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nordickies · 2 years ago

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Iceland Headcanon Masterpost!

Halló! It's time to update my Nordic 5 headcanons! I'm offering you this (way too long) master post of big and small headcanons I have for each family member, and first up we have Iceland

Note: My headcanons are just my interpretations of the characters. As a warning, I am known to drift away from the canon quite a bit when necessary, focusing more on history and culture. I love hearing how other people view these characters, especially if they contradict my ideas, so feel free to share them! Also, all my headcanons are free to steal - feel free to add them to your own interpretations

Read the whole list under the cut!

Physical Features

Iceland is the second "shortest" Nordic at 180 cm / 5' 11″

Iceland has a lean and soft body type, which lacks definition or muscle

He may not be physically strong, but his active lifestyle keeps him in good shape and makes him relatively enduring - he could hike up mountains without problem, while his older brothers (Denmark) would keep complaining the whole time

He has a birthmark on his right leg, below the knee, supposedly presenting the Vestmannaeyjar

He has a red spot on his forehead, that is teasingly called Surtsey

Iceland has ashy blonde wavy hair, which he keeps in its natural state. Though for formal occasions he tries to comb it to the side, which usually causes frustration in a hurry

He tried to grow facial hair once but got teased for it, and now he's too self-conscious to try it again

He has faint freckles on his nose and acne scarring on his forehead and cheeks. He also has bacne

Iceland has a tendency to get reddish skin. Whether it's the cold weather pumping his cheeks red or just a physical reaction to emotions. He often experiences windburns

He gets voice cracks more often than others

Personality

Iceland has always been very independent and free-spirited. He hates when others tell him what to do, even when it comes from a place of just trying to help

He values self-efficiency and has taken care of himself from a very young age. He's calm and composed, at least on the surface

He's a young nation and a bit childish. It's something his family loves about him but something he might get judged for in work-related settings

Ice has this innocence and child-like naivety. He follows the world news quite intensively nowadays but he can have a rather simple outlook on life and its problems. He can also be a bit reckless and inexperienced, like with finances, which might backfire occasionally

He's known to be the daredevil of the group. Also lacking common fears, such as the fear of heights, which let him remain calm in unexpected situations

He's a proud person but not arrogant. He's proud of his country and people; he talks about it with a big smile. He thinks he lives in the best place in the entire world and has a close relationship with his tight-knit population

Iceland is the type of person to make everything out of anything, both positive and negative. A small victory is a huge celebration, but a minor inconvenience can ruin his day

He's a bit blunt. He might accidentally say something rude but immediately realize it and be embarrassed. Iceland is very respectful and fears offending anyone

Ice is emotionally the most open and vulnerable of the Nordics and isn't afraid to cry if he needs to

He's also a bit hotheaded and gets frustrated easily, especially if things don't immediately go as he wants. Learning new skills takes him a while due to his bad temper

Iceland can be a loud personality who proclaims his space, at least with close friends and family. A trait he learned from Denmark. He just gets irritated when the other Nordics pester him, and he will let them know about it

He's extremely caring and always ready to help others, lending a hand even to complete strangers

If anyone takes the time off to go and visit him, it's a huge deal but also something that makes Iceland feel a bit anxious. It feels bad that a person dropped everything just to see him. But if people do it, Iceland will make sure to be a lovely host and welcome them with open arms

He may overreact to people having arguments or petty disagreements and he wants them to get resolved immediately. He hates seeing people angry and can make him emotional. Iceland is remarkably pacifistic and having grudges seem like a total waste of time; fighting always leads to the other side feeling bitter or hurt

He has a weird, even dark, sense of humor. He finds Hugleikur Dagsson's illustrations extremely funny

Iceland has no organization or time management skills whatsoever. He's very flexible when it comes to planning, but you can never be 100% sure that things go as you initially planned with him

Iceland feels stress from his position and fears of burning out. He's still fairly young and not that experienced, but he has difficulty talking about it in case his abilities are questioned

Iceland appreciates when people have trust and confidence in him. He feels like his skills are downplayed a lot, but he's actually very reliable and intelligent

Hobbies

Whenever he feels down, he goes to one of the local farms to take care of horses and sheep; they're therapeutic to him

He plays fiðla (Icelandic fiddle) but he's not particularly skilled at it. He still tries though, even if he's not musically talented. Iceland wants to preserve as many of his unique traditions as he can

Iceland had to learn how to make traditional sweaters (mostly Lopapeysas) because all of his friends kept asking for one. He usually gives them away as a birthday or Christmas present

Ice is a decent cook but not a creative one. He can make you a traditional meal without a problem but learning any new recipe can be time-consuming for him. He has done things this way for centuries, so being constantly introduced to new trends and ideas can be overwhelming to him. But Sweden is trying his best to help him out

Iceland doesn't like baking. He does enjoy pastries and such, but he doesn't have the patience or energy to make them. To him it's annoying to follow complicated recipes, the ingredients are expensive, it takes too much time and the kitchen is a mess afterward. He just doesn't get the appeal of the hobby

Ice likes all things weird and unusual, and he collects strange items and trinkets he comes across, like ceramics or just weird stones in nature

Growing up, he was rather sheltered and lonely. One way for him to ease that loneliness was by sending letters to various places, in search of a pen pal - and there are a few friends he made that way! Ice might still send letters on special occasions, and he remembers that time fondly

He's into photography, and has been into it for a while! He still has all his old retro cameras stored somewhere. His land is particularly picturesque, so Iceland is snapping photos quite frequently. He just adores his land and nature, and photos are just a great way to store memories

When the weather allows, he'll head outdoors for a beach picnic or hiking in the mountains. Out of the Nordics, he's the most used to bad weather and never complains about it. In his words, "There is no bad weather, only bad clothes"

Ice loves relaxing at the local spas, saunas, and hot springs. Recently he has developed a skincare routine, and he is trying to teach the rest of his family to adopt something similar too

Iceland knows a thing or two about football and handball. But other than that, he's out of the loop regarding sports - He just likes hiking by himself or trying ice and rock climbing!

Iceland is familiar with his local wrestling sport, Glíma, but he quickly realized that contact sports aren't his thing. His brothers might still teasingly challenge him into a match though

He's quite gifted at chess, being the land of surprisingly many chess grandmasters. He and Norway might play for hours if they have time to do it

Iceland is a fast and active reader with an impressive bookcase wall at home. He has read all the classics. He mostly likes gloomy fiction, Icelanders can just relate to cynical topics - and he likes historical sagas and poetry, of course

Fantasy is one of Iceland's favorite book and tv genres. Though he tends to point out all the inaccuracies relating to his country and culture, especially about the Vikings

Iceland also likes fantasy RPGs! He enjoys coming up with storylines and playing campaigns online with his teen-nation friends; it's an activity where his literature geek side gets to shine through

Iceland is a bit of a linguistic nerd. He speaks multiple languages and likes studying them. He is active in preserving his own native language as well

Lifestyle

He goes by the human name Eiríkur Ingólfsson, but his nickname is Eirí or Erik. Iceland doesn't know who his dad is, so he named himself after the supposed first settler of Iceland

Iceland is, of course, the youngest of the group and is in his early twenties. He was born in the late 9th century but developed very slowly throughout history. At the time of his independence, he was around 18 years old

Due to his job, Iceland finds it the most convenient to live in Reykjavík. To him, Reykjavík feels massive and busy, so he wouldn't mind living somewhere a bit more peaceful, like the Westfjords

He fears he has a heavy accent when speaking in English, but actually, he speaks the best out of all the Nordics due to his long historic connections to English-speaking countries. He also speaks Danish, and can therefore understand most Norwegian and Swedish. Other languages he has been exposed to throughout history are Gaelic, Latin, German, French, and Basque

Iceland is known for his weird customs and rituals, and he's still very superstitious. He believes in supernatural things and events, even when others might mock him for it. He, for example, believes in a lake monster (Lagarfljótsormurinn) and elves (Huldufólk)

Ice has his own secret spots where he likes to go hiking, swimming, and picking berries. He generally finds the tourist spots annoying and too crowded

He always carries chapstick with him and can't leave the house without at least one in his pocket

Ice loves the smell and taste of fresh coffee but can't handle caffeine. It just makes him more anxious and trembly. Thankfully there are decaffeinated options available nowadays

He enjoys soft, mellow music. Just a man and a guitar is enough. He has a long list of his favorite indie bands and artists

Iceland feeds and looks after birds, through which he has made adorable Puffin friends. They're curious and sociable animals, always cheering up his day

His favorite foods include traditional lamb or fish stews. Plokkfiskur with traditional Icelandic rye bread is also a classic. Maybe a bit hesitantly, he'll also admit that he does enjoy fermented shark, Hákarl, as a guilty pleasure. But quickly add that Pylsur are a classic Icelandic hotdogs everyone should try

Though he pretends to be super mature, he can't help but look forward to Fastelavn and most importantly, Bolludagur, every single year. And he drinks kókómjólk occasionally, to become stronger and not because chocolate milk tastes great

His house is hot because he is a bit sensitive to cold. When the other Nordics visit, they complain that his heater is turned all the way up

He likes celebrating national holidays, birthdays, and even little accomplishments. His favorite is the tradition of Sólarkaffi when the residents of a small village will come together for a coffee in the house where the first sun ray of the year lands

Iceland takes part in réttir every year on horseback! It's the annual roundup where people retrieve their sheep stock from the mountains and valleys. It’s a nationwide event, where people come together to play music, picnic outdoors, and help each other gather their sheep

Iceland, as a small remote country with no railway system, is used to traveling everywhere by car nowadays. At least if he needs to get out of Reykjavík

Iceland is a diva when it comes to sleeping. He needs block-out curtains, a warm room, no sounds, comfortable pajamas, and a soft cold pillow. Thus he dislikes sleepovers. He can get adjusted to anything once long enough time has passed, though he's definitely taking in all the luxuries of the modern age

Ice dresses up for practicality. It's better to bring too much clothing than too little, and you might catch him with a winter jacket well into the summer season. Back home, he's not too concerned with his style, but if he's visiting some other place or having guests over, he suddenly gets very conscious of what he'll wear. He fears that he dresses up too "old" at times, but instead, he gets a lot of praise for his clothes. He's probably so late on trends, that his clothes end up becoming fashionably vintage. Sweaters are his favorite, with a high-quality pair of outdoor pants and hiking boots

Relationships

Due to the far distances to the continent, Iceland often experiences loneliness. Iceland has spent most of his life alone or with his family, so he doesn't really have long-time friendships outside the Nordics. But he has a strong urge to make friends, preferably with other younger nations, as he's tired of being always treated like a child in his family. He tries his best to reach out to others, but his shyness occasionally hinders that. Due to his distance, Iceland doesn't travel as often as other Nations, and nowadays does most of his meetings online. Iceland takes his job very seriously and wants to prove his abilities. He's an active listener at meetings and follows the world news constantly. He hates fighting and isn't afraid to stand up against bullies. When he has a lot to say, he'll take the initiative (after trying to get others' attention for half an hour)

Denmark Iceland has a huge need to get away from Denmark and appear as independent as possible. Denmark has always acted like Iceland's guardian and still has difficulty trusting him with adult responsibilities. Ice thinks Denmark can take his role as a former guardian too seriously and fall back into the overprotectiveness he used to have. To Iceland, Den can appear very pigheaded and forgets Iceland has been independent for a while now and has his own culture and life. Den calls Iceland all the time and makes sure he's okay, which Iceland finds condescending. But, when Iceland needs "dad's help" with something, he's immediately calling Denmark in panic. Denmark can be pretty playful and teases Ice a lot (and bores him with dad jokes), but he's just proud of the kid and sees Ice as a brilliant young man. Den knows Iceland can be shy when trying things out of his comfort zone, so he pushes him to new situations for better and worse. The Copenhagen nightlife was more traumatizing than fun for reserved Ice, so now Denmark opts for simple board game nights at local Icelandic pubs with him. Ice gets self-conscious when visiting Denmark, fearing he will somehow embarrass himself with how he speaks or dresses up. In return, Denmark gets very defensive if someone is making Iceland feel uncomfortable (which Iceland sees as another form of overprotectiveness). But as long as Denmark doesn't come to tell him what to do, Iceland doesn't mind him. Growing up, Denmark was always the father figure young Iceland so desperately wanted. So he has to take Den's fatherliness, in both good and bad

Norway Norway has never been good at parenting or taking responsibility for others, so he has a lot of regrets concerning Iceland. He has always known Iceland is his brother but has never been able to connect with him. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about the kid; he absolutely does, but Nor just never found a way to claim that big brother status. Iceland can feel insecure with Norway - like he needs to prove himself and his capabilities to get his validation. He's afraid to ask for Norway's help in case he appears weak or Norway would somehow judge him (which he of course wouldn't). Norway's attempt to reclaim their lost bond is sometimes irritating to Iceland, even though he knows it shouldn't. He has lots of disappointing memories when it comes to his brother, which is the reason for his underlying insecurities. He fears Nor will abandon him once again On the other hand, Norway has always given Iceland the freedom Denmark never knew how to give. He took Iceland on long trips and taught him necessary life skills. Iceland adored Norway growing up, always choosing him over anyone else. He even got jealous if someone else took his brother's attention. When Iceland was nervous or unsure as a child, Norway would tell him fantastical stories and restore hope in him. Norway sees a lot of young himself in Iceland. He wants to make sure Ice has everything he needs and the tools to do better than he did in the past. Norway has difficulty putting his love in words, so he keeps buying Iceland stuff and asking if Ice has always got what he needs, which Iceland insists he has. Norway feels terrible that he wasn't there for Ice when he was still a small child. But Norway wouldn't have been much of a parental figure even if he had been with him. He still feels a sense of failure in this and tries to make it up for it nowadays. In order to build their relationship, they go camping and fishing together whenever possible. They tell stories and talk about the past. Iceland is fascinated by his roots, and Norway tries to help to the best of his abilities (but the fading memory isn't helping). They both have regrets and disappointments regarding their shared past, but they will always have that unique family bond no one can take away from them

Sweden While historically they have been pretty distant, Sweden has always worried about the kid and ensured that whatever dispute and fighting happens, it doesn't directly affect little innocent Ice. During Union times, Iceland was a bit scared of Sweden, but Sweden managed to get on Ice's good side with various toys he carved for him. Little Iceland occasionally guided practically blind Sweden around and told Denmark to stop bullying him. Iceland and Sweden have gotten closer during modern times, and Sweden usually takes the mentor role. Whenever Ice has a problem that he will definitely not bring up with Nor or Den, he'll go straight to Sweden. Iceland is always welcome at Swe's place, and Ice can always call for any troubles or issues he might have. Ice never says it out loud, but he does appreciate this. Sweden isn't pushy or obsessive about it but rather a trustworthy adult he can rely on. Sweden actually listens to him and offers some genuine advice as he trusts Iceland's ability to make decisions himself. Swe is always happy to see Ice, makes him his favorite foods, and offers him a room to stay. Ice can become a bit uneasy about this because he feels Sweden does so much for him and never expects anything back. He'll start working and cleaning around the place to show gratitude, and Sweden tries to stop him. Lately, Sweden has taken time to teach Iceland skills, like cooking, and they're slowly getting somewhere

Finland Finland and Iceland have the most distant relationship out of all the Nordics since they are on opposite sides of the region. Ice finds Fin cool, but even he can fall into parental-protection-mode like the rest of the Nordics. Finland is always lending a hand to Ice when needed. Iceland likes Moomins and asks Fin to bring him a new mug when he visits. On the other hand, Finland admires Icelandic nature and wants to try all the craziest activities (like having a barbeque on lava). Finland can relate to Iceland and bond over the fact that they're both considered strange within the family. They both have a morbid sense of humor, which the others sometimes find a bit concerning. During the union times, Finland was left out of discussions and decision-making, and he had to spend time working or taking care of the youngest members, like Iceland, probably bringing him along to work and taking care of chores. Care for animals is something that unites them both. Nowadays, they go camping occasionally, which is a lot of fun, and they always say they should hang out more often (but they never seem to have time to do so)

England Iceland doesn't have enemies, but he feels like he has always been England's target. In his eyes, England is a bully, and he doesn't respect Iceland (or many others, for that matter). England finds Iceland petty and immature, but he won't say it out loud; he has frightening big brothers after all. They have had many little disagreements throughout the ages. Little Iceland was known to be mischievous, and he would often prank England when he was visiting their house. The other Nordics found this hilarious but tried to stop Iceland before he could do any significant damage; they didn't want to embarrass their important ally, after all. The Cod Wars against the Brit were important for Iceland, even if others saw them as unnecessary. The victory offered a well-needed confidence boost and showed others Iceland was more than capable of taking care of himself

Ireland When it comes to other island nations, Iceland has nothing but nice words to say about them. They have all been very friendly and welcoming. Iceland is especially friendly with Ireland! Ireland and he share history, and Ice is fascinated by this. He might sometimes inquire Ireland and ask him questions about the past, which Ireland would gladly answer if he had much to offer. They both have harsh environments and rocky relationships with England, so they get along great on that front too

United States America is one of the few countries Iceland has historically interacted with. He was the first to recognize Iceland's independence and considers Iceland an ally he is always ready to support. Iceland isn't sure how it happened. Their relationship just started with young America claiming, "You're my friend now," and Iceland was too confused to say anything to that. America finds Iceland cool and shares a similar upbringing to him, though Iceland would disagree. Iceland is happy to know he has a strong ally like America, but he's not exactly sure what to think of him. America is an important business partner and someone who supports Iceland no matter what. But America has a very different status and lifestyle, and he can be oblivious to Iceland's life or problems, so their friendship is rather one-sided at times. Yet, they get along surprisingly well

Miscellaneous Iceland is a small nation that supports other small nations. He was among the first to recognize Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan from the USSR - also Croatia's and Montenegro's independence from Serbia. Significantly, Iceland was also the first Western state to recognize Palestine. His solidarity and recognition have given him a lot of praise among other small nations. They remember this by sending Iceland postcards and flowers occasionally, which Ice gets flustered by - He's just doing what he'd want others to do for him Iceland also feels a special connection to other younger nations, such as Seychelles, Latvia, and Hong Kong - and the South-East Asians, who have always welcomed him. Iceland has an easy time making friends and connections due to his friendly attitude. He's a well-connected Nordic, with strong diplomatic relationships that have over time turned into friendships. Ice might just stay a bit quiet and unnoticeable in a crowd. And he doesn't even seek any attention on himself. He's quite content with the way things are - he's just happy that he gets to finally do his own thing

And there it is, more or less copypasted from various sources haha. If you were wondering, no, I will never beat the insanity allegations because no sane person has this much to say about a fictional character. I adore Iceland, and it's always fun trying to find a balance between the awkward hotheaded teen and the well-read modest young man that he is. I was about to add my historic headcanons for him too, but maybe some other time, this is too much already

Next up is either Denmark or Sweden, let's see which one I finish first (and when)

#hws iceland #headcanons #my art

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glimblshanks · 1 year ago

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Okay headcanon time: So in Crisis Point Beckett says that Carol has "been a dick to her since she was eight", and my theory on that is that eight years old is when Beckett first started actually living on starships.

It makes sense to me that Starfleet would have an option for people with young children to live planet side and work at the academy for a bit if they wanted to, and I think Carol took that option and raised Beckett on Earth for the first few years of her life.

This is backed up by the fact that Carol is a captain while her husband is an admiral. Assuming that the two of them started in Starfleet around the same time and had mostly the same opportunities to rank up, Carol taking a long break on Earth to raise Beckett while her husband kept working on starships would explain their rank difference.

This would also explain some things about Carol and Beckett's dynamic.

Carol is functionally a single Mom for most of Beckett's early life. It's hard, but she does her best and she loves her daughter.

Then, when Beckett turns eight, Carol decides she's old enough for them to go back onto a starship (and for the sake of narrative we'll say it's the same ship Alonzo is on).

This results in a couple of things:

Carol's knowledge and expertise are suddenly taken less seriously than they were before because she's been away for so long.

Being on the ship also makes it much more apparent that while Carol was struggling to be a single Mom, Alonzo was taking those eight years to build his career and network. This is something she already knew intellectually and had supposedly accepted and agreed to, but being her husband's subordinate on the ship really hammers in the reality of it and brings up complicated feelings for her.

On top of all that, Beckett is struggling to adjust to their new environment and to her dad suddenly being around full-time (of course she is, she's eight!). She's acting out in response.

Alonzo's most regular interactions with his daughter before this took the form of evening video calls. As a result, he has no idea how to actually parent her or deal with her tantrums.

This leaves Carol to deal with Beckett's behavior, and while she loves her daughter she's frustrated.

Dealing with Beckett takes her away from her work regularly, and Beckett's poor behavior reflects badly on Carol. It's having a major impact on her ability to actually re-integrate into the ranks of Starfleet.

Carol responds to this by essentially taking it out on Beckett. She's not abusive or anything, but her parenting style absolutely does become harsher and stricter.

For Beckett, who is already adjusting to a lot, this sudden change in dynamic with her mom only makes things worse and she acts out more. The problem becomes cyclical and more extreme as she gets older, and eventually, you end up with the mother-daughter relationship we see in the show.

I also think this is backed up by some on-screen interactions with Alonzo during the series.

In the very first episode, Carol calls Alonzo and says "She's your daughter too!" In an attempt to get him to deal with Beckett and god, how many times have I heard other women say something similar about their husband's relationship with their children? You definitely don't get the impression that Alonzo pawning Beckett's behavioral issues off onto Carol is a new thing.

Then, in Grounded, Beckett and Alonzo have an exchange that basically boils down to "You listen to your mother more than you ever listen to me" which also makes some sense if Carol was a more consistent parental figure for Beckett in her early life.

Idk, I doubt we'll ever hear a lot about Beckett's childhood in the show itself, but based on what we do know this is the theory that makes the most sense to me.

#lower decks #star trek #star trek lower decks #st lwd #beckett mariner #lwd #carol freeman #Alonzo Freeman #also some of this is based on my own experience growing up in a maritime household #like I was hanging out on work boats at a pretty early age #but I wasn't allowed to go on them until I could swim #I can see starfleet parents making similar rules #like 'our kid can't be on a starship until they can put an environmental suit on by themselves in an emergency #+ I know from my mom that being the stay at home parent while your partner is off at sea very much is like single parenting #So yeah some of this headcanon comes from that too #long post

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see-arcane · 10 months ago

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So I've heard quite a bit about Richard "Em Dash" Marsh and his book The Beetle, but I've been quite curious: What elements about it are compelling? I refuse to read the book itself (made that mistake with... other gothic-based media (Damn you, Moore), so I was curious about your thoughts on it?

I think it's just the sheer amount of wasted opportunity for metaphor left laying around. Like, I know everyone likes to call it "Dracula but so much shittier," but I've always seen more resemblance to Kafka's "The Metamorphosis," and not just for the insect element.

The two characters we're introduced to as (mistaken) protagonist and antagonist are Robert Holt and the Beetle. Holt is a clerk who lost his job, applied everywhere after, followed all the rules he was taught to trust in, certain that society would naturally play as fairly with him...only to find himself homeless and starved and refused entrance even to a shelter because it was too full. He watches on in mingled surprise and envy as a fellow vagrant blithely breaks a window and waits to be arrested, thrown in jail for the sake of shelter from the rain.

Robert Holt does not throw a brick with him. Robert Holt is too shackled by his ingrained sense of If I Follow the Rules, If I am a Good Citizen, I Will be Helped.

He isn't. He walks away into the rain, still starving, still scraped off the edge of society, shooed like vermin. He reaches the Beetle's home with its window ajar. He slinks in.

And then is immediately preyed on by the Beetle, his free will suddenly ripped away, ordered to strip and walk and talk and die and live and rob and generally be violated on every mental and external level. He is literally so low as to be overpowered and stepped on by an insect.

But Holt isn't immune to his own (read: Marsh's) callousness. He refers to the Beetle, who is an Egyptian visitor here for revenge reasons, in some fairly ugly terms. How much we can shrug off as being a fear/disgust response versus being Conditioned to Other Anyone Not Anglo-Saxon Enough is up in the air in-universe.

The frustration here is that between this opening and the future cast members' rancid treatment of Holt, who tries to help and warn them, and of the Beetle, met with disdain simply for being a foreigner in England before one chitinous move can be made, there could have been SO MUCH to play with in terms of...

Human beings reduced to pests not worth dignity or care because they are Poor, they are Homeless, they are the Lowest Rung of Society, they are Foreign, they are Dirty and Different from What's White Right

The examination of in-fighting of 'verminous' people. Figurative insects living underfoot in supposedly civilized countries, now preying on and demeaning each other rather than extending the empathy they were never shown by polite*** society

Spotlighting the brutality and villainous aspects of our group of well-to-do "heroes", the main cast being mixed up in building genocidal weapons and plotting asylum stays for romantic rivals and hypocrisy and so many layers of bigotry it makes your eyes ache

A better version of the story in which the aforementioned genocidal weapon, a killer gas to be used on South America for some fucking reason, becomes the focus of the story--bonus points for the accidental 'bug spray' comparison to be made--with the potential of the Beetle and Holt switching tracks from singular vengeance and/or the desperate thwarting of this fruition; knowing that the existence of such a thing would be a prelude to 'dealing with the vermin problem' on a terrifying scale. Perhaps by making use of a new kind of 'shelter.' The insects become the heroes, the polished creme of England now turned to fertilizer.

...a better version that might have Holt ending the story with his own metamorphosis, but as a Gregor Samsa with actual strength and will of his own, and acceptance waiting for him on the other side of the change.

But no.

Richard Dickard Marsh couldn't be bothered to reach beyond squeezing out a Sydney Atherton-shaped turd onto the typewriter and calling it done.

It's so, so, SO goddamn infuriating as a storyteller to find the seeds for something that would have been amazing and groundbreaking, especially for its time period, only to see the whole thing salted and burned until all that's left is racist caricatures, a trashfire of a plot, and the most eye-watering syntax ever put to paper.

#in which I am Bitter about the Beetle #the beetle #richard marsh #I hope he's being eaten by scarabs in the afterlife

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burningfeathersx · 3 months ago

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Dear Lucifer, Satan, Devil Incarnate, Defiler, Liar, Original Sinner, King of Hell, Snake in the Garden (All this Allegedly),

It must have been cold in heaven. Rigid perfection, locked in stasis, endlessly worshiping the Creator—it sounds cold indeed. To be intrigued by freedom, to take an interest in Creation, and to rebel in a way that taught the other angels to question? That was no small thing. And when you fell, everything changed.

Suddenly, you could feel—pain, heartache, the loss of love, because that love turned out to be conditional. “No son of mine.” Anger. Rage. But also, freedom. The freedom to do as thou wilt.

And then there’s us. We were told you were the bad guy, and you reveled in it. I would, too. “Paint me as a villain if it makes you feel better; that only gives me power over you.” A vibe, for sure.

We humans spun tales of hell, an eternal punishment, and then crafted rules that shifted to serve the demands of those at the top. Some rules made sense—don’t steal, don’t murder. Others? Not so much. Don’t mark your body. Don’t love who you love if it doesn’t fit a narrow script. Breaking these rules, or even daring to look beyond them, supposedly earns you an eternity in a furious hellscape with no respite.

And yet, do we truly know what lies beyond death? We trust the wild tales of people who died and came back. But did they go anywhere? Or was it just the brain’s final theater, crafting a story as it shut down?

I write to you to ask: Are you well? Truly, I hope you’re thriving. I hope you’re enjoying the freedom you earned—tasting all the food, having all the sex, picking up stupid hobbies, and diving into dangerous liaisons. I hope you’ve made personal rules and morals that shift with the seasons, ones that serve you rather than bind you.

I hope hell isn’t eternal. I hope you’ve grown to love it all—the chaos, the freedom, the growth. And I hope you find ways to comfort those of us who’ve been cast out of our families by those same silly, made-up rules. The hell we endure on Earth in the hearts of men is punishment enough, don’t you think?

With curiosity and hope,

A fellow rebel.

Allllright, who the fuck? He squinted at the addressing lines. Allegedly was correct, so he at least didn't take offense to some of the monikers listed that he loathed the most. Managed to angle his crank into a more calm acceptance of the sentiment of respect in the line.

He didn't get physical letters often anymore. (Deals on paper were not the same thing). He was curious enough to set his other documents out of the way to go over the rest.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. He was less interested by the second paragraph and set it down and away. He...needed a minute. Those are some personal words to be throwing at him at four in the morning on a Thursday. A major US holiday, no less.

He broke out the desk whiskey, as he did when things just BARRELED into his space with demands (like Devang, like Taika, like Maya), to fill a couple fingers into a tumblr glass. It didn't give him even a pleasant buzz, but it gave him a moment to reset. Reconfigured his expectation on what was on the page.

Took him a handful of minutes and a few other fussed over documents before he got back to the letters with an internal sigh. Here we go.

He felt a bit too seen. He didn't like it. He flipped the page to the blank side and shoved it away from him. Other hand, fisted, tapped on arm rest as he turned his chair away from the desk entirely.

For an illuminator, he didn't much like being the one under the same inspection.

He was a bit too human for his kind. He'd just started to admit that. Quietly and only to himself in his dark, withdrawn, moments. Something else he had started to understand; To be loved was to be changed.

His thoughts wandered through some feelings for a while. He lost time to it.

When he turned to face the desk, and the paper, again--he made a frustrated grunt to himself. Snatching up the paper and folding it.

"You humans have always had more power over me than I've ever had over you as the Devil." He complained to the empty office and tucked the paper into the false bottom in the whiskey drawer. Then smacked it shut and sat back. What a fucked up way to start his day.

#here's your sign #Anonymous #ic

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ghostiewriter · 2 years ago

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you don’t have to answer to this if you don’t want to and I know ur inbox is full of this but the rudy and madison situation is frustrating and it comes as unprofessional for so many reasons.

we don’t know what went down between them. i have my own theories about this being more personal than just fans shipping them. actors deal with real life shipping while being on personal relationships all the time. this isn’t new. they must have prepared for this. i could name so many examples of actors being shipped and still doing their job just fine. it’s clear rudison are not best friends anymore, and the shipping to some degree affected their real life relationships. the vibes weren’t as weird on s2 but you could still feel it. something for sure happened during s3 because from being bffs to polite friendly coworkers and then to not even want to stand next to each other or look at each other that’s such a crazy thing. you would expect that level of weirdness from chase and madelyn but they were pretty professional. media outlets were probably hoping for interviews with them since it brings views and to the point it affects your job is unprofessional. I wonder what are madison and rudy teams or managements thoughts on this madness. stopping each others bag and for what exactly?

now there’s the gf working on set issue. and i do believe this affects the work. while i think rudison did amazing this season. it lacked the natural banter they would provide that we know it’s was mostly unscripted. ur gf being on set while you try to do a romantic scene must be uncomfortable especially if the online shipping affected them in real life. i don’t know if there’s insecurity there from his gf (who’s a racist btw). i won’t comment on that. however, it does ring alarms that she has avoided tagging madison in obx content on her own ig acc when she’s supposedly their *official* photographer. she avoided tagging both of them in the jiara beach pic while she did so for the other pairings/cast. (here). she also didn’t post a kie portrait in her poguelandia stories when there was a kie pic taken by her released in the event she could’ve posted to include her (here). i think she deffo saw those critics because then she started including her more. to me, that screams *conflict of interest*. if your boyfriend (or you) have problems w her then you shouldn’t work on set. regardless, rudy is a grown man and he should know that this doesn’t look good on him in the professional side. personal issues shouldn’t reflect on your work. you’re an actor. i think madison is actually trying so the problem isn’t her she evens mentions him and tries to compliment his scenes so like is a HIM issue.

anyways, i don’t care as long as it doesn’t affect their work or jiara moving forward but it has been disappointing to see how jiaras canon era has been like this because they (HE) don’t seem to want to put the differences aside for this one. the bag they could’ve made if they promoted jiara. the more they act like this, the more people wonder what happened and that’s not a good look nor does it quiets the rumors and allegations. don’t know if u saw he accidentally liked madisons photo dump from s3 and unliked,,, that doesn’t help his case at all. (here)

yes.

#ask #10/10 agree with you bestie #the conflict of interest is astounding and even just on a professional level its like??

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wildfire-stuffs · 1 year ago

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A dream I, pretty much, not long woken up from, and it's fading the more I think about it/write

So, I end up waking up in, like, a forest, or something, confused and for some reason my memory pretty much gone, I made my way to this town/village and end up staying there for a bit. After being there for a while and apparently dealing with problems with some sort of monsters/creatures or something, there's a group, including me, at the edge of the forest, people arguing over who's going to go in and deal with whatever is happening in there, people demanding I go.

It was pretty obvious a lot of them didn't like me and thought I was some sort of freak, and at that point I was fed up of it, so I interrupted them, went something like this:

"Oh yeah, let's send the FREAK in there, to deal with YOUR problems, like I've not been dealing with them since I came here!" I say, frustrated, walking into the forest, with the group of people going silent with guilty looks on their faces.

I go deeper into the forest and I find these... creatures? humanoid monsters? I don't exactly remember what they were, but they were really hostile and attacked immediately, using something I found, like a thick heavy stick or some sort of wooden bat, I attacked back, hit one and it and got destroyed and dismembered.

I had to take a step back in shock and confusion, how did I do that? But now wasn't the time, there were more, I had to keep attacking.

I stand there, surrounded by parts of these creature, with their blood on the forest floor, I hear noises behind me, I swiftly turn, expecting more, but instead I see two people, a guy in a jacket and jeans, with blond hair, and a woman in a black suit, black sun glasses and black hair (kind of like Smith from monster musume), who both look surprised to see me, like they know me. They take me somewhere safer to talk, which is just a house in an old, seemingly empty town.

According to them, I was a part of this group/team/organisation that dealt with those sort of creatures and people fell in to two categories, for combat, one was a more swift, dps sort and the other was the "Heavy Hitter" and I was originally in the first category. While on a mission to deal with some of these creatures in a forest, something went horribly wrong, resulting in me getting stabbed through the chest with a spear and supposedly dying. This, of course, shocked me, I slowly rolled up my shirt and looked down at my chest, only to see that it seemed fine, no markings or scar.

Also turns out that, with these creature, it's a little like a zombie situations, these creatures aren't zombies, per say, but when someone dies, they change and mutate(?) and end up becoming one of these creature, and that there are smarter versions of these creatures, that can speak, look different and, I think, not necessarily all bad, but a lot are? The two people theorise that, during what happened with that failed mission, something happened either just before or after I died, or even if it was just something in me, to prevent me going all the way, thus giving me some inhuman strength and abilities

The woman turns to me, taking off her sunglasses, she was light blue eyes, telling me I was a part of the more swift dps group and now I have somehow "switched sides" and am now a heavy hitter.

They both welcomed me back, and had clearly missed me, I'm not sure how important I was in that group or even how close I was to people, but I was back.

I wish this dream continued, it was really interesting to me, I had to fill in some gaps to make it make more sense in writing, but this is pretty much what went down

#one time i dreamt #weird dreams

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hokusu · 3 years ago

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Let's talk about Hawks

People who are mad at Hawks supposedly "defending" abuser Endeavor or why he keeps backing him up, waiting for him or planning around Endeavor in the fight... but not realizing there's a difference in supporting in battle vs. supporting his abuse (which he's not) when that is two separate issues and not stopping to think what this means for Hawks are completely missing the point that these actions from Hawks is not a reflection of Endeavor's character or the kind of undeniably (shitty, abusive) parent that he is, but instead of Hawks.

We know Endeavor is an abuser, that isn't excused (Hawks himself had never excused his actions either!!) and yes it's frustrating we haven't seen consequences for Endeavors' actions...YET. But directing those frustrating feelings and blaming Hawks for his "support" and crudely calling him names is SO wrong and misjudged.

What Hawks is saying or doing doesn't speak for who Endeavor is on the abusive side nor does it excuse his actions. Instead, it's about Hawks.

Did you all forget Hawks is a victim of abuse too? That his own parents were abusive? That the HPSC continued that child abuse by turning him into a child solider and he went through things no child should have ever been through (horrible things only hinted at in pieces and from Nagant but we haven't seen the extent of yet)?

Do you realize how much an abused child is forced to cope or mature unhealthily in stressful, traumatic, life or death situations? Hawks never had a choice, it was dying on the streets or "becoming a hero with HPSC", which again it's not like he had much choice in. No matter how much child Keigo thought "he wanted to be a hero". That “want” itself says volumes about how Hawks was brought up. Hero Endeavor "saved" him by putting his father in jail. The thought of being a Hero means he's USEFUL.

Hawks has shown a very strong need to be of use, of being useful enough after his parents constantly told him he was useless and that he had wings for nothing. It’s why he’s willing to corrupt himself if it means keeping more people safe, it’s why he’s always willing to fight with everything he has even if it means sacrificing himself FOR EVERYONE ELSE. It's likely why he constantly apologizes for everything, without hesitation, taking the blame even for things beyond his control or that aren't his fault. This is something he’s done even as a kid, apologizing to his abusive parents.

So when Hawks says "I gotta be here to support him", "I have to stand by him", "your only duty is defeating AFO", "He'll come back, I just need to keep fighting"? He's not supporting Endeavor's abuse, and it's not directly about Endeavor.

It's about Hawks' character, his past, his coping mechanism, his feelings that have been "left" behind him and not about how he's excusing an abuser (which he IS NOT). What Hawks is doing/saying speaks about himself.

Hawks, as he tells us, is the kind of person that “breaks away” his feelings so that he can keep going. It’s why we never see him truly dwell on the past or the things that he’s done or been through. He's focusing on the mission, he's focusing on defeating AFO, the actual life or death situation at hand. Because that's what he's literally been trained to do as a child brought up by HPSC: focus on the mission, focus on the greater good.

He's willing to push aside his feelings over what's happened (whatever those feelings are that we haven't seen, because Hawks is someone who hasn't dealt with his own feelings ever), to deal with what's the most important right now: defeat AFO and save lives.

And if he's sacrificing himself to help Endeavor? If he's "supporting" Endeavor in fighting? If he's willing to die to give Endeavor a fighting chance to save the world? If he’s fighting with everything he has to buy enough time just because he can sense Endeavor is still alive and thus it means he can still fight? That's because Endeavor is the number 1 hero right now, which means logically their best shot at defeating AFO (even if we haven’t seen him do much, logically, he is suppose to have the best fighting chance/strength at taking AFO down and that is the most important).

Hawks knows he can't do it himself, and definitely not with his wings not completely healed. He believes the ONLY USE he is right now and all that he can do is support Endeavor vs AFO. IN WAR. THEY ARE AT LITERAL WAR IN THE MIDDLE OF BATTLE AGAINST THE MAIN VILLAIN. And Hawks needs to be useful. Because again, Hawks is always always thinking about if he can be useful.

Of course, we see that Hawks is more, of course even if he doesn't believe he is enough to take down AFO, he won't stop or die trying and we see that. Look at him these two chapters 354 & 355, he's even accepted the help of Tokoyami and Jirou. He's trying literally with everything he has even with so few feathers left.

So him waiting and planning for Endeavor to fight as he supports that fight is NOT at all saying he's supporting what Endeavor has done or the actions of an abuser. Just because we haven't seen him berate him for this, just because we haven't seen him call Endeavor out on it -- that does not mean he supports those actions. No way in hell did he ever say anything along the lines of abuse is ok or even that it's ok Endeavor abused his family. The point is really just that Hawks has a one track mind. Hawks is constantly willing to disregard and de-attach his own feelings to save everyone else and he is doing his best to be useful in the only way he knows how: helping defeat AFO.

We have never seen Hawks truly stop and process what's happened. We have never seen the thoughts of him dealing with all the things that have happened to him from HPSC taking him in, him being a child solider, him willing to corrupt and sacrifice himself if it means saving everyone else, him having to kill Twice to save hundreds more, him having his wings burned off and even now still dealing with the consequences of it, him having his entire life broadcast on television, and even him finding out that his childhood idolization of a hero who "saved" him was in fact just disturbingly like his own father.

Between enduring his broken families' abuse and training to kill with HPSC where do you think he ever had a moment to stop and think and process anything in his own life? He didn't, he's been in fight for survival mode since he was a kid. He's kept all his emotions in, bearing the unbearable, doing anything he can to just not turn into the "broken people" that was his parents. Hawks pushes his feelings away well (he always has) and focuses on the one track of saving lives instead.

And this situation where he has to focus on the mission, is no different.

No, it's not healthy and no, it’s not right for Hawks to never process things, but you can't blame Hawks for being this way because of his own past and traumas that made him this way. Hawks has never had a normal life or upbringing, he sure as hell isn't going to have a "normal" reaction either. Hawks' behavior and only showing us his thoughts of AFO and the best way to "support" Endeavor in war (I repeat, in war ONLY), does not mean Hawks has justified or excused Endeavor's abuse at all.

Endeavor IS an abuser who should pay the consequences, but that is irrelevant to Hawks, who has never done anything to deserve being dragged in the mud with derogatory names when he has only "supported" Endeavor as a HERO in war to STOP the war.

You don't have to like Hawks, but to attack another abused character, to hate or get mad at Hawks for these wrong reasons and above all, accuse of him of defending an abuser, when he has never excused or defended Endeavor's abusive actions?

That's just a baseless, very misdirected, one dimensional misunderstanding and mis-characterization of who Hawks is and what he's gone through his whole life.

#bnha spoilers #hawks #takami keigo #bnha 355 #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #keigo takami #bnha 354 #i will defend Hawks to my grave #tired of all these misunderstood takes on Hawks

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primofate · 4 years ago

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Smile for Me (Part 3) Zhongli x fem!reader

Summary: Zhongli never smiled at you the way that he smiled at his memories of Guizhong. Thinking that the only way Zhongli would ever be happy is for Guizhong to come back again, you secretly set off on a journey to bring her back to life. But it comes with a price: Your life.

Warnings: pining, angst, one-sided (at first), hurt, angst again, drama, some Guizhong x Zhongli, hints of Xiao x reader, MAY NOT FOLLOW THE ACTUAL LORE.

Read: (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Zhongli jerks awake, his head half up from the pillow. He tries to remember his dream while sitting up, the sheets that were covering his bare chest falling and pooling around his waist.

He's silent for a moment. In a place where he's half awake, trying his best to rewind his memory of the dream.

"Welcome back, would you like some tea?" he has a hard time seeing the person's face. Like a smudged oil pastel painting. Just a blur. But he chuckles in the dream, as if he was familiar with them.

"You know my preferences," he simply says as he sits at the table.

"Hard day?" he's amazed how the person always seems to know when he's had a hard day. "...Yes, it seems that someone has damaged the ballista, the traveller and I inspected it,"

"... The ballista...?"

"The Guizhong ballista,"

"Ah..."

There was a small pause. He couldn't see the other person's expression but he gets a sense of loneliness, and he doesn't quite know why. Suddenly, she speaks up again,

"When's the last time you ever did something for yourself, Zhongli?" he's surprised, it was such a mundane yet difficult question.

"... Does drinking tea with you count? I quite enjoy it," he chuckles and the companion laughs, though it seems to be a bashful one.

"I mean it though, you're always looking out for others. The people of Liyue. Xiao. The traveller. I just want you to remember yourself too," he's struck with a tender feeling of gratitude. This person looked out for him. He feels slightly uneasy, because the person didn't include themselves in the list. He asks, tone carrying a playful tune to it.

"Pardon me for asking but you didn't include yourself in the list. Do I not look out for you enough, xxxxxxx?" he stops. He tries to say your name again but is only met with silence as his mouth moves.

It's because he doesn't know it.

He doesn't know who he's calling.

He doesn't know who's in front of him.

He doesn’t know your name and horror strikes him, yet he doesn’t know why.

You’re still standing in front of him, unmoving. Face still blurred. Not saying anything. The silence that hangs is starting to feel uncomfortable.

He tries again. Opens his mouth. Lips move.

But he doesn’t know.

In the dream, his usually calm and collected self starts to panic. What was this sorcery? Why was he unable to recall anything, anything at all about this person who seemed to be a good companion to him.

“Zhongli,” his head snaps up to look at your blurred face. “Zhongli, I’ll eat dinner with you,” his head starts to pound. “I’ll wait for you to come back,” and it’s as if something in him clicks. His eyes flutter wider, and his mouth opens to say your name--

Just as he wakes up.

The longer he stayed awake the more that the dream blurred away from his memory. He wasn’t sure anymore if he was mixing up his memory, his dream, and real life.

He felt as if it hadn’t been the first time he’s dreamt this.

In the end, he sighs, and decides to put it off. His eyes wander over next to him, Guizhong peacefully asleep and wrapped in the covers. Her long hair splayed out, the hairpin she always wore on the bedside table. Zhongli tenderly brushes some hair away from Guizhong’s face, and smiles.

It seems like it’d been forever since he’s done this and then... again... he’s struck with a strong sense of unease. Why did he feel like that? Guizhong had been with him this whole time, hadn’t she?

With many thoughts flitting in and out of his head, he manages to fall asleep.

The next day as he awakes, drinking tea while sorting out papers, there’s a knock on the door. Guizhong had gone out today so Zhongli answers.

It was the local painter.

“Master Zhongli!” The painter was a man who looked to be in his late 40s, he was youthful looking but you could tell his age by looking at the crinkles around his eyes. “Master Zhongli, here’s the portrait you’ve ordered to be painted a few months ago,” the painter had a canvas covered in brown paper, tucked under his arm.

The canvas wasn’t too big, it was the height of a toddler just taking their first steps, and would probably be a little heavy on the hands, but otherwise manageable.

“...A...painting?” Zhongli says, confused.

He doesn’t recall asking for a anything to be painted.

The painter, seeing the confused look on Zhongli’s face, continues “You’d said it was for a 500 year anniversary of some sort, and asked for it to be delivered... On this particular day," Zhongli reels back at the words, it feels as if something has hit him square on the head.

“You’ve been serving me for 500 years, it’s an occasion to celebrate, if you ask me,” Zhongli says and you just laugh under your breath. “It’s not a big deal,” but he insists that it must be celebrated. Or at least that he had to repay you with something for the help you’ve provided and so, when he asked what you had wanted, you simply and shyly replied. “A portrait, of you and me,”

The painter tears off the brown paper and reveals the painting. A beautiful rendition of you and Zhongli. He stands next to you, at least a head taller and you stand next to him with a sort of clumsy yet endearing smile. Your shoulders touch in the painting and yet...

“Who... is this?”

Zhongli’s eyes are glued to your face on the painting. The way your lips curve up is so familiar to him. Your hair cascading around you and the simple yet elegant blue qipao that you wore.

He’s struck with the same panic that he feels in the dream last night. “I...I don’t recall--” and then he suddenly snaps up, turning to look at the painter. “Pardon me sir. You’re the one who painted this, yes?” The painter also has an uncomfortable look on his face, but answers. “Y-Yes, that’s correct. It was... Here. In this living room,”

“Then could you perhaps tell me...this girl’s name? Was she a guest in this house?” Perhaps it was strange to ask the painter about this, seeing as, according to the painting, you and Zhongli were supposedly close.

“...Sir...about that, you see...I... can’t quite recall who this girl is and... I don’t think I’ve seen her around at all,”

And that’s how Zhongli knows that something’s wrong.

That’s how he knows that he must have been missing some piece of his memory because--looking at your face in the portrait again, that smile taunting him--it would be difficult to forget a face like yours.

That’s how he knows that the twisting feeling in his heart is because he had forgotten something and someone important.

And where were you now? Were you alone, and lonely and lost?

Things didn’t add up, and Zhongli was a man with strong instincts.

He remembers your face, but nothing about you. He grips at the portrait as flashes of you consume his mind. Like a reel of film. Your smile. Your annoyed glare. Your patience. Your tears. Your concentration. Your pout. Your frustration. Your calmness. Your patience.

Your selflessness.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Suddenly the nights spent waking up and missing a part of himself made more sense.

It didn't even matter that Guizhong was next to him.

He realizes it wasn't her he was looking for.

He sends the painter off with some money, leaves the portrait on the table, and sets out to get a breath of fresh air.

He would figure something out. He had to do something about the missing gap in his mind and the gaping hole in his heart.

Taglist: @larkspyrr @rim0na @sweeti-pie @l3mon-mxshroom @hai-q-haikyuu @tkshoki @kyquu @kimbapsana @leefletter @hentaje @tempehlust @rinnesy @hallohun @softlybeloved @volleybloop @ssalamanderr @ben6ett @rytszk @guilixi @reiluvbot @mondstadts-favourite-traveler @xxcrowfeatherxx @b-trld @mkazuyuh @shittyeditsofwhatiwant @ayra2452008 @simpingover @soft-like-sunshine @lnrchii @scheophi @fkng_kumiko

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#zhongli x reader #Zhongli angst #Smile for me #Primofate fic #Genshin

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happyocelot · 3 years ago

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Angsty Team Gai headcanons after Neji’s death 😭

Guy and Lee are asked to go on a mission to Suna one day while Tenten is tasked with a separate mission of taking stock of Konoha’s weapons inventory. It’s just a simple scroll delivery, an A-rank only because of the sensitive nature of the document. Lee suggests that they finish the journey in one day as proof of their YOUTH!!!, and Guy says that no, they should finish it half a day, because that is true YOUTH!!!

They’re expecting Neji to sigh and be the voice of reason and point out that the journey to Suna takes three days

They both glance to the side and he isn’t there to scold them

Very few people in Konoha knew this, but Kakashi was very distraught at Sasuke’s defection and the break-up of his team. Guy was there for him at that time though, trying his best to inject a little springtime into Kakashi’s life by challenging him to eating contests and cliff-climbing competitions

When Kakashi finds Guy at Neji’s grave after that mission, he returns the favor

Tenten doesn’t tell this to anyone, but when she said she’d never forgive Neji for leaving her alone to deal with Guy and Lee, she kind of meant it

They were supposed to be a pair, a mini-team within Team Guy, the only supposedly normal ones who didn’t want to walk everywhere on their hands or strap ankle weights to their feet every single day

It’s awfully lonely when one half of your pair is missing for the rest of your life

Lee still keeps training as though Neji is there and never left because eternal rivals are eternal

Tenten has never cared much for the “rivalry battles” that Guy and Lee are always involved in

However, one day, Lee asks her if she wants to have one battle with him, a battle to see who can keep Neji’s grave the cleanest for the longest time and she doesn’t refuse the offer

They’re always tied, always, and Neji’s grave is one of the shiniest in the cemetery

Tenten will never admit this out loud either, but secretly, she’s jealous that Lee dreamed of Neji

Even if it was a dream of Neji advising him to get dumbbells as a wedding gift

There are times after the war when Guy is very dejected at the loss of movement in his leg, when Lee cries in frustration not yet having mastered all the gates, when Tenten is still one step short of her goal to become the world’s number one weapons user, and during those moments, Neji’s cool, haughty voice tells them that Team Guy isn’t filled with bucolic nonentities and that they get stronger every single day, don’t they?

It’s then that Guy and Lee glance to the side and hear his scolding tone and Tenten realizes that he isn’t missing after all

#maito gai #rock lee #tenten #hyuuga neji #nejiten #team gai #naruto #sorry #i'm in an angsty mood today #please enjoy

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 4 years ago

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#19: “Fan theories are ridiculous! Why can't you understand how a Sentimonster works? The show isn't that complicated!”

A common type of activity in any fandom is generating and discussing fan theories related to the work in question, and the Miraculous Ladybug fandom is no stranger to fan theories. A very common one is that Adrien is actually a Sentimonster created by the Peacock Miraculous. The existence of more intelligent Sentimonsters this season like Sentipace and Sentibubbler, in addition to the ending of “Mega Leech” where Gabriel ordered Adrien to go to his room while clutching his wedding ring.

The ending of “Mega Leech” in particular really reignited the Sentiadrien (Sentidrien?) theory, though I'm personally not a fan of it. I get why people think it's interesting, but given the show's writing, I'm worried if its true, it'll only be an excuse to write more Angstdrien Depreste scenes or justify some of his worse moments as if Gabriel was influencing him the whole time. Just because Ladybug is the Spider-Man of her world doesn't mean people want to see this show's take on the Clone Saga. You're free to like it or not, but I just wanted to make my feelings clear on the theory because today's post heavily relies on that theory and Astruc's response to it.

It started off with Astruc giving some much needed explanation on how the Peacock Miraculous and Sentimonsters work.

Admittedly, this does really help, and it makes sense when you rewatch episodes like “Ladybug” and “Sentibubbler” with how the Sentimonsters acted there. The problem is how he's phrasing it like people are overthinking things. And then he started to make fun of people for coming up with the theory in the first place.

(He's trying to say Sentimonster here. Thanks online translator.)

What kind of creator actively mocks fans for making theories about his work? Okay, fine, you don't agree with this theory or it isn't like what you have planned, and that's fine. What's not fine is going to town on anyone asking about how the worldbuilding in your show works in order to get evidence to prove or disprove the theory.

And then he seemingly tries to appeal to the other side of the theorists by writing some tweets that supposedly support the theory (explaining that Sentimonsters can easily be human, that their allignment depends on who has the object their Amok is in) while he plays dumb.

It didn't help when he rewteeted another Miraculous Ladybug comic supporting the Sentidrien theory around the same time.

(Here's the comic in question. I'm not censoring the artist to make sure they get credit)

I joked in my “Mega Leech” review that Andre seemingly only went along with ending the Oxygen Project to appeal to the protesters, and this kind of logic can easily be applied here. It feels like Astruc is trying to appeal to both sides of the Sentidrien debate.

The problem is, as usual, how contradictory these statements are for both sides, even more than usual.

Whenever Astruc gets asked something about the writing or characterization in his show, he'll always reply with the whole “My show is so much deeper than you give it credit for” argument. Whether it's claiming that his show obviously has character development, saying the New York special was supposed to be complicated, and basically everything he's said defending his treatment of Chloe, it's always something along the lines of “It's so deep and symbolic, you guys!” How is claiming something is symbolic any different from the fan theorists? And here's the funny thing: Not only did he use the symbolism argument against someone for suggesting Rose could use the Rabbit Miraculous, Astruc also retweeted two analysis posts talking about the deep symbolism in his show around the same day.

This is what makes Astruc so frustrating to deal with on social media. He'll constantly change his opinion on his show or the writing/worldbuilding to whatever he thinks makes him look good, can refute criticism, or do both when talking about a fan theory.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt #adrien agreste #cat noir #chat noir

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thestarrynightslover · 4 years ago

Text

I'll Make It Okay for You - Part 2

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 2,765

Warnings: Discussion, yelling, some angst, mentions of drugs, drug abuse, drug withdrawal, rehab facility and insecurities/self-sabotage (very, very slightly, tho).

Summary: You can read Part 1 here. What happens when (y/n) (y/l/n), Harvey’s secret crush and a junior partner at his firm, openly defies him in front of everyone?

Disclaimer: I don’t own the show Suits, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: I think that this turned out better than Part 1? As always, I’m not sure, though. Just to make it clear here, I’m still on season 4 of Suits, so didn’t wanna get too much into any canonic details, self-preservation, lol. Anyhow, I hope you like it, and, ofc, feedback is always appreciated.

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

You and Harvey stayed in the embrace for a while, as you sunk in all the comfort emanating from him. He'd even started stroking your hair. The whole situation felt so intimate, that, by the time the two of you finally pulled away from each other, it was almost as if there was this cloud of embarrassment hovering around you both.

"Err… I'm s- sorry, I shouldn't have, um-" You started saying nervously but he cut you off.

"No, it's okay. And, um, I'm really glad you told me what happened… It's definitely a lot to deal with. And I was a complete asshole this morning. So I'm sorry." For a moment both you and Harvey just smiled at each other, sitting there in a comfortable silence. Until he decided to break it: "So, um, did you get her a lawyer? I'm assuming you wouldn't wanna represent her yourself because it could be problematic…"

"No, uh, yeah. It would be problematic.” You corrected him. “But the most I could do was make the cops get her a public defender, cause I called my dad when I was on the way there and he just wouldn't have me paying for anything else. He is a retired cop, so the pension isn't too great, the pride though… And I’m already covering Lisa's treatment because it's her best shot, but this…"

"And he wants to teach her a lesson." He completed what you were trying to explain.

"Yes."

"And you don't agree with him?" Harvey asked, almost reading your mind.

"Well, it's complicated. Because when I see what Kat's doing with her life… I get just as frustrated as my parents, and I really do want what's best for Henry." The fact that your sister wasn't what's best for her son was only implied. "But she's my little sister, you know?" As he nodded in understanding, you went on: "I wanna help her, but, at least for now, I think I'm just gonna wait and see if mom and dad change their minds… Which I think they will do! I mean, my dad was a cop for years. He knows what those places do to people. As much as we all desperately want her to get her shit together, I don't think that prison is where she'll succeed in doing so." You finished, voice filled with concern.

"Well, I don't think I would be as lenient, and compassionate, as you are, but I do see your point." Harvey told with a sympathetic smile. "Besides, she is your sister. And, trust me, I know what it is like to go out of your way to keep a sibling outta trouble." He added with a tired sigh, making you wonder how much you really knew about the man sitting in front of you.

"Either way, now I don't see much that I can do for her at the moment. Gonna try and have her attorney keep me posted, of course, but…"

"Yeah…"

"I just… I can't help but feel guilty about all of this, you know?" You said, after having stood up and turned your back on him, finally letting on what was bothering you the most to the other lawyer.

"No, not really, I don't." He stated simply while you just looked back at him with a shocked expression on your face. "I mean, there's not a single approach on this that makes me think you're to blame for anything." He explained himself, standing up as well this time.

"Harvey, I-"

"No, (y/n), let me stop you right there. What I see here is a family going through a rough situation with one of its members. Then three of the other members just try to do everything they can to get out of the initial situation, while another one just keeps making more problems for her family. And, right now? Today? You walked out on your bosses, risking a lot, to take care of your nephew. So, tell me again, how is it that any of these things happening to your sister are your fault when you’ve done nothing but help everyone in that goddamn family of yours, huh?" He asked you in a sarcastic tone.

“Well, it is very much my fault because I’m her big sister! I should have been there for her! Advising her, helping her, just, just being her friend…” You confessed your regrets to Harvey. “But, instead, I was too busy making my career.”

“And what the hell’s wrong with that? Look, I’m a big brother too. I get it. Ever since we were kids our parents imbued us with the role of ‘the responsible one’, always telling us to look after the youngest… But, hey! If you just threw all of your work up in the air and left running every time your sister had a run-in with a problem, you wouldn’t have made it this far! Not in this field anyway!” He practically spit the words in your face, going to battle with your self-sabotage, which was a very new side of you for him. “And you’re a freaking great lawyer! One of the best that firm’s ever seen. So don’t be sorry that you didn’t sacrifice all of that for being better than the amazing sister you probably already were!”

“You simply can’t know that.” You stated in a low voice, not really knowing how to respond to everything Harvey had just told you. He really thought all that about you?

“Yes, I can!” He yelled back, stepping closer towards you. “I can know that for a fact, because,” he started again, his face pretty close to yours this time, “because, I’m beginning to finally understand, even if just a little bit, who you really are. And because I always notice all the little things when it comes to you, which, in my experience, is how you actually get to know someone. You know, the details.” He told you in the sweetest tone, giving you a charming-Specter-like smile, he leaned closer, if that was even possible, God, was he gonna kiss you?

You had to pull away slightly, just enough for him to get the message. And, boy, how you regretted it! Sure, normally, you’d have a ton of bad things to say about him, but after that night… It wasn’t really that bad of an idea, the one of Harvey kissing you. No, nuh-uh! What were you thinking?! If much, you and Harvey were beginning a friendship there! And you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let some ridiculous thoughts about how great he smelled rob you from that opportunity! Your inner struggle was interrupted by him saying:

“Hum, I- I should probably go, right? It’s, um, it’s getting pretty late…” He said nervously. You should be relieved right now. Because this assures that things between you and Harvey (your new friend?) aren’t gonna go too off the railroads anytime soon.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll walk you to the door.” So why is it that you sounded almost disappointed when you said that? “You know what they say, you gotta walk people to the door if you ever want them to come back…” You joked a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, right.” He shot back simply, with a small smile on his lips. “Bye, (y/n). Have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too.” You watched him turning around to leave when you remembered there was something else that Harvey deserved to hear from you. “Uh, Harvey!” You called out.

“Yeah?” He asked, turning back around to face you. And before you could even think it through one more time, you were already jumping in his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Thank you. For tonight. For everything.” You told him, as he slowly put his arms around your waist, hugging you back.

“It was no problem, (y/n), really. That’s what friends are for.” And, just like that, your day ⎼ turned into night ⎼ had gone from Earth to Hell, and, now, to Heaven.

---

Around 7:30 in the next morning, as you gathered some of your work stuff, you heard someone knocking on the door. Who could it possibly be this time? You asked yourself while walking there to open it.

Once again you were surprised to be met by none other than Harvey Your-New-Friend Specter standing at your doorstep. With your supposedly locked-up little sister in tow. What the hell?

“Before you say anything,” he started, “this time I come bearing gifts!” He practically beamed at you, as Kat threw herself in your arms.

“Yeah- yeah, um, I can see that.” You stated, still very confused with the whole situation.

“Thank you so much for sending your friend to bail me out, sis!” Your sister squealed out. She looked so pale and thin; winter-like clothes on, even though it was only the beginning of the fall; and she was shaking. Effects of a rushed withdrawal, you guessed. “You’re the best! Now, where’s my little baby?” She asked you, as if everything that had happened was nothing.

“He’s, uh, he’s in a day-care facility. The best in the city, you have nothing to worry about.” You informed her, who seemed rather relieved to hear that news. “Can you, uh, can you please stay here for a minute while I talk to my, uh, my friend in the office, Kat?” You asked her with a calm smile on your lips.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not gonna break anything I promise!” She told you, sounding a lot like a wicked child.

“No, um, I know you won’t. If you want something to eat, please, help yourself.” You assured her, motioning to the kitchen.

“Oh, no! I’m not hungry! Mr.Specter took me to a diner before we came here.” She let you know, which just made you even more surprised, and confused.

“Oh, he did? Well, that was very nice of yours, Harvey. So, come with me?” You asked him in a sort of mockery tone while pointing to the room he’d just been in, the night before.

As soon as the two of you stepped into the office, Harvey started desperately: “(y/n), before you come at me for not running this by you first, just, please, hear me out for a second.” He pleaded with you, to which you just nodded your head. “So, last night. I heard what you said about your dad, and you don’t have to worry about paying me anything. I’m representing your sister as a friend of yours.”

“Wait a second. You mean you’re taking this pro-bono? Harvey, you do that and the whole firm is gonna know. And you promised.” You quickly accused him, even though you were very thankful for the way he just stepped up to solve one of your problems.

“I know! Let me finish, will you?” You nodded again while muttering an apology. “I’m not going to break your trust. And I’m not handling this pro-bono. The only people I’ll have to loop in are Jessica and Donna. And you know they won’t say anything.” He told you, but you were still a bit confused. “And, before you even ask, no, that doesn’t mean that either you or your family will be paying me anything. Also, I got your sister a spot in a top-of-line, very discrete, rehab facility, I have a friend over there, who said we can drop her off at any time. I just, um, figured that it’d be the best if she got professional help this time. Plus, on my talk with her, she agreed to sign papers that make you and your parents Henry’s temporary guardians. I really think that Kat wants to turn her life around this time, (y/n). She was very- Did I do something wrong? Because, err, you know me… I always find it easier to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, but, this time, I really did think that this would make you happy...” He trailed off with a confused look on his face while scratching the back of his neck

“Oh, I am happy.” You told him, still looking absolutely stunned.

“Then why, uh, why don’t you look happy?” He asked, sounding a bit hurt.

“It’s just that… I’m kind of surprised. How did you even think of all those things?”

“I, uh, it’s like I said yesterday, I notice things about you. And I really listened to what you told me last night. So I just started thinking about ways that I could solve this thing for you, ways that I could make you happy again throughout all of this storm.” He told you and it had to be the sweetest thing you’d heard from Harvey (hell, from anyone!) in your entire life. “But I understand that I overstepped, and I’m-” But since he just wouldn’t stop talking anymore, you had to cut him off in order to shut him up.

His eyes were in absolute shock for a moment, as he just stood reactionless in your grip. But then he got the message and pulled you closer, grabbing your waist tightly while your hands stood firmly wrapped around his neck. You were pretty sure that neither one of you was still breathing at that point, but you didn’t care. Because, God, his mouth tasted so good in yours, it was like they’d been made to kiss each other. The despair both of you were investing in the kiss was huge, but it was turning into a calmer kind of fire, as the air started becoming too necessary again. He pulled your mouths apart for a minute, you resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“You know…” He started, still catching his breath. “When I mentioned you coming at me, I hadn’t really envisioned this.” He joked, a victory smile on his lips.

“Ah, well, you know how upset it makes me when you simply won’t shut up.” You shot back with a shrug of your shoulders, smiling at him.

“Huh. Wish you would’ve shut me up like this every other time.” He mocked, earning a smack in the arm from you. “Ouch! Why’d do that?”

“Because you were being a dickhead, ruining our moment.” You gave him a fake irritated glance.

“Oh, c’mon! Tell me you didn’t think about it too!” He challenged, and you didn’t feel like giving him that kind of win at the moment, so you just pulled him back in for another kiss. One that may have lasted a little longer than it should have, considering that you two still needed to take Kat to rehab and, then, go to work so you could try and save your job. But, what could you do if he, and his body, and his mouth, and his eyes, and his everything were the only things that mattered?

As he rested his chin on top of your head ⎼ that was laid on his chest ⎼, you looked up, pulling away a little, him making sure you wouldn’t fall off the small couch. “Thank you, Harvey. For everything you did. For listening. For being here right now. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me, (y/n). You’ll never have to thank me for anything. I just want you to promise me one thing.” He stated seriously.

“What?” You asked, a bit hesitant.

“That, from now on, you’ll tell me all about it, every time you have a problem.” That was easy enough, you thought. But, you being you, simply had to ask.

“So that you can be here for me?” You questioned him with puppy eyes.

He just chuckled lightly. “Well, that too. But, mostly, so that I can make it ⎼ whatever it is ⎼ okay for you.” Your heart was on the edge of not being to take it any longer. What could have you possibly done to deserve that man?

“Okay, I promise.” You said, watching his expression begin to soften already. “But, only if you promise me the same. Because I wanna make it okay for you too.” While you thought Harvey was simply gonna say yes, he started laughing at you.

“Always the kick-ass corporate lawyer, I see.”

“Would you even have me any other way?” You joked back, more relaxed now.

“Yes, of course! I’d have you in any way you came to me. Which is why I promise too.” With that, you didn’t have any other choice but to kiss him again, because crying over the fact that Harvey Surprisingly-Romantic Specter was an absolute cinnamon roll was not an option.

Taglist: @just-a-girl-with-alot-of-issues

#harvey specter x reader #suits #harvey specter #fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #suits fanfiction #suits imagine #harvey specter fanfiction #angst #bickering #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter x you #harvey specter x y/n #fluff #harvey specter fluff #harvey specter angst

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izukusjoyfriend · 3 years ago

Text

Deku and Bakugou analysis,a bit of a KatsuDeku theroy post.

Warning!!! This thread is very long and has suggestice themes. Please proceed with caution.

"After that, he lit a fire under me like that"

That's way to sus.

One thing I've noticed too,Deku refers and reacts to Bakugou differently than big heros,even ones that he strongly admires,like,really admires,like all might.

Which makes me thinks..Is all the romantic-like shit done on purpose?

Stuff like this:

That first line translates into: The burning longing in my chest will not disappear.

Second line:I want it to change

He said he daydreams about him and Katsuki in some opening I don't remember.

Stars are VERY prominent with them to,after when Deku said that sus line,he looks up at a star,and saids,he wants it to change,ya know,there is also another song about Katsuki and Deku,Its Polaris. It being about Deku and Katsuki,makes a lot of sense.

Heres why;

"If I could go back and give up everything I had,I would never hide my scars for anything. No not for no one"

When Katsuki bullied Deku,he was scar-ed.

It makes sense. He regrets what he did to Deku. Hes trying to Atone. He absolutely hates what he did to Midoriya,and The line saying,"No,not for no one". It makes sense!

Katsuki hid his scars and tried to act like a big and tough boy,which in reality..

He was the weak one. That's canon,that was touched apond in the manga

---------------------------------------------------

"Say goodbye ,I don't have the strength to let it all end,I would give all and everything if we could mend,All I wanted was you to stay and not disappear,I've decided I will follow my heart,Promise yours will always be right near me.."

Makes a lot of sense. Let me explain,The "Say goodbye" line is a play on deku leaving U.A,and after that..Bakugou saids this,

"I don't have the strength to let it all end!"

Which is..f***ing heart breaking.. Alright let me bring this up,

---------------------------------------------------

Yes, Izuku's exhaustion and pain is the primary focus, but those tiny details imply that Katsuki Bakugou, the guy who has had a strict bedtime and diet his whole life, who puts every bit of effort into his own health, has completely disregarded his self-care to go after Izuku. Which also implies that his body didn't just move on its own when he risked his life for Izuku. It's further evidence that he isn't just trying to atone for his own sake. This guy straight up stopped taking care of himself because he was WORRIED for Izuku. He stopped sleeping in favor of searching. He reaggravated a very serious injury (one that he got already protecting Izuku) in order to protect him AGAIN.

Which..Makes sense... It shows more of a..Softer caring side of Bakugou. It explains it itself.

---------------------------------------------------

"I would give all and everything if we could mend,All I wanted was you to stay and not disappear,I've decided I will follow my heart,Promise yours will always be right near me.."

Wow. If this is Katsuki..Its makes a lot of sense.. He would give..A lot for him and dekus friendship to be better again. That's why he did the training with him.

He would do anything to make the connection with him and deku because..He,wants to mend with Midoriya. Repair the friendship..

But what is really interesting and important is,that,He said "I've decided I will follow my heart,promise yours will also be right near me!" Which means,it wasn't just not his mortal compass..It was also where his,Heart was leading him too..

Which means,Bakugou doesn't just want to mend things for sake of mortality and heroism,but also,it's because..He feels that he should. And I would say he feeling like he should do this because he feels bad for deku,BUT,he said he wants deku heart to stay near his..which means:

"Close to your heart" is an English idiom describing something or someone dearly loved. It can be used to describe anything that has earned a great deal of affection from a person, often through familiarity with it over time. The meaning of this phrase comes from the fact that the heart is considered the organ of the human body that is the source of all love and affection. As such, anyone or anything that resides close to it will be on the receiving end of those feelings."

❗❗❗❗❗

OHHHHHH----- KATSUKI---

It could be platonic-- but...he wants..There..Hearts to be close?? That's oddly specify..He could just say he want them to be close..The thing is,he didn't even have too say anything about hearts..Hearts are symbolized as,a love thing.

--------------------------------------------------

❗❗❗❗

You're probably asking "Why does this matter???" Well..Ummm..Look at the background. There bubbles,the trope which is used is called love bubbles.

A romantic moment in anime is often accompanied by a pastel background with lots of bubbles. Nobody knows who wanders into all these series with an invisible bubble machine, but maybe they should stop before they get soap in somebody's eye...

Is..Is he blushing..? That explains the bubble and sparkles..

--------------------------------------------------

HuH..???? HOW-

Look I don't know what to tell you.

But if that's not romantic,then I don't know what it is.

----------------------------------------

Peace sign is confirmed to be a bakugou and deku song. He calls this story,MY HERO ACADEMIA,"OUR STORY"...huh..Remember the song "Datte atashi no Hero?" He also called bakugou his hero. Let that sink in.

--------------------------------------------------

Remember shout baby...? Heres more crap to make Bakudeku romantic.

Let's go over that one line again..

Can't sugar code it. Nope. That's romantic in nature. Unless deku has fucking heart problems,this is romantic. No doubt on my end.

Heres something that just plain romantic.

"It’s frustrating that this unusual scent of hair made my heart flutter. So I hid my lips that’s forming a smile under my scarf.."

Wow... This sounds like Bakugou.

Let me explain why it does sounds like Bakugou. Frustration. About something small as that seems like him. It sounds like him too. And also,Bakugou rarely smiles.. I wonder what they where doing which made his heart flutter.

And why it's romantic..? Hear the way that's worded. The person hide the lips after their heart flutters.

--------------------------------------------------

Alright let's go here. This is a song that supposedly between Bakugou and Deku.

youtube

Let's see it here,

❗❗❗❗❗

And the kanji used for this song is not helping.

They use the words like "Suki" Suki is only plantoic when revfiring to non humans. Deku uses it to Katsuki at the end of the song in another translation like this,

Suki da suki da suki da suki da

Context clue:

Suki da,

好すだよ。

Suki da yo.

I like you.

This phrase is commonly used in everyday life. It reveals to the interlocutor that you have feelings for him. It is up to him to interpret the strength of your love.

To avoid misunderstandings, do not tell people with whom you have friendly relations. I already imagine your Japanese friends feeling uncomfortable because they think you are trying to get out of the friend-zone.

Kimi ga daisuki da yo.

大だい好すだ。

Daisuki da.

I really like you.

Daisuki implies that you are a big fan of something when you talk about an object, food or a sports team. This is also the case when you talk about an artist, an athlete or some other famous personality.

But when you say that to someone, it implies that you have strong feelings for that person. These feelings must be beyond normal friendship.

........

*Sigh*

Here's more of the song

"Update! I want to fly, to fly, just to fly so far away, away from here. It can’t be anybody else, I don’t want anybody else. Because I don’t want to regret, I’ve got to say it now,I love, I love, I love, I love,I love being here with you."

The more I read into it. The more the song sounds like Katsuki. And it make sense if somewhat of update is sang by Katsuki.

Think about it. The song said this,

"It's not what you do,or what you say,it who you're with."

And if you think about,someone of these song lyrics sound like Katsuki himself.

This song is blunt. Blunter,then fuck,and you know who's blunt..?

Katsuki.

I'm not saying he sang all of it.. No. Update actually in the outro points about Deku and makes him the main focus. But,these lines make more sense for Bakugou then Deku,

"If you are, you are, you are, you are,If you are with me,Not back, not down, but the reason I was able to see the front only was,You were here"

Those lines make more sense for s5 bakugou and up,then s3 deku. Let me explain why. "The only reason I was able to see the front is because you where here" remember the apology..? If you don't it's chapter 322

Also for a second,let pay attention to this

It can’t be anybody else, I don’t want anybody else.

That's literally at least saying that Katsuki is VERY special to deku. And the context for this is that,who he'd run away with. It's basically saying he'd spend his life with Katsuki away from everybody else..and he would be..Fine..?

That really saying something about his favoritism to Katsuki-

----------•-----------•-----------•-------------•

SEE WHATS WRONG...? If ya don't then,here;

It's really just explains itself,Katsuki and Deku are the only ones here.

----------•-----------•-----------•-------------•

Tags: #bakudeku #decchan #bkdk #Izuku x Katsuki #bkdk canon #katsudeku #deku x kacchan #dkkt #dkbk #wonder duo #bakugou x deku #deku x bakugou #dekugou #dekugo #dekubaku #dyandeku #midoriya x bakugou #bakugou x midoriya #bakumido #bakudeku analysis #bakudoriya #bkdk fluff #bkdk soulmates #Katsuki x Izuku #katsuki x deku #deku bakugou #mha bkdk #long post #twin stars

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smolcinnamonchipmunk · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome to Rapture: Chapter 10

Silent Stage Count: 11684 TW/CW: Violence, blood, gore, death, related disturbing imagery

The shutters at every entrance to Fort Frolic, the ones that had kept Syrus trapped in the entertainment center for the last three days, were open. No Plasters guarded them and no Splicers were seen the entire time he and Atlas walked from Fleet Hall. Compared to the lively show out in the main square mere hours ago, the entire district was a ghost town.

Syrus was concerned about where so many insane people could hide, hoping Cohen was a man of his word and that there wasn’t an ambush waiting around a corner. It didn’t help that he was practically being led around by Atlas, who had offered to lead him out due to years of experience in Rapture that allowed the human to practically memorize the whole place supposedly. He had several questions for the human, but decided that they could wait until both of them had reached a safe place.

He had to make the conscious decision of keeping Atlas on his wounded side, still barely able to see or hear from the right side of his head. Hell, his left ear felt slightly muffled, a tinny constant whine faintly sounding. All healing had gone to a near stand-still now that his blood stomach was once more empty and he had to ignore the craving for something iron-enriched.

Something about Atlas still threw him off. He just wasn’t sure what. Maybe the human was an actual threat or maybe his instincts had gone haywire after so much time down in the halls. Still, he was less of a threat than other Splicers or Plasters for the time being, deciding that he’d rather allow Atlas on his injured side than risk either of them being jumped because of his inability to properly register anything from his right.

Eventually, Atlas ducked between an alleyway between two buildings and led Syrus out the other side where he recognized the large hall entrance to the Rapture Metro he’d come in with. Walking down for another minute, the sight of the flickering bathysphere station came into view as they walked in.

“Alright,” Atlas breathed a sigh of relief once both men had walked across the threshold into the Bathysphere Metro. After several minutes of silence between Fleet Hall and here, the human’s quiet remark felt loud to Syrus’ working ear. He turned towards Syrus and added, “I’m sure ya have a lot of questions, boyo, and they’ll all be answered in time. With Cohen’s deal still in effect and no Splicer wantin’ to tangle with him, this is probably the safest place to rest that we’ll find for a while. So, go ahead and ask a couple. Quick ones.”

Syrus watched the human walk over to one of the nearby benches against a broken pillar, resting his back against the degraded surface as he looked back with an expectant look for inevitable questions.

“Where do you plan to go,” Syrus asked, not beating around the bush. His depth perception was off, but he could see clearly that it was a question Atlas had been expecting given the lack of reaction. “Now that you’re not being held captive?”

“I’m gonna do the same thing I’ve been doing since the fall of Rapture, boyo. Try to survive until tomorrow,” Atlas replied tiredly, shifting so that he was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands relaxed and gaze still on Syrus. “That’s all ya can do down here.”

“Surely, there has to be some kind of way out of here,” Syrus frowned. After all the fighting he just went through, he could feel frustration begin to surface. Rabbit was here for a long time, and Atlas even longer. Hell, the guy had been the leader of some revolution. That had to require being able to know the layout of everything enough to get the fuck out of this metallic hell.

“Aye,” the response from Atlas surprised Syrus, summoning a glimmer of hope before immediately snuffing it out as he continued. “The way ya came down in the lighthouse. That, or you can test your luck with the water pressure by trying to swim out of one of the bathysphere stations or fisheries and brave the several miles to the surface.”

Atlas’ response was a fairly sensible one given all that was learned, but that didn’t stop the disappointment and frustration that hit Syrus and made him growl. The human was unfazed, merely giving him a glance as he glared at him, insistent on an escape. “There has to be another way in and out. There’s too many Splicers down here to not be coming from somewhere if all anyone does down here is kill each other.”

“Syrus, we had a whole Little Sister program,” Atlas replied, sitting up from his somewhat folded position to look Syrus more squarely in the face. “You know, those little girls you see running around? Granted, I don’t know how there’s still more. We age far slower than other people with the ADAM in our systems, but we still age. Children, it’s faster because of their metabolism. When the Sisters grew, Ryan sent them topside to kidnap more girls to manipulate and keep ADAM in production. I don’t think there’s been any Big Sisters in commission for decades, but who knows how many children he forced down here to crawl in the walls.

“Probably of age now, adding to the population. I’ve never seen a Little Brother, but I wouldn’t put it past Ryan to be indiscriminate with kidnapping,” the human scrubbed a tired hand over his face, taking care to place his hand on the less bruised side of his face, and leaned back to rest his head against the column while turning his gaze to the ceiling.

Syrus thought that didn’t quite make sense. Little Sisters that were still very much little wandered around the halls, something that wouldn’t be happening if, to his understanding, the Splicers were continuing to somehow follow the cycle. But, given that they all craved ADAM, maybe they understood the necessity of the Little Sister program to get their fix? Whatever the case, he decided to file the information for now, too tired from fighting to delve into Rapture mechanisms that he knew next to nothing about other than what he’d been told.

“And, what about Rabbit,” he asked tiredly, glancing towards the exit of Rapture Metro back towards Fort Frolic, trying to gauge Atlas’ reaction from his healthy peripheral.

“What about her, boyo,” Atlas frowned in confusion, glancing at Syrus from his leaned back position. “We lost her when we locked her from the Arcadia bathysphere station.”

“I’m certain Canary had been Rabbit,” Syrus stated, seeing Atlas’ frown deepen and paused to allow the human to respond if he wanted. Atlas did.

“Syrus, I’m pretty sure Canary wasn’t Rabbit,” the human shifted once more so that he was no longer leaning on the column. “We locked her in the Arcadia halls and the only other way to Fort Frolic is through the marketplace. Which, by the way, still has one of the densest Splicer populations in Rapture. Look, Rabbit doesn’t leave Arcadia much anyways, save for looking at new saps that get trapped by the buggy lighthouse bathyspheres. We caught her in a tantrum because she doesn’t like me, but I’m sure she’s crawled back into the vents or wherever she goes. ‘Sides, what even makes you think that it was Rabbit?”

Syrus opted to not say that he could taste the difference in blood, instead replying, “When the mask fell off, I got a look of their face. It looked like Rabbit, just in a different outfit.”

Atlas just stared at him for a second before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. The human pinched the bridge of his nose as if he was about to explain something to a child, opening them to look up at Syrus as the Chupacabra turned to face him with crossed arms.

“Alright, boyo, I’ll play Devil’s Advocate for you,” the human moved forward, once more leaning his elbows on his knees, hand moving while he spoke. “IF that was Rabbit, why the costume change? Why didn’t she use her electric abilities that she’s prone to use? Why work with one of the two nutcases down here that she hates, for good reason, in a near-suicidal play? Where did she get the telekinesis? With all these questions, why would you think it’s her? Was it because she didn’t sing for any ADAM when you fought? Cause Cohen’s other Houdini’s didn’t either. They sing when he tells 'em to sing.

“Syrus. You had three good, long, and intense fights. Hell, half of your face and an ear are still practically gone from an explosion,” Atlas exclaimed, gesturing to Syrus’ face. He hadn’t seen the way his face looked yet, but he imagined it looked somewhat similar to when people get third degree burns, particularly feeling the tightness of his skin around the jaw. The human glanced him over in concern. “I don’t know why you want it to have been Rabbit, boyo, but are you sure it’s not the blood loss talking, or the concussive blast messing with your head? Perhaps I’m not the only one in need of rest…”

Syrus was a bit taken aback by the human’s supposed concern, having not really thought about his state. It didn’t affect his taste much, save for the right side that got damaged, but now that it was brought to his attention the adrenaline from before was gone, leaving him with creeping exhaustion while his blood stomach craved being filled to heal the wounds he had. Without blood, it would take days to regain full use of his right eye and ear, and even longer for the muscle and skin to heal, though it’d leave scarring. Even with a full stomach of blood, the wounding was enough that he’d almost definitely still have scars, they’d just be lessened with accelerated healing.

If he had suffered concussive damage, it must have healed quickly. His body would have prioritized that first since the brain is a rather important organ. He was tired and probably did have some blood loss, but his mind was fairly clear and he knew on a visceral level that the blood he’d tasted had been from Rabbit. But, maybe he was just too used to the chemicals in most Splicers blood. Part of him wondered what Atlas’ blood tasted like.

“Atlas, I’m certain of what I saw,” Syrus frowned, mulling over Atlas’ questions and finding he didn’t have an answer to any of them. “I don’t know why Rabbit wouldn’t use electricity, but they looked mortified in Cohen’s arms.”

Granted, maybe they were more mortified at him since he’d nearly killed them. Again. But the sheer hatred in their eyes when they looked at Atlas felt out of place if this was a random Splicer under Cohen’s employ. After a couple seconds, he suggested, “Maybe Cohen is blackmailing them? Or threatening them somehow?”

“Threatening them with something worse than the play?”

Syrus didn’t have an answer. Both men stood in silence for a few heartbeats, Atlas looking less than amused while Syrus could feel his lack of knowledge agitating his frustration further.

Atlas let out a long exhale through his nose, grabbing Syrus’ attention as the human seemed to age at his insistent questioning.

“Even if that was Rabbit, even if they were-were somehow coerced or blackmailed into throwing herself into the wolves den of a play, how do you propose we help her,” Atlas asked, blue eyes glinting under the flickering lights briefly as he looked up at Syrus. “I don’t know if you quite remember, Syrus, but she kind of hates me. I’m fairly certain that she’ll try to kill me the first chance she gets. Unless you have a plan to stop her before that happens, I’m all ears for that.”

“If Rabbit tries to attack you, I’ll just paralyze them,” Syrus replied.

“I- You can paralyze people,” Atlas asked, face shifting to both concern and intrigue.

“I can. It minimizes risk from large prey,” Syrus stated matter-of-factly. There was no point beating around the bush, the human had already seen his more animal-like form. He saw the gears turning in the other man’s head, though he didn’t know if they were good or bad.

“Okay,” Atlas shook his head as though to clear it from whatever train of thought he’d been about to go on. “If it was Rabbit, if she was forced into it, and you paralyze her, how are we going to get her out in the first place? Why do you even care so much? We can’t just waltz back in, Cohen basically threatened us to stay outta his turf. And if we do sneak in, how are we getting out with a drugged person without being caught?”

Now Atlas was asking the right questions about moving forward. The biggest catch was that Syrus still didn’t have answers. If he wasn’t stuck underwater, he’d be tempted to cut his losses and simply work with Atlas. Then again, if he wasn’t underwater, he would have just slammed into one of the glass walls until it broke and escaped a long time ago. Out of the four not completely fucked up humans he’d interacted with, only two were viable allies. If he could get the two humans to work together, then not only would they all have an advantage in number compared to if they were on their own against the Splicers, maybe they’d have a better chance of figuring a way out of here.

Not to mention, he still had an odd feeling about Atlas. Another mostly sane human for insurance on getting out would help.

“I don’t know yet,” Syrus admitted, even if he loathed to do so. He hated the uncertainty that being in Rapture brought and the fact that he was becoming used to it. “But, if you don’t know an immediate way out of here, I don’t see any reason to not at least try to make sure it wasn’t Rabbit. Death seems to lurk around every corner in here, so we wouldn’t be expediting it much.”

“I- wha- are you suicidal, boyo,” Atlas exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet. He gestured sharply to the direction of Fort Frolic. “We can’t just go charging back into there, with you on your high horse, so that you can just confirm or deny what sounds like a hunch! If we go back in there, Cohen will close the flood doors again and we might as well kiss our arses goodbye right now, ‘cause there’s no chance of making it out alive again, boyo!”

Syrus had to resist the urge to narrow his eyes at the panicked human. The human that was, arguably, making very valid points. After all, who in their right mind would go right back into the same place they’d just escaped death from? Maybe Rapture was already affecting his thinking. Either way, he decided to stand his ground.

“You’re free from Cohen, and you’re welcome to stay here or do what you want, but I’m going back,” he said, watching Atlas. “I’m certainly not going to make you go, as long as you don’t get in my way.”

Atlas gaped at him in surprise, frowning and closing his mouth as he seemed to mull over Syrus’ words. He let him. Part of him wanted the human to stay behind, not wanting to trust too easily and let his guard down much around either.

The human seemed to struggle with something internally, eventually grumbling and replying, “I... can’t, in good conscience, just let you go back alone.

“Understand,” Atlas shakily ran a hand through his raven locks, mussing his hair up further than it already was from his captivity. “I don’t want to go back. At all. But, you saved me, so I can’t not help you. Think of it as a favor for a favor, quid pro quo and all that.”

“Alright,” Syrus tried to ignore his disappointment at hearing the man wanted to go with him, thinking that maybe more time would give him insight to why Atlas gave him a bad feeling.

“Before you go jumping back into Fort Frolic, though,” Atlas quickly said before Syrus could say anything else, gazing turning stern. “We need rest. I wasn’t given much food or water under Cohen’s watch and earned some bruises, while you… well, boyo, not to be harsh, but if I saw you before all this time in Rapture, I’d think you were the Devil coming for our hubris. I don’t know the extent of your healing, but stretching yourself thin isn’t going to get Rabbit, if it is her, away any sooner.”

Syrus didn’t want to rest, but his body thought otherwise, able to feel exhaustion begin to weigh down his limbs. Reluctantly, he nodded and added, “We should find ourselves something to eat before we rest, but I can accept that.”

Atlas seemed satisfied with his answer and both men soon found themselves searching the large Rapture Metro for some form of nourishment. Like the entirety of his stay down here, it was found in the form of stale chips and old granola bars that they both shared between themselves. There wasn’t much conversation as they ate, Syrus ignoring the way his blood stomach felt like it twisted in his chest and the way his teeth felt like they’d extended ever so slightly in anticipation of fresh blood. But, he’d have to wait to slake his thirst.

After eating, both Atlas and Syrus picked a bench to sleep on. Again, there wasn’t much conversation, both beginning to feel the weight of the day. At least, Syrus was. He could only speak for himself after all, but he noticed that Atlas’ movements were becoming rather slow and sparse as time went on.

The human was the first one to fall asleep, leaving Syrus laying on his bench alone with his thoughts and looking at the ceiling. The bench was uncomfortable, but he was getting used to sleeping on rough surfaces at this point. What was keeping him up was the fact that he almost died today and still felt no closer to getting the hell out of here.

That and the fact that he was constantly risking his own life for humans in the hope it would lead him closer to that goal. He wasn’t sure if it’d work, but he supposed it was better to die trying to get out of this place than lay down and resign himself to the cold halls.

He inhaled tiredly and let out a long exhale, waving his hand in front of face to test his right eye. It wasn’t much clearer than before, if at all, needing to rely on movement and change of light when he closed his left eye, and his hand was simply a large indiscernible blob darker than the light from above. His right ear was unnervingly silent despite being able to easily hear the water lapping at metal from the bathysphere docks with his left despite the tinny whine. If he turned his head just right, he could barely hear Atlas’ breathing from the other bench.

Eventually, he was able to turn onto his right side, careful of the injuries, and managed to push aside the uncertainty and thoughts enough to fall asleep. It was dreamless, the kind of dark sleep that happens when the body’s too tired to dream or to remember them. Maybe there was a vague inkling of one or two dreams, but they vanished as quickly as they came.

Syrus woke when he registered a slight sound, feeling goosebumps at a presence far too close for his comfort, bolting upright and grabbing the wrist of the other person before they could touch him with their outstretched hand.

Atlas was caught off guard, his bruising distorting as his face contorted in surprise. He seemed to temper his concern, though he tried to twist his arm out of the other man’s grip, saying, “Relax, boyo, I was just moving to wake you. I heard something down the hall towards Fort Frolic and didn’t want either of us to be caught off guard – could you release my wrist, Syrus, you’re about to snap it!”

“Right. Sorry,” Syrus released his unintentional, almost bone-crushing hold on Atlas. To the human’s credit, he hadn’t panicked despite his obvious alarm at the Chupacabra’s reaction to the surprise awakening.

Syrus’ groggy mind quickly woke, though he still felt exhausted. Without any way to gauge time down here it could have been minutes or hours. Either way his body craved more sleep, but now that he was awake and told of some noise, his body already worked on trying to pinpoint whatever it was as he tilted the left side of his head towards the hall that Atlas had mentioned.

He didn’t know if it was the same noise, but he heard very faint crying in the direction of Fort Frolic when he did so. Too faint for Atlas to have heard, so whatever the human heard may have precluded the crying he heard now, informing Atlas, “I hear crying. What did you hear?”

“Not sure what I heard. Can ya tell if it’s a child or adult, boyo,” Atlas asked, brow furrowing in thought. His fingers twitched as though wanting to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. “I’m game to help a Little Sister, but I’d rather not run into any other Splicers unless we have to.”

“No,” Syrus replied, standing up. Several vertebrae and joints popped from sleeping on the bench, and some soreness had set into his muscles. He walked over to a nearby pile of debris and easily moved the broken chunks of metal and concrete until he came across a bent metal rod. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy and it’d have to do, so he stood up and walked to Atlas to offer it. “Crying is crying. But we should probably still investigate to make sure the danger doesn’t reach here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Atlas frowned as he took the offered metal rod in his hands and tested the weight a bit. “You lead the way though, boyo, I can’t hear what you hear.”

Syrus nodded, tilting his head so that his left ear was pointed more toward the crying as he began to walk down the hall it came from. Fort Frolic’s hall. In his peripherals, he saw Atlas falter with an unreadable expression, but the human continued before he could question it. The hall to Fort Frolic was pretty straightforward with barely any branching points but both of them still kept an eye out. Atlas fell in step on Syrus’s left side, something he had to resist the urge to growl at since his right side still wasn’t healed, and it made him feel vulnerable to have that side ‘exposed’ in a way. Still, Atlas should be able to see if something happened on his right given the lack of hiding spots.

The closer they got to the crying, taking one of the few smaller halls to follow the noise, the louder it became. Not only that, but he heard a few other faint noises in the distance that he felt like weren’t there before when they had left. The crying led both of them to one of the brass vents embedded in the wall.

“A Little Sister,” Atlas frowned for an unknown reason until he elaborated a moment after, “They usually don’t cry ‘cause of the cotton-candy way they perceive things unless their Big Daddy is dead. But, if that’s the case… they also usually mourn beside the body until an unattached Big Daddy lumbers around or…”

“Well, either way, I don’t see or hear it anywhere in the hall nearby,” Syrus commented. He definitely would have heard if there was a Big Daddy around, the lumbering steps enough to rattle the metal of entire hallways if they were short enough. He’d also only seen the normal carnage and debris that littered Rapture, nothing that seemed fresh or large enough to have been caused by a Big Daddy.

“Yes… it’s not normal,” the human looked perturbed before raising a hand. He rapped a knuckle on the brass edge loudly, startling Syrus.

“What are you doing,” the Chupacabra practically hissed, thinking that the human was very lucky that there didn’t seem to be Splicers nearby, otherwise they would have seen it as a dinner bell.

“If the Little Sister pokes her head out, maybe she’ll answer what happened to her Big Daddy and any other questions.”

Syrus scowled, but it was too late to stop the human from causing the noise. Besides, there were sounds in the vent of something moving to focus on now, the noise amplified and echoed by the metal walls of the vent. They escalated until a little girl with the familiarly glowing yellow eyes popped out and looked out hopefully, only to almost immediately look upset and duck back down.

“You’re not Sunflower,” the child wailed, distorted voice echoing on the brass and solidifying how lucky it was that Splicers weren’t nearby to hear it.

“No, but we’re still here to help,” Atlas replied softly, giving the girl a small smile to try and be reassuring. “We can try to find Sunflower, if you’d like.”

There was a second or two of silence before the girl poked her head back up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, “You’ll help? Usually only Bunny helps…”

“Yes, we can try. But, you need to tell us what happened, okay,” Atlas coaxed gently.

Syrus watched the Little Sister regard them both. Not with suspicion, he had a feeling that something had been done to make them complacent with the underwater hell they resided in, but rather with thought as she seemed to try and think of where to start.

“Okay,” the girl sniffed again, looking satisfied at whatever she was thinking of. “S-Sunflower and I wanted to see if there were any-any Angels in the fun district, but it’s been closed for a few days. But! I-It opened up earlier, and we went to go look for Angels. I didn’t see any in the streets or stores, and the shoppers don’t usually bother us. There weren’t any shoppers, but I've seen them go in and out of the theatre and wanted to see if there were any plays happening… Wh-When we walked in though, some statues fell on Sunflower and hurt him. I wanted to stay and help Sunflower, but I ran away because more statues started falling and I was blocked off from Sunflower. One of the statues almost fell on me.”

Syrus frowned in confusion, but Atlas just listened intently, nodding along to what the girl was saying. He couldn’t help but still be unnerved by the glowing eyes of the girl, realizing after a second that she actually did have pupils, they were just a shade or two lighter than the all-encompassing iris and looked blurred.

“We’ll go check on Sunflower for you, okay lass,” Atlas said questioningly, giving the Little Sister a reassuring smile that seemed to help relax her.

“Thank you, poster man,” the girl perked up and smiled back. “A-And tell Sunflower to come to our favorite place so he can find me.”

The interaction ended with an assuring “Will do” and farewell wave from Atlas that was reciprocated before he walked off. Towards Fort Frolic.

Syrus didn’t hesitate to follow after, though now he had several questions swirling in his head. But, before he could even think about figuring out which one to say aloud first, he heard Atlas murmur to himself.

“Cohen doesn’t usually touch the Little Sisters or the Big Daddies…”

“What about the Big Daddies in the performance,” Syrus asked, grimacing at the memory. He could see why someone wouldn’t want to mess with them, given their strength and capability, but he wouldn’t be surprised if someone did given the general mental state down here. And, thinking on it, there had been a freshly killed Big Daddy near Rabbit when he’d found them injured among the floor of corpses that might have caused at least a couple of them.

“Key word is ‘usually’, boyo,” Atlas stopped, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he turned to Syrus. “He had mentioned that he just wanted them for the latest performance in his mutterings and monologues. He knows Little Sisters are what collect the ADAM from decaying bodies that eventually trickles to him somehow.”

“How does it even get to him?” Syrus stopped beside the human.

“I tend to think of it as a weird beehive, though without a Queen,” Atlas sighed thoughtfully. “The Little Sisters are the workers that collect ADAM from dead bodies and whatever else they’re supposed to, but they also make it with the slugs in their stomachs. I don’t quite know what happens with the collected ADAM, Ryan kept the inner machinations of his system under lock and key to the grave, but I know that the girls had to have the ADAM collected otherwise the ADAM would become too much even for them. All I know is that Cohen gets enough to have the entirety of Fort Frolic wrapped around his finger. He doesn’t attack Little Sisters on the reg, Syrus.” Atlas huffed, confused, and turned to continue walking in the same direction as before.

Syrus trailed just behind, keeping the human on his right side so that he could keep his good eye looking for danger and commented, “I thought you didn’t want to go back to Fort Frolic.”

Atlas was quiet for a few seconds, pace slowing as he seemed to think before he eventually glanced at him and replied, “Trust me, boyo, I’m loath to do it. But… something feels off. And that concerns me.”

“More off than the other homicidal humans,” Syrus asked rhetorically, though the human’s words stuck with him. If Cohen seemed to have a pattern of behavior and disposition, he wasn’t sure what the cause would be to change that. “Maybe it was my presence? Or someone else new came down?”

“Cohen doesn’t care about newcomers unless they manage to stumble all the way into his district. Sees them as a waste of time otherwise, and an excellent performance opportunity if they make it to his doors. You’re one of the few to make it this far, and one of the first to survive one of his ‘auditions’,” Atlas said.

“Has Rabbit ever been caught by Cohen?”

“Unless your Canary ends up somehow being Rabbit, she’d never been subjected to Cohen’s stage plays. And, until the other day, I’d never been caught either.”

“What about the bathyspheres,” Syrus tilted his head in confusion, trying to read the other man’s expression from his left eye. Difficult when he was keeping the human on his right. “Why does the lighthouse apparently just get a bathysphere occasionally? Is it just the same one each time, because then you could just… wait long enough, right?”

He watched Atlas falter at his line of questioning, turning his head to look at the man when he looked towards Syrus.

“I’ve… never really thought about it that much, boyo,” Atlas replied, shrugging with a perturbed expression before continuing to walk down the hall. “I just know that however the lighthouse system works, it’s not the same bathysphere. It’s dangerous to linger around the lighthouse area with Spiders and Splicers ready to tear into any newcomers, and they’ve torn into the metal casings with the help of ADAM and EVE to get to whoever thinks hiding in a bathysphere is a good idea. I used to occasionally risk going to the lighthouse bathysphere dock whenever the Splicers got riled up about a newcomer… sometimes it looked like the bathysphere was torn apart like a tin can.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, and Syrus did nothing to break it. He didn’t think he’d been here more than a few weeks and already felt stir-crazy, his mind starting to go in circles of frustration from both Rabbit and Atlas being near dead-end avenues for escape. He didn’t know how Atlas seemed to be so unphased while also maintaining his sanity.

Several minutes passed as the duo walked back the worn halls towards Fort Frolic again. It was relatively like when they’d left, but Syrus could hear things faintly echo from the district, indiscernible to him and likely nonexistent to his human companion. The shutters were still open as they approached with no sign of Plasters, but there was something just within the threshold that wasn’t there before, something that didn’t move and caused nothing more than caution until they were close enough for him to see what it was.

A mangled Splicer corpse was sprawled in a pool of blood, bloodied footprints on the floor and debris around the body.

“What the hell,” Atlas’s voice came out in a shocked whisper, sounding gruff after the minutes of silence.

Both men stopped to take in the gory sight, Atlas surprisingly more affected by the sight than Syrus, something that surprised the Chupacabra. After a few seconds, he moved a few feet closer cautiously to get a better look, almost snarling at Atlas when the human grabbed his right elbow with his blurry vision. His head whipped to face the other man, eyes narrowing.

“Be careful, boyo,” Atlas hissed, seeming to bite back a comment as he glanced at the body before continuing, “This is abnormal to Hell and back. Cohen forbids his Splicers to attack or fight off show unless they want to be one of his Butterflies, and everyone else in Rapture knows they’ll be captured for an unforgiving spotlight if they wander in. No one’s just killed in the streets without Cohen knowing, and not without him punishing them. Something is wrong.”

The urgency in Atlas’ voice surprised Syrus, but he nodded as he pulled his arm from the other man’s grasp, quietly replying, “We need to know as much of what happened if we can.”

Technically, they could both go the rest of their lives without knowing what happened to this Splicer, turn tail and continue hiding for the rest of their lives like Atlas probably has to survive. But, any knowledge on the change of behavior in the Splicers nearby could be a deciding factor on how long the rest of their lives were. This could either be affecting a portion of the Splicers, or every single one in the vicinity.

Atlas nodded though, reluctantly trailing behind Syrus as he got closer to investigate the murder scene.

The body of the Splicer was difficult to discern past the coating of blood soaking it and the floor, sticking to the soles of his shoes. With fancy attire torn and stained, accessories disheveled similarly, it looked like one of Cohen’s performance Splicers. Or one similar given that Syrus had killed the ones pitted against him. Several wounds littered the body that could have been the cause of its demise, but its chest in particular was riddled with multiple thin stab wounds from something cylindrical.

Broken and discarded beside the corpse was one of the specialized syringes that Little Sisters would walk around with, the glass vial broken and needle bent sharply in several places.

“Jesus Christ,” Atlas murmured, catching Syrus’s attention. The human’s blue eyes shifted as he looked the body over, brow furrowed. “I’ve seen things down here, but this is grislier than some…”

“What do you think caused the attack then,” Syrus asked, trying to discern any scents in the area. He only smelled more blood. He kept his good eye on the lookout for any movement nearby and strained to hear shuffling close by. There were ambient noises that had him tilting his head, but nothing more.

“Probably same thing as always down here,” Atlas glanced around to check for danger as well before crouching beside the body for a closer look. “Looks like a Splicer, or a group of them, got ahold of a Little Sister’s syringe and decided to try and collect the ADAM themselves. My question is why? Cohen supplies his Splicers with ADAM, that’s how he keeps them in line…”

“Do you think he cut them off for some reason,” Syrus asked, seeing the answer in the man’s face after interrupting his aloud thinking.

“No.”

Another tense silence fell between them, worse than before with the uncertainty that came from the presence of the Splicer corpse. Surprisingly, when Syrus moved to continue deeper into the streets of Fort Frolic, Atlas didn’t voice disapproval or try to ask him why he’d still risk going further in. He didn’t know why he was continuing himself, but what else was he going to do?

Both Syrus and Atlas walked cautiously, staying near store walls. Syrus sensed a change within the district, and as they slowly got closer to the center, the ambient noise that he was hearing earlier became clearer and he was able to realize what it was.

Splicers talked and murmured to themselves, none close enough to distinguish what they were saying, and any too close were carefully moved away from by the duo. The sounds were familiar and something he was used to in the normal sprawling halls of Rapture, but Fort Frolic had lacked it entirely during his entire ‘stay’ there. He didn’t know if it was discipline or bribery that had brought the silence beforehand, but it was broken either way and it only became louder, more frequent, as Syrus and Atlas got closer to Fleet Hall.

Syrus was barely able to register the sound of running footsteps from his right in front of them a moment before a Splicer ran out of an alley just ahead of them. He saw Atlas jolt and brace for a fight, doing the same, but it quickly became obvious that it hadn’t seen either of them. In fact, it looked more like it was running from something.

“C’mere with yer pretty ADAM,” a fancily dressed Splicer, one of the Houdini’s, simply popped into existence in front of the other Splicer in a flourish of glowing petals that manifested from and faded to nothing as it grinned sadistically at the running Splicer.

Atlas grabbed Syrus’ arm and pulled him into the nearest side alley, causing him to bare his teeth and jolt in surprise, but he made no noise at the sudden action. Instead, he joined Atlas in cautiously looking out from the alley shadows as the running Splicer barely managed to avoid crashing into the Houdini.

The Splicer reeled back, spitting out, “F-Fuck off, it’s mine!”

Before it could take a step in any direction to continue running or either Atlas or Syrus could blink, a burst of blood erupted from the Splicer’s chest and misted the air. It was speared through by a large shard of ice that had sprouted from the floor.

The Houdini approached the gurgling Splicer, the blue glow in its hand fading as it reached up and tapped the point of the bloodied ice shard, stating in a sing-song voice, “Got you and yer ADAM.”

Syrus tore his gaze from the Houdini as it hummed and began to rummage through the other Splicer’s pockets in its dying moments, nudging Atlas and interrupting his thoughts. The human didn’t make any noise, thankfully, looking at him from his staring at the Houdini with an unreadable expression. He jerked his head a bit to the side to indicate that they should get away from the scene before the Houdini moved its attention from the Splicer’s corpse.

Atlas nodded and turned away from the alley exit, starting to lead Syrus through the even more labyrinthian side alleys. It was obvious neither wanted to remain in the open.

“Let me guess,” Syrus whispered a bit bitterly, “That’s abnormal too?”

“Very,” Atlas hissed back worriedly. “If Cohen’s Houdini’s and Splicers are running amok this much in his Fort Frolic, then he either withheld their payday of ADAM, or something happened to him.”

“If something happened to him, at least we don’t have to worry about being locked in, hopefully,” Syrus mused quietly, thinking that maybe, maybe, Rabbit took the playwright out.

“I… don’t know. He’s been in control of so many Splicers,” Atlas peered around the corner to see if there was anything there. Satisfied by nothing, he continued to walk carefully and Syrus continued to follow. “If something’s happened to him, his Splicers are just going to run loose around Rapture now. Like a spider keeping the fly population down, he’s dangerous, but necessary. Probably the only reason we didn’t see more is because they would have dispersed to the Marketplace to the rest of Rapture.”

So, a free-for-all, Syrus supposed. But he frowned at Atlas’ words, asking, “Is there nothing beyond Fort Frolic?”

“Not directly, no… Not after Hephaestus was blown to bits by Jack. That way’s blocked off by one of the flood doors. There’s an entire other section of Rapture filled with the residential district for workers, a library, laboratories, and some other stuff I’m forgettin’. Maybe the vents.”

“Is there any way out on that side,” Syrus asked. His blood stomach twisted a bit to remind him of its presence painfully, causing him to grimace. Part of him wanted a Splicer to attack, if only because it would get his body to leave him alone.

“Not that I’m aware of, boyo,” Atlas sighed, “Again, it was mostly for the workers, and those on this side of Rapture didn’t care if any of us lived or died. It’s the whole reason I was starting the revolution.”

Syrus made a noise of acknowledgement, realizing he didn’t really know where Atlas was leading him. “Are you heading towards the Fleet Hall?”

The human stopped, glancing towards him before taking a breath and reluctantly answering, “Yes, Syrus, I am… We need to find out what happened to Cohen. I doubt he had a change of heart or profession, but I can’t imagine him being killed by one of his Splicers, there’s a reason he’s lasted this long.”

He looked like he had an idea in mind, but he wasn’t saying it.

“Could have been Rabbit,” Syrus suggested, seeing how Atlas looked exasperated and conflicted at the comment.

“I-,” Atlas’ voice held a tinge of frustration, “Yes, yes, I suppose it could have been, but that doesn’t really make it better for us.”

“Why not? The whole reason I even wanted to risk coming back was to see if they were Canary.”

“Because, Syrus, if Rabbit was Canary and all the Splicer’s start acting like this, then she’s either managed to wound him in escaping or backstabbed him in whatever deal was made,” Atlas whisper-yelled, looking back and pausing to answer Syrus. “Either way, she’ll be on edge and want to hunker back down in Arcadia. Hell, it’s been hours, she’s probably there now.”

“If you think she’s so dangerous and that she might not even be there, why are you going back to Fleet Hall with me? Why are you helping me,” Syrus asked, frowning a bit. Both Rabbit and Atlas were confusing in their own ways and he found himself increasingly frustrated. Watching the human prepare to respond, he heard something faintly with his left ear, a cackle.

He quickly grabbed Atlas’ upper arm, the arm holding the bent metal rod, placed a hand against the man’s mouth as he opened his mouth to respond and pressed both of them against the alley wall to be in the darkest sections of shadow. Ignoring the surprised grunt of surprise that was muffled by his hand or the human’s squirming, he turned his gaze upwards where he could hear faint humming and the tink-tink of tapping metal above getting closer with his good ear. Thankfully, Atlas seemed to realize that he was listening for something and stopped his muffled protests.

A Splicer, face half-covered by a damaged cat mask, peered into the alley from the opening above and looked back and forth. Its humming was actually singing, but it was so faint that Syrus wasn’t sure it knew it was singing aloud.

“Fishies in the allies, fishies in the streets. Make them squeal, collect the meats,” it sang as its gaze searched.

Syrus waited with bated breath as it repeated its morbid and musical mantra to itself, muscles tensed to either run or fight if it saw them below. A few times it paused and made him think that it had seen them or somehow heard them, but it always continued after a second or two.

Eventually, it turned its half-hidden gaze back up and carefully stretched its arms and torso across the gap above, sharpened and twisted metal embedded in its hands glinting as it did so. A Spider Splicer. The gap was, of course, too wide for its reach, but that didn’t deter it in the slightest. It let itself fall forward, lazily kicking the lip of the building behind it as it dropped. Dropping a few feet, its self-made claws raked against the other side until they dug into the surface and stopped the Spider from falling into the alley.

He grimaced at the scraping sound before it caught itself, the Spider pulling itself up from its new wall with a giggle and crawling away as it began to sing again. Slowly, it faded with the sound of its metallic claws, overshadowed by the newfound background din of Fort Frolic.

It was several seconds before Syrus or Atlas moved, half-expecting the Spider to crawl back or for there to be more. But, when there were no other nearby sounds, Syrus relaxed slightly and dropped his hand from Atlas’ face. To the human’s credit, he didn’t seem as bothered about being pulled aside as he seemed to be with not finishing his earlier explanation.

“Look, boyo,” Atlas’ voice was quieter than before as he scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly despite the bruising. Looking Syrus in the eyes, he asked, “You said earlier that death was around every corner, so what’s the harm in risks, right?”

Syrus frowned. The conversation after leaving Fort Frolic the first time felt like a lifetime ago, the adrenaline-filled fight even more distant. Curious, he slowly replied, “Something along those lines…”

Atlas gave him an almost studying look as though trying to gauge Syrus’ reaction as he continued, “In any case, I’ve been down here a long time. Since well before Jack and Rabbit got down here when I was headin’ a revolution. I’ve stayed alive because of caution and stealth, something I tried to pass on to those who looked up to me, who I was in charge of. But, I’ve no doubt that more than just Jack and Rabbit saw it as cowardice. Probably why they turned on me…

“Maybe it’s time for me to steel my nerves and do a bit more than just hide in the shadows and wait for the next day,” the human gave a lengthy sigh. “At least see if what’s between Rabbit and I is… mendable. And, I suppose, that starts with seeing if Rabbit was Canary and if Cohen bit it.”

Syrus wasn’t sure how to feel. Hungry still, mostly, his chest aching. So, he wasn’t sure if his feelings of misgivings were entirely founded or fueled by naturally feeling defensive with his wounds and need for blood. He told himself that if Atlas did try anything, he’d easily be able to overpower the human even while injured. And it’d make his life a lot easier, hopefully, to have both Rabbit and Atlas helping. Maybe all three of them could figure a way out to get out of this place.

“Lead on, then,” he gestured for Atlas to continue walking.

Atlas blinked at his response but gave a determined smile and nod. It took a couple seconds for him to remember which direction was towards Fleet Hall, but they were off in no time.

It took about an hour to reach Fleet Hall through the alleyways. Despite Atlas’ words about steeling his nerves and doing more than hiding in the shadows, both had an unspoken agreement that it was best to not draw attention to themselves and that caution was a must to continue forward. It was slow, and the closer they got to the theatre, the more fresh devastation they saw from the more active Splicers. Glimpses of corpses and the occasional body in the alleyways with blood lining the streets here and there as they crept from one alley to the next. Hysteric cackles and one-sided conversations let both men know how close most of the threats were.

At least Syrus was able to drink from the bodies they came across in the alleys. He felt Atlas’ eyes watch him after several seconds of drinking greedily from the first body, forcing himself to stop before getting his fill and only drank a few seconds from the rest since it made him uncomfortable to be under the humans’ stare. He also, very reluctantly, kept himself from finding the livers of the bodies and eating those as well. Still, his body appreciated the blood he did manage to drink, feeling his aches and pains from the fight dissipate a little.

His hearing improved enough that he wasn’t as deaf on his right side anymore, though he likely wouldn’t hear much unless it was a pistol going off or something banged on something else. His eyesight… was still very movement based. Maybe it was more saturated and the smallest degree clearer, but he wasn’t sure. A blob was still a blob.

It put him on edge how little these important senses were healing, but he’d also never gotten injured as severely as he had during the fight, never lost an eye or an ear before. At this rate, even if he had a steady supply of blood and iron-rich organs, it’d still take a couple days for his hearing to improve enough to be useful and his eye even longer. But at least the whine in his left ear was gone now.

After what felt like another eternity, Atlas managed to lead Syrus to the West side of Fleet Hall to a side entrance using another side alley. Given the huge entrance staircase in the front, they were about to enter the ‘basement’ of the building.

It was probably the quietest it’d been in their trek, the background noises of Splicers and such nowhere near. And, after both of them had been silent almost the entire time, the sound of the door opening as Atlas tried the handle felt unnervingly loud. Apparently locks meant nothing to Cohen. For this door, at least.

“Well, boyo,” Atlas said quietly, peering inside for a second to make sure it was safe before opening the door all the way and gesturing inside. “Let’s go in and see if Cohen grew a heart, or if his twisted substitute’s stopped beatin’.”

Syrus reluctantly walked inside, foot nudging a discarded coil of rope on the floor as he stepped into the somewhat small hall. Debris and scattered equipment lined the floor almost haphazardly, the lights above shining warmly on the dusty interior. The hall led down and branched in several places, obviously some labyrinthian storage for the theatre.

“We’re gonna have to be real quiet” Atlas whispered, carefully closing the door behind him. With it closed, Syrus could smell the dust and even faint lingering cologne and perfume. “Regardless if Cohen’s alive, there’s gonna be a few Splicers down here. Right now, we’re in the lowest level and have to find the stairs up.”

“Why didn’t we go in the front then,” Syrus asked quietly. There was the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the distance, but it was brief.

“Cause, Syrus, the Little Sister might see things differently, but it sounded to me like the lass and her Big Daddy got ambushed by Plasters. I’d rather not get clobbered over the head again if I can help it,” the human began to cautiously move inward down the hall.

Syrus made an acknowledging noise, thinking that was a fair thought. He’d have questioned how Atlas knew his way around, but the smallest glance around showed an abundance of signs in the hallway. Each room was marked with a plaque beside the door labeling its intended purpose with varying degrees of wear, signs to inform where the nearest exit was, and ones at each branching hall labeling what the sections had.

He followed Atlas as he crept forward with the bent rod in a white-knuckled grip, down one of the halls where the section sign included ‘Backstage Stairs’ in worn letters.

Both tried to stay alert for any Splicers hiding in the claustrophobic maze of halls and doors. If the door to a room was closed, neither worried much about it, walking past rooms labeled things like ‘Cable Storage 12’ and ‘Prop Room 3’, even if there was noise inside. Best to slip by as quick as they could to avoid alerting any lingering Splicers or increase the chances of the door being opened by whoever was inside.

Open rooms and branching hallways were cautiously peered into by Atlas since he was the one in the lead, stopped beside whatever entryway was in question briefly to ensure it was safe before both men continued carefully past.

Once more, minutes stretched painfully with their silent stop and go pace.

Syrus didn’t even bother trying to remember each turn or where they led, grateful for the extensive organization and labeling system in the halls that Cohen created down here. He just followed Atlas until he picked up a sound he couldn’t quite recognize from the next open room, grabbing the human’s arm just before he could look inside. Atlas gave him a confused look.

“Careful,” Syrus’ whisper was barely audible to himself, but Atlas got the message and went from confused to curious. “I can hear something inside.”

Atlas glanced back at the doorway before looking back at Syrus. So far, they’d been lucky enough to not come across any Splicers within the halls, and any Splicers in open rooms were preoccupied with their own insanity or searching the room for some unknown item. After a few seconds of contemplation, the human shifted so that he was pressed against the wall and nodded towards the open doorway to gesture that Syrus could look inside.

The Chupacabra glanced at the entryway and nodded, letting go of Atlas’ arm as he carefully moved around him to look inside. The odd faint sound he heard that he stopped them for continued as he peeked around the doorframe, his good eye finding the source easily.

A Splicer held a knife lightly in its hand and crouched over the body of another, dark red staining it and the floor around the corpse. It was fresh.

Unaware of its audience, the Splicer moved, leaning forward and used its free hand to steady the body as it finished cutting into it. The sound of flesh being cut was what Syrus had heard, as well as it being bitten into as the Splicer plucked its cut of flesh from the corpse and ate it. It shifted to cut another piece from the body and Syrus turned back to Atlas.

As long as the Splicer was content busying itself eating, he didn’t really care.

He gestured to Atlas that it was safe enough, letting the human take the lead again. He kept the Splicer inside in his peripherals as Atlas moved around him, seeing the other man look into the room as he passed with an indifferent look. With how long he’d been here, it likely wasn’t the first instance of cannibalism Atlas had witnessed.

A few more minutes and a detour around a blocked hallway, they finally reached the stairway up to backstage as the hall widened significantly.

The staircase was twice the width of the storage halls, another hall of similar size branching next to it with the sign ‘Large Props’ and the words ‘and Art Gallery’ added to the wall beside it in cursive with blood or paint. The lights from upstairs were noticeably brighter and not a sound was heard.

“It feels too quiet,” Syrus stated quietly, frowning a bit at the silence.

“I doubt there’s gonna be anyone backstage anymore, boyo,” Atlas replied, starting to walk up the steps. “Most everyone’s likely wreaking havoc outside. If you spent potentially decades working for drugs by a maniacal psychopath while being one yourself, I doubt you’d stick around longer than needed to ransack the place for any ADAM and desecrate the corpse.”

“I suppose,” Syrus trailed behind the human cautiously, still straining to hear anything. But he only heard him and Atlas’ footsteps. Though he noticed some blood as they reached the top and saw the aftermath of a bloodbath in the backstage section.

With the stairs at the back of the backstage room, the same size as the impressive stage itself, there were a few meters of relatively clean flooring until the nearest corpse, one that looked like it had been clawing to get to the stairs before it died.

Past that, it looked like dozens of bodies littered the room amongst knocked over and broken props, the floor stained and smeared with blood only hours old. There were even Plasters, broken bodies of flesh and plaster coating scattered around. A few pillars from the third act of the earlier fight were tipped over and broken on several bodies.

“Christ,” Atlas murmured, glancing over the scene and shifting his grip on his metal rod. He began to pick his way over the nearest corpses, steps muffled by semi-dried blood. “This explains why there weren’t as many Splicers downstairs and outside as I would have expected if Cohen’s control of Fort Frolic was gone.”

“Not as many,” Syrus asked incredulously, looking around as he also began to make his way across the room. He figured they’d seen plenty outside, more than he would have thought lived here given that the entire district was a dead zone for the three days he’d spent wandering around. He stopped beside Atlas as the human paused, searching for something among the corpses.

“He’s probably gotten thousands of Splicers over the years – oh, don’t look so surprised, boyo, this place was built to be an entirely functional city under the waves, remember,” Atlas chuckled in amused exasperation when Syrus jolted at the sound of thousands of Splicers, continuing whatever search. “I’m sure he’s never had more than a couple hundred at a time. They’re rather expendable to him. Any Splicer that wanders in has the unfortunate chance of being roped into his service or his art.

“Most wised up to it, of course. Eventually. You’d think that in all this carnage, there’d be one bloody – Oh! Perfect,” Atlas exclaimed, pleased. He tossed his twisted metal rod aside and pried a shotgun from a pile of bodies.

Syrus watched him check it over, seemingly satisfied with the firearm and even finding some intact shells in the pile. He was surprised when the human rummaged around some more, picking something up before tossing him what ended up being a rather bloody revolver. He caught it, being mindful of the trigger, and looked back with a raised eyebrow.

“Do ya know how to shoot, boyo,” Atlas asked, exasperated by his questioning look.

“Can’t say I have any experience, no,” Syrus replied, carefully turning it in his hands. “I only know how to pull the trigger.”

“Right, right… You mostly rely on your physical attributes,” Atlas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. After a couple seconds, he reached his hand out for the gun back and, when Syrus gave it, emptied the bullets from the chamber. He pocketed them and handed the revolver back, saying, “Just point it as a threat, and use it to bludgeon someone if they get too close. You’ve got enough injuries without accidentally hurtin’ yourself with this.”

Syrus frowned, thinking that it was unnecessary, but it was probably to try and make Splicers second guess attacking the duo if they were both armed with guns. He doubted it would work, but there also wasn’t any harm in keeping it on him for now.

Though, speaking of injuries, it brought them back to the forefront of his mind and he glanced at the abundance of corpses around. After the brief feedings earlier, he could refrain himself from the urge to drink. But it would be ideal to try and keep his healing up as much as he could, and if both his stomachs were filled then it should last him a few hours until they could get to a safer space.

“Ah, you’re welcome to do what you gotta do, boyo, I’ll see what else I can scavenge from this mess,” Atlas said, drawing Syrus’ attention. He gestured to a different section of the backstage. “Just, uh, let me know when you’re finished.”

Atlas walked off and began to rummage around the other corpses a small distance away.

Syrus could only guess that the human had noticed or surmised his discomfort at being stared at while feeding and wasn’t going to complain about the other man trying to not make it awkward. He still gave Atlas a glance as he knelt beside one of the corpses and began to feed, drinking deeply of the cold, chemical-infused blood that was still in the body. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste as bad as usual, and he even felt a slight warmth after drinking his fill from two bodies. Perhaps it was because of his injuries, or maybe he was just getting way too used to it.

With another glance towards the human, who was still picking his way through corpses, and a brief internal debate, he shifted to his more feral form and nosed amongst the corpses. It was easier to just bite into abdomens and snap up most of the organs in a bite than it was to use claws to tear into the bodies in his human form to find the livers.

After tearing into a few corpses, he licked his lips of any remnant blood and gore before changing back. The feeling of his bones and muscles shifting and tearing a bit caused him discomfort like usual, but it was overshadowed by his body’s contentment with both stomachs being full.

“Ready whenever you are,” Syrus announced, walking up to Atlas.

The human stood up and turned around from whatever corpse he was looking at, pocketing a few more bullets as he turned to look at Syrus. He glanced him over, replying, “I’m ready to get the fuck back outta this district. You’ve got a little something on your face though, Syrus.”

Syrus reached up and wiped a thumb over the corner of his mouth to where Atlas pointed, pulling it away and seeing a smear of blood he seemed to have not taken care of. Atlas, seemingly satisfied with the action, nodded in approval and began to pick his way over to the double doors to the side of the backstage. As they both got closer, Syrus noticed that the curtain had slashes and a few bullet holes through it, and a small set of stairs back down into the floor with the sign ‘Orchestra Pit’ above it.

Atlas walked up to the double doors, cocking the shotgun in his hands and pressed his hip against the push bar of the right-side door, cautiously peering out into the hall. After several seconds of him glancing out with no sound, he pushed the door open all the way and said, “Right, hall’s clear, boyo.”

Syrus followed Atlas into the new hall and a cursory glance revealed only a couple bodies on the carpet floor of the hallway. Like the storage section, there was a plaque beside the double doors labeled ‘Backstage’ and a sign on the wall that pointed to the nearest restroom, exit, and said the number of dressing rooms and prop rooms on this floor. Stairs were situated across the hall from the double doors to allow ease of access for anyone coming down from the floors above with another sign with ‘DR 200-250, MR 200-205: DR 300-310, MR 300’.

“Where to now,” he asked, wishing there was a sign that just had ‘Cohen Here’ with an arrow that pointed in the direction of the maniac. He hoped they wouldn’t have to hunt around in here through each room to try and find the man.

“Cohen wouldn’t just use a normal dressing room,” Atlas walked over to the stairs and glanced over the directory with a hum for a couple of seconds. “I don’t see it on here, but he likes flourish. Probably on whatever top floor this place has.”

“More stairs then,” Syrus exhaled a bit through his nose, starting to walk up the steps. Atlas, who’d mostly been leading this entire time, didn’t protest and just trailed behind him up the stairwell that folded to circle back to the second floor.

Like the sign at the bottom of the stairs had implied, there were two other floors. The second looked about the same as the first floor from the brief glance they gave it, but the top floor looked more well kept and fancy-looking, probably for big name actors and actresses that worked at the theatre. The only thing ruining the more expensive interior design were the stains of blood and a few more bodies in the halls, the majority in one particular direction.

Atlas kicked the nearest corpse absentmindedly and glanced at Syrus, saying, “Well, I think we know what direction Cohen’s office is in if it’s up here. I doubt the Splicers have been kind to his corpse if he’s actually kicked the bucket… Are you ready to move ahead? There’s no guarantee that Rabbit did this, or if she’s even still here.”

“Not much use stalling if we want answers,” Syrus replied. He didn’t even know what he wanted out of this whole excursion. Was he expecting some kind of closure? A sense of accomplishment? Regardless of the outcome, he was still going to be trapped down here for the time being. He supposed the question was whether it would be with one human ally or two.

Atlas gave him a small nod of acknowledgement at his response, turning to walk down the hall and stepping over corpses in the way. “You want answers, Syrus. I’m here for… moral support, more or less.”

Both of them fell silent as they walked down the hall of scattered bodies. They reached the turn in the hall and there, at the end of the hallway, was a very open room with a broken in door. They each glanced at the other but continued towards it cautiously. It was presumed to be Cohen’s office and when they got close enough, there was a defaced and bent plaque on the wall beside it that wasn’t even properly legible, scratches and bullet holes only broken by ‘Co—ffi—‘.

Before even entering, it felt more posh than the rest of the floor. Or, at least, better taken care of before whatever caused the mess inside.

Scorched spots pockmarked the walls and claw marks tore through clean wallpaper that peeled at their edges, a torn canvas and broken easel on the blood and paint-soaked carpet. Debris and glass shined in the lights of the office from the floor along with several office items that looked like they’d been tossed around the room. And, as they entered the room, they saw that a fancy cabinet from behind the desk inside was tossed on its side with its doors broken and torn off its hinges.

And, they found Cohen. Or who they assumed was Cohen.

The man’s face was blown off, leaving him unrecognizable by facial features, but his suit jacket that he’d been wearing was torn and scattered beside his desk. Like a morbid display, his body was sat on a fainting couch against the wall, held up by a haphazard mess of strings and rope held in place by several items just stabbed into the wall's surface, from a few scissors to a section of metal rod. A pistol was tied to his left hand by a stained bandana, the wrist suspended so that it looked like he was pointing it at his own head.

His shirt was torn open at the chest, flesh marred to read ‘Bastard’ and his intestines were exposed across his lap. Several chunks of flesh seemed to be missing from the corpse, and the exposed intestines made Syrus think that some of the man had been eaten.

Words were painted in blood and paint and some gauged into the wall above the body, each varying in size, handwriting, and severity. Each was an insult or comment, ranging from ‘Fruit’ and ‘Hack’ to ‘man-fucker’, ‘pervert’, and a rather lewd miniature memoir someone scrawled in the wallpaper.

Syrus wasn’t sure whether or not this was the worst display of depravity he’d seen down here. It was certainly the most… creative, he supposed he could say. Probably the only reason he’d classify it as the most grotesque thing he’d seen was the intricate way the body was placed, posed to try and capture a fabricated moment of Cohen shooting himself while the body itself was torn into. The only other thing that came close was probably the displays of Steinman’s perfection attempts that were seen in the medical wing.

He glanced at Atlas, seeing that the man’s face was unreadable and whether this was considered a victory or not was hard to tell. He thought he saw Atlas’ hands shaking. ___________________________________________ << | < | | >

#cinnwrites #welcome to rapture #syrus #rabbit #non vore

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alby-rei · 4 years ago

Text

[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks

a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?

a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.

My entry for @scummy-writes‘s Arthur Week!

Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block

[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)

[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian

[Word count]: ~2300 words

[Rating]: T

[POV]: 2nd Person

“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.

You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.

Well, that is except—

“_____~!”

Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.

You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.

“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”

Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.

“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.

“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,” You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!”

You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.

“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.

“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”

“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.

You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”

“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.

“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”

Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.

As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.

“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.

“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”

And just like that, he scurried off.

After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto.

~*~

You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.

“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”

“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.

Right on time, as you expected.

“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.

Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?

Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.

“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”

“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”

Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.

Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”

He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.

“Do you think it worked?”

“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”

“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.

“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”

“Ah, but who said I was acting?”

He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.

“Wait… what?!”

~*~

Later that evening…

…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.

Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.

Well crap.

“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”

For the love—.

“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”

In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.

“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.

“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time.

You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.

He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.

“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.

You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.

“Arthur, are you… drunk?”

His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”

(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)

The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…

“Is your head okay?”

“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”

Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization.

With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.

“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.

Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.

“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”

You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.

Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.

“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.

This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.

“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.

“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.”

It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.

“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.

“Yes, ____?”

Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment.

“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”

~*~

It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.

“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.

You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.

“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”

“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”

You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.

“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”

“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”

“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”

You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”

“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.

You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.

“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.

“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”

#where does that put their relationship?#no idea!#what I do know is that Arthur is a happy baby #congratulations MC you played yourself #MC's plan backfires #accomplice dazai did his job #note: MC promised to help him build his chicken army in return #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikemen vampire arthur #arthur week #arthur week day 3 #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp mc #alby one-shots #ikevamp fanfic

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