking will be on borrowed time. This puts him on a clock, and we’re guaranteed to win in eight turns.

Let’s hope this works.

This is actually the easiest version of this fight. In the other versions of Hoenn, he has two Slakings. Here, his other Pokemon are much easier to deal with.

Well no time to stall.

Just don’t kill any more of my friends, please.

Crit didn’t matter, it was already going to die.

No Teeter Dance shenanigans for you.

Oh, it’s fast.

But not strong enough.

This one’s a Belly Drum-user, so in theory, even if it’s quicker than Vulcan, it’ll just hurt itself and guarantee my victory.

Scary, but a tactically poor decision.

Still bulky enough to require the second kick, though.

Time for the plan.

Well fuck. I only have eight Protects after this, which could mean I run out, and if I do, then I could be in a bad spot.

Also then I missed again.

Okay, we’re behind schedule because the game can hit 55% accuracy moves every time, but I miss 85% accuracy moves twice in a row, but now the stalling begins.

That helps.

Well, the poison would’ve done it in either way, but still, we take those.

Scariest gym battle beaten!

Stormbringer: A Pokemon Emerald Nuzlocke, Part 7

The first time I got this far, I thought I was about to have to fight a Blaziken. Little did I know that I'd never see a fully-evolved starter on Brendan/May's team.

Desert access acquired!

And the part we've all been dreading.

Okay, asshole. We'll see who's tough when you quit this journey in Lilycove.

Let's be honest, it's why she's still here.

Were I a braver man, this would be my plan for Norman. Unfortunately, I don't have a Protect or Detect user to avoid the Facades.

I think this is only relevant to Vulpix in this game.

Desert catch! That's two future-dragons we have now!

So, in the original Ruby and Sapphire, the fossils were just on the ground here, but not so in Emerald.

Emerald adds this place, the Mirage Tower, which appears and disappears at random, just to be extra confusing. It uses the same Mach Bike/Broken Floor puzzle system as Sky Pillar, so it's a dry run for that.

Here, we'll find our fossil, and an extra encounter, conveniently enough.

Neat.

Tribute to Anomalocaris

And then the tower collapses.

I didn't do it.

#Pokemon #Emerald Nuzlocke

3 notes · View notes

madtomedgar · 3 years ago

Text

ok so like... i’m not citing text or claiming to have the Most Correct interpretation here but i’m going to just lay out my thoughts on the way i think jgy feels about nmj post sunshot. while i am aware that most of what he says and does in the empathy flashbacks is about appeasing or getting away from nmj, which points to his primary emotion towards him being fear, i don’t think that’s all there is to it.

because you don’t run yourself ragged and make mincemeat of your g-cal commuting between states to spend countless hours at your own expense to spend time with and try to help someone you just want to get away from.

jgy is absolutely terrified of nmj and doesn’t want him to be angry with him because he’s scared of being yelled at, hit, threatened, or having a saber swung at him with deadly intent. however, he also, i do think, genuinely cares (pre-stair kick or pre-???) about nmj and wants to help him, and specifically in cql help him get back to being who he was because he admired who he was before big sword brain disease took over.

yes deputy meng yao is acting as a good subordinate should, and yes his life in the unclean realm kind of sucks and nmj is not good at helping but, for the timeline of cql, he is possibly the first person to try. and it, and whatever happens after that, is enough to inspire meng yao to do something he has to know he’ll be killed for to save him and the nie sect, and then jump on wen zhuliu’s sword for him. you don’t do that for someone you’re just... tolerating, i would argue, especially if you have other places you’d rather be.

jgy very much does not have to go play for nmj. i think it’s implied that it’s a pretty big lift for him, and that doing it is causing some problems for his life. and yes, part of the motivation at first is to ease lxc’s burden and guilt around not being able to come but like... it really sounds like he’s going above and beyond. and yeah, if he can quell the saber rage, it benefits him because it’s less likely nmj will try to harm or kill him randomly, but to even do this, he has to go and put himself in harms way in a place where he has no hope of anyone coming to his defense. and again, while he does a lot of high risk/high reward things... this seems like not that to me. what it does seem like to me is that he misses the person nmj used to be and the approval etc he used to get from him, and he doesn’t know how to get that back really and maybe it’s not possible but maybe if he plays for him enough, maybe they can get to something that’s at least... nice? again?

and then he gets kicked down the stairs for his troubles and. well.

#untamed stuff #shameless jiggy apologism #i also think that the burning of nhs's stuff #is pivotal to his decision to poison him #because he would know better than many #that nhs is the person that nmj will never ever turn on or attack #and if nhs isn't safe around him anymore... is anyone?#every day i lose more respect for nie mingjue

45 notes · View notes

zintranslations · 4 years ago

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 131

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 131: Ghosts

Behind the elevator door was a dim corridor that looked no different from normal. Yet, dispersed through the air was the faint, identifiably gamy scent of blood. It was reminding Lin Qiushi that things weren't as simple as they seemed.

Lin Qiushi took a step forward, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. When he got outside of the apartment, however, just as he turned a corner, he saw three identical little girls in dresses standing before him.

They stood around a huge birthday cake, on which was stuck a thicket of white candles. The cake appeared to be on the verge of melting, and the red liquid that kept dripping out of it was precisely the source of the scent that Lin Qiushi smelled. Worse was that on the top of the cake, a woman's severed head had been placed. Her eyes remained open, watching Lin Qiushi and refusing to be resigned to her fate; she even batted her eyes at Lin Qiushi.

The tableau was grotesque and chilling. Seeing them, Lin Qiushi remembered the door he'd passed with the Fitcher's Bird hint. Without question, these were the triplets that Lin Qiushi had once met inside the door…

The triplets stood in the entrance, heads twisting about to face Lin Qiushi. Stiff smiles tugged up their faces, and from their lips poured the little happy birthday ditty. One of the girls slowly lifted a hand and pointed at the top of his head, and she said, "Xiao-gege, won't you eat cake with us?"

Hearing her question, Lin Qiushi didn't dare answer. He turned around and left for another exit.

Good thing that the triplets only watched him go with no intent of pursuing.

Lin Qiushi ran quickly. It was a moment's work to get to the door, but just as he was about to go out, he recalled what one of the triplets had done—she'd pointed to the top of his head. What did this gesture mean? Could there be something on the ceiling?

Honestly, under circumstances such as these, nobody would be happy to look up at the ceiling. Yet Lin Qiushi still got out his cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and slowly looked up, casting the beam of light in his hand toward the ceiling. He kept his motions slow, ready to run at any moment, but what made him breathe out a sigh of relief was that the ceiling was completely clear. There was nothing on it—

When he saw this, Lin Qiushi put his phone away, exhaled, and left the building. But right before he let the foyer, a sense of danger that was difficult to describe suddenly assaulted the top of his head. On instinct, Lin Qiushi's feet stepped back. And it was precisely at this second that a corpse fell straight down from the building rooftop, smashing onto the ground at Lin Qiushi's feet. It was obvious that had he not stayed his feet right here, he'd have been hit by this corpse.

The corpse fell from above and broke into pieces. The skull looked like a watermelon dropped from up high, splattering all over the ground. But judging from its outer apparel and the thing in its hand, this was precisely the man who'd blockaded the door of Lin Qiushi's apartment with an axe. Lin Qiushi didn't know why he'd fallen.

Lin Qiushi skirted around his corpse and quickly entered the residential district. He stepped across the gravel path and cast a glance back at the apartment behind him. There he saw, crouched against the outer wall of the apartment, a human figure crawling slowly downward from above, unheeding of gravity. Through the faint light coming from the hallways, Lin Qiushi could just manage to make out who the person was…it was Wang Xiaoyi, who'd had her skull split clean in half. Wang Xiaoyi clambered slowly down from the wall to where Cheng Wen's corpse had fallen, burying her face in that body and beginning to chew, as if a beast that had spotted a meal.

Lin Qiushi only took one look before turning away. Perhaps it was the hot weather, perhaps it was the sheer intensity of the developments so far, but all up and down his body he was covered in sweat. Perspiration dripped from his chin as Lin Qiushi walked along the district, taking in his surroundings. For a moment he felt struck; he sensed that there was no safe place here, and out of every shadow-wrapped corner a monster could emerge.

Lin Qiushi headed for the exit, and saw to his surprise two people standing at the district entrance. Lin Qiushi saw their faces, and even clearly remembered their names—Xiong Qi, Xiao Ke. They were two of the people Lin Qiushi had met inside his very first door.

Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke seemed to have spotted Lin Qiushi also, waving their arms at him from afar and calling, "hurry up, get over here!"

Lin Qiushi's footsteps were hesitant. He couldn't be sure whether the two people who'd appeared here were ghosts or not.

"Baijie told us to come get you," Xiao Ke called to him. "It's too dangerous where you live. Baijie had us come to take you to her—"

Lin Qiushi began to frown. He looked behind him, but both Wang Xiaoyi and Cheng Wen had disappeared into the night. The inky black apartment complexes, however, still gave off a strong sense of unease. Lin Qiushi approached, but didn't get too close.

"Baijie had you come get me?" Lin Qiushi asked Xiao Ke.

"Yeah," Xiao Ke said. "She didn't want anything happening to you, so she sent us especially."

"Where is she now?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Her? She's at her home, waiting for us to head over," Xiao Ke answered. "Get in. We'll explain everything in the car." Then she pulled open the car door, gesturing for Lin Qiushi to quickly get inside.

Lin Qiushi got to the car door and glanced inside.

Xiao Ke was still urging him from behind and seemed to be in quite a rush. Lin Qiushi, however, noticed something, and his foot, halfway lifted to enter the car, suddenly halted.

"What's with you?" Xiao Ke asked. "That thing is coming, stop wasting time."

"If you really came at Baijie's request, then you must know her real name?" Lin Qiushi's foot retracted. With his eyes to the ground, his feet carried him slowly backwards.

Xiao Ke's brows furrowed. "I know her real name, I just can't say it here. Something else will hear it. Hurry up already…" When she saw the unmoving Lin Qiushi however, her voice got more and more angry, and in the end was practically roaring as she said, "I'm telling you to get in! There's not much time left!!"

As soon as he saw this, Lin Qiushi turned and ran, ignoring Xiao Ke and Xiong Qi's yells. Xiao Ke could only watch Lin Qiushi go, a sharp screech leaving her mouth. And just as Lin Qiushi turned the corner back into the micro-district, a large shadow appeared on the other end of the street.

It was a gigantic woman. Her figure was strange, and in her hands she dragged along a long-handled axe. Slowly, she approached Xiao Ke and Xiong Qi.

Both Xiao Ke and Xiong Qi looked to be in terrorized despair. They hurried into the car, trying to start the engine and leave, but at this precise moment the car was turned to paper paste. Seated inside, the two naturally couldn't leave.

The woman approached the two and raised her arms, lifting the axe high up above her head. Then, she brought it down, splitting Xiao Ke right into two.

And Xiong Qi was next. The two of them were bisected at the waist, horrible wails coming out of their mouths. Yet they weren't dying. They continued struggling on the ground.

Lin Qiushi hid in a corner of the micro-district and saw it all. He had a hand up to cover his mouth, scared that the sound of his breathing would be too loud and attract the attention of the giant woman outside. This monster was the one that had formed out of the religious statue in the old temple from Lin Qiushi's first door. After she killed Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke with her axe, she looked all around. But failing to discover Lin Qiushi, she took her axe and left.

Split in halves, Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke did not die. They lied on the asphalt road keening. Xiao Ke was spitting all the most poisonous cuss words, and seemed to be cursing Lin Qiushi.

Lin Qiushi didn't know what happened to Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke inside the door after he'd left, but judging by the experience he'd accumulated, these two weren't some do-gooders either. Rather, they seemed like the sorts of veterans who got close to newbies with ulterior motives in mind. But luckily Lin Qiushi and met Ruan Nanzhu, and so had managed to avoid it all. As for their fates inside the door at the end, Lin Qiushi didn't know…

The reason he'd discovered something was off about Xiao Ke was that just now, under the streetlight, he'd seen only his own shadow being cast. Xiao Ke and Xiong Qi underneath the same light did not make any sort of shadow. This was what had tipped Lin Qiushi off, and so he'd decisively turned, and managed to dodge the entire ordeal.

It was in this moment that Lin Qiushi gained a better understanding of what "No Solution" meant in the hint. There was no solution to this door; the path to live hidden inside could be the tiniest detail, yet that was the way to survive. Of course, whether or not they could discover it was based on their own luck.

Lin Qiushi stood there in the residential block not knowing where to go. He knew he ought to go though, because that happy birthday song was getting louder and clearer, rapidly approaching him.

So Lin Qiushi stood up, trotting carefully out of the neighborhood. He glanced back, and sure enough, saw those triplets pushing the cake and heading in his direction. The skull on the top of the cake pivoted in a slow circle and tossed a hateful glower his way.

But Lin Qiushi was already used to such a glare. He stared impassively back, even eyeing back some contempt of his own.

The triplets began to giggle despite this. They stood at the neighborhood entrance and watched as Lin Qiushi disappeared again into the darkness at the other end of the road. Getting up on tiptoes, they hugged the skull at the top of the cake and gave it each a kiss, happily calling Mama, Mama, Mama.

Lin Qiushi walked along the asphalt with only the fuzzy light of the streetlamps lighting the path beneath his feet.

What had been lively shops all around were closed. This felt like a whole other world, one that knew only death and terror.

Lin Qiushi stared at his phone for a good while. He wanted to give Ruan Nanzhu a call and ask how he was doing, but was also worried about Ruan Nanzhu facing down a critical moment—and this call of his could mean Ruan Nanzhu's life, just like that.

After momentary consideration, Lin Qiushi sent Ruan Nanzhu a text, asking how he was doing.

It took a while later for the other side to reply: I'm playing hide-and-seek with something weird.

Though the words were flippant, it was easy to read the deadly intent between the lines. Lin Qiushi laughed, pained: Hide-and-seek? Which door of yours is that?

Ruan Nanzhu: Second.

Lin Qiushi: What was the hint?

Ruan Nanzhu: The hint was…hide-and-seek.

Lin Qiushi, "…" A few simple words sent a layer of cold sweat dotting over his back again. He was even growing agitated; he wanted so badly to go to Ruan Nanzhu's side right now and experience everything with him. This sort of intention though was difficult to manifest at a time like this. Lin Qiushi looked at his watch and saw that it was 2AM—there were still three to four hours before daybreak.

She's coming. Gotta go babe, I love you—this was the last text Ruan Nanzhu sent to Lin Qiushi that night.

Reading that message, Lin Qiushi's heart was filled to the brim with anxiety. But he didn't know where Ruan Nanzhu was, nor what Ruan Nanzhu was going through; how utterly helpless he was in this moment. There was nothing he could do.

Lin Qiushi followed the road and kept moving ahead. There didn't seem to be an end, until Lin Qiushi came upon an intersection. From far away, Lin Qiushi could see a person crouching in the center of the intersection. That person had their back to him, their head down as they stuffed a burning furnace before them full of something.

When Lin Qiushi saw this person he didn't dare get too close. Observing from afar, he discovered that the person was burning hell money for the dead.

The joss paper, burned to ashes, spiraled upwards into the inky night sky. As preparation to enter the doors, Lin Qiushi had learned quite a number of folk lore and legends. He knew that hell money, once burned to ashes, had its specific meanings, like that if it made a spiral, then the people in hell had received it…

As Lin Qiushi hesitantly watched the scene before him and debated whether or not to turn back, he heard a chilling set of footsteps coming from behind him.

Lin Qiushi looked back. Through the darkness of night, he saw coming from the other end of the road a giant figure. The figure was backlit, and though it couldn't be clearly seen, judging by its silhouette it was precisely that female ghoul that had split both Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke in half earlier.

The surrounding area was empty, and there was nothing Lin Qiushi could hide behind. With no other option available to him, Lin Qiushi could only move forward, sticking to the wall as he tried to cross the intersection before him.

As he walked, he kept a careful eye on the old man burning joss paper in the middle of the road. He'd likely seen this person before too, but because it had been such a long time, he didn't really remember.

Just as he was about to cross the intersection, he saw the old man stick a hand into the burning cinders. His body began to charcoal immediately after. Lin Qiushi, however, caught the soft words coming out of his mouth. He was saying: "The dead, the dead…only the dead can escape." Right after, his entire upright body became a charred corpse, and the monster behind them seemed to have sniffed out the odd scent around here, and so quickened her footsteps.

The monster was enormous, and as for the axe in her hand, the head sometimes would glance off the ground, and the noise of metal grinding against stone would sound.

Lin Qiushi didn't dare linger here any longer, sprinting full speed ahead. As he ran, he didn't neglect to keep an eye on his surroundings, and so discovered something changing around him.

White lanterns and flower wreathes had appeared on the front door of the shops, just like at a memorial service.

The thing that halted Lin Qiushi's footsteps was a black coffin placed by the roadside. It had suddenly appeared, lying straight and neat right there on the pavement.

The monster behind him seemed to have detected Lin Qiushi's presence as well, and came running for him. If she continued at the same speed, Lin Qiushi would be caught in minutes.

Panting, Lin Qiushi stared at the black coffin in front of him. A crazy idea surfaced in his mind. He knew there was no time to hesitate, so he walked straight over to the coffin and pushed the top open with all his might.

Lin Qiushi thought the coffin would be empty. Only upon opening it did he discover there was a corpse inside. Strangely enough, the corpse seemed a bit familiar, like he'd seen it somewhere before—but Lin Qiushi couldn't care about all that. With a clench of his teeth he crawled right in, and sealed the coffin lid above him.

Tap…Tap…Tap…

Through the coffin, Lin Qiushi could hear the monster's footsteps grow closer and closer, finally coming to a stop somewhere in his vicinity. Her nose was twitching as she tried to sniff out of the air which direction her prey had gone off in.

Then it seemed like some smell had interrupted her search. With a low, strange call, the monster left, her sounds slowly fading.

Lin Qiushi lied in the coffin, expression mostly frozen. It seemed that the corpse beside him had just died, for its flesh was still soft, and even carried with it a bit of lingering body heat. Lin Qiushi internally chanted pardon me, pardon me as he waited for the sounds outside to disappear.

Just as he got ready to lift the coffin lid above him, however, he felt a hand suddenly catch him by the arm.

"!!"

When he was caught, Lin Qiushi almost yelled, but another hand came up and covered his mouth, keeping the noise contained in his throat.

"It hasn't left yet."

And the corpse behind him was actually speaking. Though it was quiet, Lin Qiushi's eyes still went wide when he heard that voice—he was more than familiar with that cadence, it was Li Dongyuan!

The inside of the coffin was too dark; Lin Qiushi couldn't see anything. He was being held tightly by the corpse that sounded just like Li Dongyuan behind him, and his heart was beating so wildly that it felt like it was going to leap right out of his throat.

"It hasn't left yet," the person behind him said once again. Lin Qiushi kind of understood his meaning this time, that there was no need to keep struggling.

The silence continued for maybe another ten minutes or so, until Lin Qiushi heard a woman's furious roar. Only a thin plank of coffin wood separated them from this roar, so it was obvious that this thing was close—like it was practically right next to him. Had Lin Qiushi climbed out of the coffin earlier, he'd likely have been struck and killed like Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke had been earlier.

Then the woman's voice got further and further away. The corpse holding onto Lin Qiushi from behind also released him, and Lin Qiushi shoved open the coffin lid above his head. Finally, he could see the face of the person lying next to him—it was precisely that Li Dongyuan, who should already be dead.

"It's been a while." The corners of Li Dongyuan's eyes curved up as he showed Lin Qiushi a smile.

Lin Qiushi stared hard at him, like if he stared hard enough, he could force that face to change with sheer willpower.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Li Dongyuan too sat up in the coffin and tidied his hair. "I saved you just now, you know. Are you not going to thank me?"

Lin Qiushi, "so are you…"

"Dead." Though Lin Qiushi hadn't finished speaking, Li Dongyuan had already guessed what he wanted to say, and was laughing heartily. "I'm dead."

Lin Qiushi watched him doubtfully, but Li Dongyuan just grabbed Lin Qiushi by the hand and pressed it to his chest. Sure enough, it was quiet there, with absolutely no sensation of a beating heart.

"You really are dead?" Lin Qiushi wiped at his face with a hand. "Then why are you here? Where is here, anyways?"

Though he heard Lin Qiushi's questions, Li Dongyuan only smiled without answering. He pointed above his head and said, "there's still a while until daybreak. Would you like to sleep some more?"

Lin Qiushi, "sleep where? In the coffin?"

Li Dongyuan, "the coffin's safer than all that running around you were doing."

Lin Qiushi wanted to say something more, but began to hear the sound of footsteps again. This time, without needing Li Dongyuan to do so, he closed the coffin lid on his own.

In the dark, the two people's gazes met. Lin Qiushi had too many questions he wanted to ask; he wanted to question Li Dongyuan about the situation they were in, but Li Dongyuan didn't seem keen on answering any of those questions.

"I know what you want to ask," Li Dongyuan said as such. "But I can't give you answers, because I don't really understand myself."

"Do you remember your own death?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Of course I do," Li Dongyuan said. "I even remember jumping out of the building." A touch of loneliness bled into his voice. "Who knows how that girl's doing though."

"Zhuang Rujiao?" Lin Qiushi said. "She's doing great. She took over White Deer for you."

After a moment's silence, Li Dongyuan's laugh was bitter.

"How is that great?"

Seeing the young girl under his care grow up was not actually anything like a happy experience, because growth inevitably came with a painful price to pay.

So the two quieted down again. Lin Qiushi stared at the coffin lid above his head, spacing out. He didn't dare say too much, because that thing was still prowling about around him.

Time ticked on by seconds, by minutes. Then it was nearly five, and daybreak seemed imminent.

Drowsiness coiled around Lin Qiushi. He wanted to stay strong, but had never felt such urge to sleep as this.

"Sleep," came Li Dongyuan's voice. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

Lin Qiushi closed his eyes and fell deeply asleep.

This sleep was spectacularly deep. By the time he woke again, the sky was already bright. He got up and saw that he was lying in his own bed, with Chestnut on the pillow beside him, watching him like a good little pet.

There were no monsters, no blood. The door was also perfectly fine. Everything that occurred the night before was all as if a strange nightmare. Lin Qiushi let out a long breath, picked up his phone, and once again dialed a number.

After a few seconds of waiting, a completely unsurprising voice recording sounded on the other side. The phone number that went through during the night had become unconnected once more. Lin Qiushi flipped through his messages and also couldn't see the text Ruan Nanzhu sent him.

"Fine," Lin Qiushi said to himself. "See you tonight."

[Ch. 130] | [Ch. 132]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #HEY WHOEVER REVIEWED ON NOVEL UPDATES ABOUT CRYING AT [REDACTED]'S DEATH #BOY DO I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU #and oh no i ship it #i've shipped it since the hypnosis dubcon scene lmfao

193 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is.

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament.

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?”

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.”

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.”

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment.

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy.

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.”

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].”

How considerate of him to spell it out for you.

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right.

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance.

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance.

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you?

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.”

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back.

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?”

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?”

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.”

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow.

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him.

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip.

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.”

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.”

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one.

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.”

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten.

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?”

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place.

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning--

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.”

1K notes · View notes