#like you said pointlessly cruel is a good way to put it

[irkendogma]

I noticed you have issues with the IZ comic. An issue I have is how Dib's character gets treated. I feel like the only one who HATES the opening story arc with the Gargantis Array, and it pisses me off that people actually thought it's a great comeback. It's nothing but an excuse to humiliate and torture Dib for the lulz, and I seriously can't understand why this kind of mean spirited awfulness is "brilliant" when IZ does it. It felt pointlessly cruel even by the show's standards. Pardon but I just wondered your thoughts on that.

yeah, to be honest, while i've never been a big zim or dib person myself i can't deny that the comics consistently mischaracterize both of them but particularly dib, who kind of has his competence as an individual stripped from his character

like, i don't know what your stance is on florpus vs series dib in terms of how they aimed for a distinctly lighter and softer tone in the former, but i've never been particularly fond of it - i understand the membrane family situation is significantly different in florpus, because to be honest "i've always been proud of you, son" is just demonstrably not true in the context of the series and i would prefer to accept that as a truth of the rebooted continuity rather than membrane just straight up lying about past events, so it makes more sense for dib to be more recognizably a normal, innocuous kid there, but the comics didn't really have that sense of parental recognition in them and they still had roughly the same portrayal of dib as more naive, empathic, and overall childlike than he appeared in the show

which i was not really big on, because to tie that into what you said about meanspirited awfulness in the context of IZ, i think part of the draw of the original IZ was that while it was and is a children's show, it maintains a sense of almost grimy groundedness? it's definitely off-kilter and has a much darker sense of humor + general tone compared to other, similar cartoons of its time period, but it never quite feels meanspirited to me because the characters most often give as good as they take. dib, in the original series, feels like he at least stands a fighting chance against the constant circumstances against his favor, because just often he's those circumstances for others (mostly zim) and you get a sense of how and why he's capable of this through the membrane siblings' relative self-sufficiency as a result of membrane's neglect

the comics make dib feel like a punching bag, to be frank. he wins as little as he did in the original show, but he no longer has the bite or spark to him to make it feel like he can take it and bounce back to keep going - it just feels kind of like kicking a puppy. the specific storyline you mentioned with the gargantis array just felt painful to me because...it's not really satisfying seeing a defanged, normal-kid-ish dib just get painfully humiliated all the way across a frontier he originally viewed as an escape from the planet that already viewed him that way

[yugotrash]

ok but also like. it doesn't matter they don't matter it's a webbed site. stop scrolling

easier said then done.

i am physically incapable of not giving a fuck.

i don't even seek their accounts out, i just always see them in the reblogs of the posts that i frequent. and it's always saying the stupidest, pointlessly passive-aggressive digs possible. saying so much, yet so little.

every time i see them putting their little popper-addicted noses where it doesn't belong and saying the most disgusting shit ever, my blood pressure skyrockets. yes, it is that serious.

and i refuse to block them because i think blocking other people is a very pathetic thing to do. it's basically saying: "you win, i give up, so please manually go away :(". i refuse to let them win. i refuse to let myself fall into an echo chamber of only seeing people say things i agree with. it might feel good, but it also leads to intellectual degradation.

if i stop scrolling i won't be able to focus for the rest of the day because my mind will constantly be wandering to the topic of their idiotic selves and all the stupid cruel shit they're saying. and i'll find myself automatically clenching my jaw 24/7.

i agree that they don't matter. they are nothing and nobody & will likely remain that for the rest of their lives.

but the disgusting things they say do matter. not only do they make us look bad, but they're also a reflection of deeper issues within this demographic. the type of inhumane bullshit they spew isn't something that just pops up overnight. no, this has been bubbling for years. maybe even decades. why do they say these things? how did they come to be such gross swines? what does it say about this demographic? are the majority of gays irl this way, but they just keep it hidden? should i even bother making other gay friends if these are the kind of things they think and say? why do i get this visceral, primordial, animalistic sense of unadulterated disgust whenever i sense their presence?

see now i'm pissed off again. just thinking about them makes me livid.

if you go on living like this you will suffer a mental breakdown or a stomach ulcer or somesuch malady. like you are not WRONG per se but this pattern of thinking will not fix the unfixable and i should know, i used to think pretty much that way. if you lose your daily focus bc of what a smattering of fags (proper term) is saying on the internet your priorities are out of whack just don't be like them and youve basically done your part. peace and love unto your home

[androgynousblackbox]

Not actually arguing that Toriel doesn't have her own faults, but that whole "you could just have taken the one soul and gone outside to get more" wasn't actually a suggestion, it was pointing out his contradiction. What she saw as cowardly, that he couldn't commit to going out to murder more people but also couldn't commit to backing out of what he declared out of pain and anger.

What she doesn't recognize is what she did was also cowardly and noncommittal. She doesn't raise a single hand to stand up to and stop any of the violence, not until the very very end where at that point it's almost pointlessly redundant. And, like you pointed out, a lack of a plan to change the status quo and free anyone.

I really like how they both represent extremes in reacting to pain and how to deal with the world afterward, and how both of these extremes are portrayed as incorrect, or at least incomplete. That more nuance and balance and treating people as individuals instead of all one way or another is what's needed.

"Not actually arguing that Toriel doesn't have her own faults, but that whole "you could just have taken the one soul and gone outside to get more" wasn't actually a suggestion, it was pointing out his contradiction. What she saw as cowardly, that he couldn't commit to going out to murder more people but also couldn't commit to backing out of what he declared out of pain and anger." But there is no contradiction, she was just needlessly cruel for no reason, just pouring more salt into the wound because she knows she couldn't do shit either to improve anything. Asgore didn't want to kill anyone but there was no other choice at all on the table to do it. Killing that way or waiting for children to drop are both traumatizing and horrible, and he would prefer not to do either. But since he is forced to a situation where he was to do it, at least do it on a way that puts less people at risk because who the fuck knows how a Boss Monster powered with a human soul that is an adult and in full control of his powers would react if humans had attacked him the same way that they did to Asriel. He could have just died to the same people who killed his children or end up destroying a whole village, we don't know and neither does anyone in the game. If the kids drop at least only the kids will be gone, not anyone else. How cowardly of this guy to not risk killing even more people! Why would he back up of what he said when they know there's no other choice and Toriel never finds any either? When that was the only thing that gave monsters hope in who knows how long? "How coward you are for not backing away from literally the only thing that makes sense if we want to get out." Huh? On the true ending the only way to destroy the barrier was when Asriel/Flowey used all their collective "soul power" of everyone, including the six children and Frisk. In normal circumstances where Frisk just goes back to the humans literally no one ever would have thought of that and souless Flowey would continue on torturing everyone and resetting for his own amusement. Even in that case the game is telling us that no, you literally do need the souls, there's no other way. Even in the best case scenario, who knows if that plan would have worked WITHOUT the souls that Asgore had already gathered. I don't mean to say like "killing kids good" or anything like, but if that is the only course of action they know that it can work and it's about saving an entire civilization from extinction, I don't know with what fucking face Toriel can just stay there and pretend like anyone else is in the wrong for choosing it. Especially, very especially, when she is fully aware that she also bears responsibility on the whole children killing. She is immortal so she will be fine either way, but not everyone else! I am just saying that I am kinda done with everyone being "but he killed six children!!!" when it comes to Asgore while pretending like Toriel did nothing wrong. She fucked up too. That was my only point.

[raeflora]

Your blog is the best!! I always laugh about how we all name "scheming" as the main thing Chair has in common, like it's a totally legitimate hobby or interest like sports or reading instead of "well, they're both pointlessly cruel, malicious sociopaths who love ruining people's lives for no particular reason' lol. Same with how you (correctly!) noted that they're both such self-superior, materialistic elitists. And the thing is that you're 1000% correct---that and sex are what Chair has in common, no positive character traits or good values. And that's why I'd hate them in real life but think they're perfect together for an over the top soap like Gossip Girl - no one understands how sociopathic they are except each other, and they're on the same warped wavelength in a way no one else could be! It sort of scares me that they're parents now because they're both such vicious, terrible people, but as a devious, social climbing soap couple there will never be anyone more perfect than Chair!

hi!! so I just wanna say I think chair do have positive traits/values in common too sksfjksk they're both ambitious, they have a strong work ethic, they're both loyal (if they like u) and they both value family. also I think they would be good parents bc of their respective chaotic lives, and that's why they'd give henry the kind of family love and stability neither of them had. I do agree though that they would be terrible people irl but they're kinda meant to be. like u said gossip girl is a dramatic, over-the-top teen soap, and the characters reflect this. they're not meant to be "good" or moral people, they're ridiculous and dramatic and always caught up in something and at times just plain "bad". if any of them were real they'd just be awful, but they're not meant to be "real" they're meant to be engaging and fitting for the kind of show they're on. that being said, by the end of the show I do believe chair have grown to a point where they're capable of being mature adults with a loving little family, and that's the whole point of seeing them develop over 6 seasons. in my opinion trying to put 2023 morality onto a 00s teen drama is kinda... not it bc gg's very much a product of its time which doesn't make every character writing decision right, it just provides context. no matter how much people try to rewrite history chair will always be iconic and dramatic and loved bc they still have impact to this day

[mygodyouredivine]

Burning

Summary: Loki isn’t a good man. Loki knows exactly who he is — what he is. Loki has never embraced the cold, yet he despises warmth. And yet, for you, Loki will burn. Loki Laufeyson will burn, but only for his mortal.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor angst, mentions of torture and death

Word Count: 1254

Notes: Hello! I honestly don’t know what this is, but here you go. This is a bit different from my usual writing style and I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I’m quite proud of how it turned out…? Forgive me, as this is a bit chaotic and all over the place, but it’s kind of the mood I’ve been in for the past few days. Again, I also apologize if I completely characterized Loki incorrectly, but here we go! Please let me know what you think, and any comments/feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks :)

Loki Laufeyson burns. 

It’s ironic, isn’t it, how a frost giant succumbs to flame. 

Loki isn’t a good man. No, Loki has always been selfish. Loki has always been about self preservation, about survival, about himself, even at the expense of others. Especially at the expense of others. Loki was content to dwell in the carefully constructed threads of his own reputation. Cruel. Heartless. Spiteful. Yes, Loki was all of these things, and he embraced them, if only to hide his true self.  

Never in his life did Loki ever allow himself to hope for warmth of any kind, and Loki has lived a long life. How could he? As a frost giant, Loki simply accepted how he was always destined for the cold — always abandoned. After Odin, after Thor, after Frigga, Loki simply stopped trying. No, Loki would not chase relentlessly after people who constantly betrayed him. Why should he? Loki was not a helpless child left to die; he was a god, and gods did not plead. Gods did not cry, did not beg, did not bleed. Yet at the hands of the Mad Titan, Loki did plead. Loki cried and he begged and he bled, and Loki prayed. He prayed to Odin, to Frigga, Hel even to Laufey. Yet Loki’s cries fell on uncaring ears, and again Loki was left to stare at the backs of those he once trusted, marching towards a glory which did not include him. 

Once Loki had returned — returned from the very pits of Hel, from dying a thousand deaths, he was a changed man. He knew it. Thor missed his brother: the mischievous, bright eyed trickster with whom Thor grew up with. Frigga missed her son: the eager, sharp boy who delighted in the arts of seidr. Odin, albeit silently, missed his son: the clever, level headed young man, desperate for his father’s approval. Most of all though, Loki mourned the man he once was. He mourned the hopeful boy who delighted in the pursuit of knowledge, who still held love for others, and who indulged in the simple delicacies of life. He mourned the man whose hands were not stained by a thousand deaths, whose eyes had not shed a thousand tears, whose mouth from which there had not been torn a thousand screams. Loki mourned the man who was not broken. For Loki was once a perfectly sculpted vase of the finest china, only to be dropped, smashed, and crushed repeatedly. Now Loki was nothing more than a fine powder, easily blown away by the slightest wind. Loki too, mourns the vase he once was. But them? No, they had no right to miss the man Loki was. Not when they all played a part in making him the man he is now.

You see, some things can be fixed. Others can’t. Kintsugi embraces one’s history, carefully putting together broken pieces back into a whole. But there is no process for powder. Not even a god — not even Loki — could piece powder back into a vase. 

So he stopped trying. 

Instead, Loki built up walls around his heart, carefully guarding the remaining powder of his soul, relentlessly preventing anything and anyone from venturing too close. Powder is so fragile, even more so than a vase. A gentle wind and the vase may sway, but the slightest breath could blow half of Loki’s soul away. And he already has precious little. Yes, Loki misses the man he was, misses the beautiful and regal and complete vase, but he fears the man he will become if he does not even have the sand of his soul. Loki cannot risk even the slightest wind, for his tether to his sanity is already so desperately strained. 

And so Loki resigned himself to live out the rest of his days alone.

Yet she disagreed. Her delicate, fragile, mortal self saw completely through his wretched reputation, through his iced defenses, through the countless shields thrown around Loki’s pathetic powder of a heart.  She walked up to Loki and phased through the dungeon bars through which his heart lived as if she alone held the key. Perhaps she always did. 

Loki never wanted her warmth. Loki was content to guard his sanity and freeze for all of eternity. In fact, Loki hated any semblance of warmth. Any form of warmth too easily scorched his icy skin, burning the agony deep into his very bones. Yet here he is. Here Loki lies, willingly burning — all at the hands of a mortal. This mortal cradles Loki’s entire frozen heart in her carefully cupped hands. Loki remembers what she said to him, when he choked out an explanation for his pathetic shards of a heart, ashamed he could not give her more. 

Loki the thing about powder is, you cannot keep it contained. You can’t grip it with all your strength in a vain attempt to keep it from blowing away. Much like sand at the beach, you have to gently cradle it in a loose palm. Yes, the wind will blow some of it away, but ultimately you will be left with more than you had. Loki, please, let me be fire to your sand. Let me burn you, so that you can be glass again. 

Hence, the miracle of his mortal. Loki never expected to find acceptance, much less embrace warmth. Loki had come to terms with the loss of the man he once was, the soft young man who believed in love and art, who delighted in sweets and lazy mornings, who permitted himself to hope. Loki vowed never to think of the vase he once was, no longer reminiscing pointlessly only to drown in despair. But damn. She managed to warm him from the very grains of his shattered heart. Her patient hands pieced together his wrecked mind, soothing the scars with her gentle kisses. Her very soul, so different from Loki’s, melted his own, resurrecting a man he thought dead. For with his mortal, Loki does believe in love and art. He bakes with her and lies with her, and he allows himself to hope with her. 

If Loki was the frozen terrain of Jotunheim, she embodied the fire of Muspelheim. It was fitting — Jotunheim and Muspelhiem, opposites in every way, yet bonded by the shared disdain from the Aesir. Sworn enemies, destined to bring about Ragnarok. 

No, she would not bring about Ragnarok. How could she, frail and delicate and so unforgivingly mortal? Yet, she would be the cause for Ragnarok, for if Loki ever lost the fire that warmed him, he would burn the entirety of the nine realms just to feel a flicker of warmth. The world must pray they never see a time of Loki without her. 

For now, Loki gazes at his mortal. She is tangled in the sheets, limbs haphazardly strewn over Loki’s own, mouth slightly agape, soft snores gently stroking his neck. She looks entirely helpless, vulnerable, powerless. Yet unbeknownst to this mortal, she single handedly protects the fate of all the realms. For as long as this mortal draws breath, Loki would do anything for her, protecting realms filled with wretched souls. 

But as soon as the Norns take her, Loki will take everything else. Loki knows who he is. He knows he is a selfish man — a villain, if you will. If her grounding warmth ever leaves Loki, he will once again freeze: Loki will become so cold he burns. 

Loki Laufeyson will burn, but only for his mortal.

[minetteskvareninova]

Reasons you hate Ibrahim? Reasons to like him? How does he compare to other unlikable male characters in the show like Rüstem or Süleyman or Bali Bey? Just rant sis.

Reasons to hate Ibrahim pasha, well... - The poisoned lokum gambit. Like, I get wanting to get rid of Hürrem, but taking an innocent man and her unborn child with her? And in such a pointlessly cruel way? Like, wow. Hürrem could be petty and cruel, but this is just on a whole another level. - Just the whole thing with Nigar, period. Like, first he abuses his position and her feelings for him to have a one-night stand with her. He tries to forget her, but I guess pussy was that good, and Hatice has grown some spine since they got married, so he decides to use his best friend as a decoy for his affair with her... Which, he must've known the kind of trouble she would get into if the whole thing came to light, he just had to. Then he just gets tired of her and crawls back to his wife (and she eventually takes him back, like an idiot). Basically, he screwed over two women for nothing but his own ego, and what was his punishment? A cold shoulder from his wife for like five minutes. - He saved Süleyman's life not once, but two times! Shame on him. - I guess this wouldn't bother me if I didn't hate him already for the other stuff, but he's a smug little shit. Like, just his attitude is pretty insufferable. "Lion tamer" my ass. That resting bitch face doesn't lie. - He's horribly corrupt, as Hatice's hoard proves. - Breaking Şah's heart. Yes, we don't know exactly what happened way back when, but fuck it, I am going to blame him for it anyway, because he sucks. - And after all of that, he has the audacity to not die of the multiple attempts at his life! (I should probably stop, because I am getting increasingly petty.)

Some reasons to like him? Eh... - His relationship with Mahidevran and Mustafa. He's a better dad to him and better partner to her than Süleyman ever was, lol. - For that matter, his relationship with Süleyman is pretty interesting, just from a character perspective. - For most of season 1, before the whole Leo fiasco, he was actually pretty reasonable and kept his assholery mostly in check. I kinda liked him back then. - His banter with Hürrem can be pretty entertaining. - He's such a nerd. A complete... Whatever the Ottoman version of a weeaboo obsessed with Western Europe is. Adorable - or it would be if it wasn't, well, Ibrahim. - Okan Yalabik is just objectively a great actor. This is admittedly not that big of an achievement, considering most actors in this show are superb, but I guess it is a reason to like the character.

As for the comparison with other assholes... Well... - Süleyman - I have a sneaking suspicion that friendship with Süleyman, even more than power, is what corrupted Ibrahim. The two of them really deserve each other. With that said, I think there is a difference in the scale of their worst deeds. Süleyman mostly (at least untill, like, Mustafa's execution) trades in small acts of assholery, while Ibrahim's small-scale dickery is less frequent, but he wins out in terms of big sins. Although Süleyman's constant cheating does come close to being as bad as what Ibrahim did to Nigar and Hatice. - Bali Bey - Well, let's put it like this. If I had a gun with two bullets and somehow found myself in a room with Bali and Ibrahim, I would put two bullets into Ibrahim just to make sure he's dead. Bali annoys me a lot, but outside of kidnapping Armin (which is a big thing, but also happened like a season and fifteen years in-universe ago) he's mostly just this boring Gary Stu that I personally don't care for. Ibrahim, meanwhile, is just an objectively terrible human being who deserves to die in fire. - Rüstem - He kind of has the opposite advantage to Bali Bey over Ibrahim, in that he's to unlikeable to even be approached as a hero. And as a villain, he's actually pretty good? Of course, he does do a lot of things that annoy me even as someone who appreciates his villainy: he acts like a petty douchebag, has a crush on a teenage girl, and then there is his tragic backstory (tm) that makes him seem a bit too similar to Ibrahim. It's not a character that everyone would like in any way, but he can be a solid villain when he puts his mind into it. Ibrahim is just framed as a protagonist way too often to be a villain, even when his actions are purely villainous. And as a protagonist (and human being), he just sucks.

[uhhhhyandere]

i would do anything for just a short one shot of orphic light x reader cuddling . its valentines day and im down bad

me too lol i hate V-day.... but chocolate is on sale tomorrow.......

this one’s for you bby and everyone else who is feeling it today. im right here with y’all <3 

idk what it is tho hahahahaahh 

You didn’t think about it.

Okay, okay, that was a lie. You did. Fuck, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Pretend you didn’t? Pass by other regular, healthy couples and pretend to not wish with every fiber of your being that you were them? It was tiring, so tiring to put on a face and act, to shove your emotions down down until they're squashed out of existence.

Or, at the very least, pretending they're out of existence. 

But god, you had to give yourself this one. You didn’t have the power to pretend or act or ignore or do anything right now. Even if you wanted to, Light had everything down to a science from the twitch of your fingers to the drag of each syllable out of your mouth whether it was a microsecond too long or one pitch too high to be normal. Up until now, you’ve every valentine’s day deep in daydreams and fantasies full of flowers, dates, and just... happiness, however that looked like to you with whoever was home to you. 

Light was definitely not what you were expecting to be your first - and most likely last one way or another - relationship, but you just wanted something normal. Something that can just give you a taste of real, tangible escapism. To feel warm and happy and cozy and appreciated and loved. For fuck’s sake, you just wanted to feel as loved as every other goddamned couple you see holding hands or - fuck - even laughing and smiling like normal people in a normal world. 

That’s all. 

But, no, no you couldn’t even have that. You spent ten whole minutes pacing outside Light’s office to gain the confidence to walk in and ask if you can do something, anything. All that amounted to was him grimacing and telling you to leave him “the hell alone right now,” and it hurt. Of course, it did. You finally take a risk and ask for something you want and not live every second of your life wondering what’s going to make him happy, and it gets shut down so easily. You’re not sure what would happen if you ever did that. 

So, in your prepubescent turmoil, you left. You escaped the stiff air of the house and his presence, and deeply inhaled the brisk February air. It was cold, sure, but not nearly as ruthless as the winter air could be. It was actually relatively nice out. Thank fuck. You only grabbed your lighter coat in your absconding and settled for the first place of peace you can find in the city: a small park with a cobblestone path cutting through it. 

The cruel, black metal of the bunch bit your ass and chilled your skin, but now you could hardly feel it. You could hardly care. What were you going to do? Get up. Sure, and go where? Wander aimlessly and just pass more restaurants brimming with everything you ever wanted? No thanks. The volume of people walking past you here was far fewer. Plus, if you leaned back to let the cold touch your thighs and stare at the cloudy sky, you didn’t have to see any of them. 

You’re not sure the wetness on your cheeks began as soft drifts of white landed there or as tears crept from the corner of your eyes. You’re also not sure how long you sat there. Your legs have long since fallen asleep, succumbing to countless pins and needless. Snow was accumulating all around you, on you, even as a terrible, freezing, wet blanket you slightly shifted to knock off every so often. 

It really must have been a pathetic sight to see. You shut your eyes and felt each flake land on you, hoping, eventually, they would bury you. 

But they stopped. 

You opened one eye to see the disturbance. Black completely overtook the sky. Ah, no, not the sky. An umbrella was tipped to cover your body entirely. Your eyes trailed down the thin metal supports to his face. Not unimpressive, not frustrated, not angry, just... there. Light looked down at you like he would look down at the sidewalk while walking any other day. A pale face sticking out of a black turtleneck under a brown coat he bought to replace the white one that was just getting too old and worn out for him. 

You look away. Using the back of your finger you wipe away a tear - definitely a tear and not snow - before settling both frozen hands in your pockets. Your eyes meet for a few more seconds before he steps to the side and takes a set next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his thigh next to yours. Light held the umbrella in the small gap between you. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask finally, breaking the minutes-long silence. “Thought you were busy.” 

“Finished,” he replied. “Then I had to come play hide-and-seek with you when you ran out like a petulant child who didn’t get the toy they wanted at recess.” You want to shoot up straight and bitch at him, to say that it’s his fault, that everything is his fault, and to tell him that this is the least of the reactions you could offer in response to it all. 

“Then leave,” you said. “I’ll come back. You know that. Just... just for today let me be... happy. Please.” Your voice cracks and you have to look away once more to wipe away more stray tears. “I just wanted something... normal.” 

“Normal was out of the question from the start. In fact, don’t pretend that it was ever in the question. We’re meant for more than... normal.” 

You shake your head. “Not today, Light, fuck. You’re such a fucking genius, but god, you could never read a room, could you?” Light clenched his teeth but ultimately stayed silent. At least, for the minute he spent contemplating whether to tell you to ‘come off it,’ or to play into it for the longer-term benefit of your temporary satisfaction. You beat him to the punch. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Funny enough, I knew that.” 

“Well, I couldn't tell.” 

“You don’t seem the type for flowers and poems, Y/N.” 

“Well, you don’t seem the type to-to... you know, and that’s-god-that’s not it, and I feel so stupid, in the scheme of things, to have this bother me, but fuck, Light. I’m a human. I’m complex and shit, and I can’t do what you do. At least, not consciously.

“This is... this fucked up, sure, but it’s the first real... something I ever had with someone else. Middle school, high school, even most of college was just me existing alone. It seemed like... it seemed like every single other person just got a handbook on how to socialize, how to develop relationships, how to love and be loved that I never got. That everyone else was able to be loved, but never me. Never me. I was never picked or chosen, or, even if I was, something better would come along and I’m left in the fucking dust. It’s me, you know? Never... never enough. For once - just for once - I can feel like I’m enough. That I’m not deciding every second if I’m breathing too loud or not being useful or whatever.” 

By the time you’re done, you feel far too comfortable in the silence that follows. You’re not horrified of what he’s going to do in response. You settled back down and shut your eyes. “That’s all,” you add pointlessly, “and, I’m not sure if you can tell, I really, really hate this holiday.” 

Light stood up. You watch him, like before, with one eye. The umbrella rests on his shoulder at an angle, and with his free hand, he extended his palm out to you. You furrowed your brows and quadruple your number of chins to look down at it. Light rolled his eyes. 

“You could stay here if you want.” You kind of wanted to. Spending a few more hours alone was tempting, but... but that’s what you always were, have been. You had one chance - one person - left to change that. 

His hand was warm over your own. It kept you centered and balanced as he led you down the snow-covered streets. Though it’s nothing like the pure joy emanating from others, it was something. It could probably be compared to two business partners walking stiffly while holding hands if you’re being honest.  

But for this, you can act for. 

You played pretend the rest of the way home until you convinced yourself you were in a good mood. You refused his offer of food when you return home. Instead, you nestled under a large white blanket and clicked on whatever was on: some cliche romance fic Light would never, on any other day, stand for. You could heat Light shifting around in the kitchen behind you. He emerged with two mugs with steam rising in small swirls above them. Light placed them on the table and you watched him motion for you to raise the blanket. 

Light slipped in beside you, and you wondered how painful it was for him to wrap his arm around your shoulder. It’s stiff, uncomfortable, and a bit cold, but not surprising. You shut your eyes and imagine... you try to imagine someone else, but there’s no one else you could picture besides Light. Anyone else felt... wrong, so you opted to watch the snowfall through the windows. Turning your body towards him more, you snuggle into him and rest your head on his shoulder. 

His hand rose between you. You figured it’s him adjusting himself or the blanket, but you’re surprised when his fingers lightly grab your chin and lift your head. There’s no time to react before his lips land on yours. 

Oh yes, you can act today. For today, you can pretend. You could let your heart be filled and convinced you are loved, because tomorrow, tomorrow was never guaranteed. 

[tiefling-queer]

For D&D character ask, for any and/or all of your characters;

1, 5, 8, 15, 23, 29, 64, 65, 69(Nice)

i’m gonna answer these for whichever characters have the most interesting answers, skipping some for repeats:

1. why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)?

kip (wizard, school of necromancy): crisis of faith midway through grave cleric training, spurred on by him sucking at the whole cleric thing (9 wisdom babyyy) while also being a nerd (18 int babyyyy)

baylock (shadow sorcerer/rogue): the sorcerer part is a side effect from being born dead during a cataclysmic event that tore portions of the material plane asunder. the rogue part is because he got in with a bad crowd as a kid. he’s been gaining levels in sorcerer as he traverses the freaky magic wasteland, utilizes his magic more, and gets a little closer to death each time someone hits his squishy arcane caster frame too hard

izak (gunslinger, graveslinger): sometimes you’re a jaded teen-equivalent runaway bumming around the river kingdoms and some dude comes up to you and is like ‘im a neutral evil mercenary, but if you take this gun and learn to shoot, i can also be your dad’. and then later you’re a 20-something equivalent who just realized that you don’t actually want to be an evil mercenary so you run away again and this time some dude comes up to you and is like ‘i’m a priest of sarenrae and an exorcist, and if you believe you can be redeemed, i can also be your dad.’ and then you learn how to shoot ghosts so you can be useful while this guy teaches you about being a better person.

5. do they follow a higher power? what are their thoughts on divinity?

izak: (deep lore dump) izak’s family was, at one point, pious people, and it was some ancestor’s warped perception of what piousness is and what was worth sacrificing in the name of good that led to the entire mess that is izak’s face. izak’s a devout worshiper of sarenrae now and hopes to maybe be the assistance someone needs to put themselves on a better path the way brak was for him, but there’s still a part of him that believes that, because he’s a tiefling, he’s never going to really be saved, and that his soul will eventually belong to the asura it was promised to.

8. what are three songs that suit them?

sydel: buckets of blood by rufus rex (tw for self harm, link goes to spotify because i can’t find this track on its own on youtube), thank god that i’m not you by himalayas, and bruises by fox stevenson (full playlist here)

15. do they trust their party? why or why not?

kip: he trusts them with his life, he just doesn’t trust them to understand where he’s coming from. he’s hiding some really heretical opinions that he knows at least maya (the celestial warlock) won’t agree with. he doesn’t like to talk about his family trauma, his past, or anything that he thinks the party can use to cleverly deduce that the notes he’s been scribbling are about raising the dead and theoretical conduits, prices, and replacements for the soul (he’s a little paranoid and might be giving them more credit than they deserve)

baylock: baylock might trust morgran, but he doesn’t trust surina at all, not since she and the (presumed deceased) swashbuckler tried to use him as a scapegoat when they were being interrogated by evil government warlocks. and even then, he only trusts morgran to not leave him for dead. baylock’s a fiercely loyal person by nature, so he’s been trying to keep his party at arms length so he won’t be betrayed again. the closest he came to starting to trust them was right before he found out that they told the evil government warlock that they’d turn him in in exchange for their freedom when they were captured a while back (whether or not they actually intended to do so is irrelevant for baylock - he spent 5 years in prison after being his old thieve’s guild’s fall guy, he’s not about to let it happen again)

23. how do they feel about nicknames, titles, or labels that have been given to them? how do they feel about their name?

kip: kip’s given name is joffric ravenhall. he’s been going by the alias of ‘greenbough’ on the offchance that people have heard of his family or knew his father at some point, since he really doesn’t want to explain why he’s not a priest of the raven queen by now. ‘kip’, however, is what his family and friends call him, so it was a bit of a big deal to him when he told the party to call him kip, since he hadn’t been around anyone he considered family or friend in a few years. kip’s reeling a little bit over suddenly being called an ‘adverturer type’ - to him, he’s still just a transient weirdo who picks up odd jobs.

baylock: baylock craft’s name isn’t actually baylock craft (not yet anyway lol), he stole his late cellmate’s identity to take advantage of the jailbreak that came a few days too late. his name, ekleipsis caldor, isn’t exactly something he identifies with so much as what he was once called. his father never wanted him but got stuck with him when his mother bounced, so ‘caldor’ is more a formality than anything. ‘ekleipsis’ is the greek root of ‘eclipse’, for the eclipse he was born during - but moreso, ‘ekleipsis’ doesn’t mean ‘to be covered’ - it means ‘a disappearance or abandonment’. an event where the sun abandons the sky. baylock is a walking abandonment issue. he hasn’t taken a virtue name because he thinks it’s performative (which is where him officially taking the name ‘baylock craft’ as his name and not the identity of someone he’s pretending to be comes in - it’s the equivalent of naming himself for the virtue of rebellion without naming himself something stupid and embarrassing like ‘rebel’.)

izak: izak just got done being haunted by a ghost wizard who’s obsessed with names, probably because he’s had 4. izak was born dalethiel oakleaf back when he was an elf, but when he ran away after waking up as a tiefling he went by dally. then he was a mercenary for a while and his edgy mercenary name was viper. and then, when asked for his name by the cleric of sarenrae who rescued him in the wilderness, he said he didn’t have one worth giving, so the cleric told him he’d just call him izak then. that’s who izak is now, as far as he’s concerned, or at least who he wants to be. as he told the ghost wizard who tried to torment him with his birth name, that’s not his name anymore. dalethiel oakleaf was a young elf who died on his 50th birthday. izak’s got a perfectly good name, given to him by a kind man, and he doesn’t want to think about the time in his life he went by dally or viper.

karif: karif always introduces himself formally with his full name, in the family-given-familiar name pattern - ‘ixenvari karifgethisk fraurirthos, er, but you can just call me karif.’ this is because karif’s nickname, fraurirthos, the one his childhood friends and family call him, translates from draconic literally to ‘breathes secrets’. his nickname is snitch. he’s a little embarrassed about it. but ‘karifgethisk’ is a bit of a mouthful for those who don’t speak draconic, so shortening it to ‘karif’ suits fine.

29. who would they save? who would they be saved by? 

this has been a tough one, i’m not sure how to answer it for anyone.

64. do they value mercy or justice more?

kip: this honestly depends on his mood and your definitions of both ‘mercy’ and ‘justice’. he’s very easily led away by his emotions - both pity and compassion that could sway him to lean more towards mercy, and rage that tends to harden his heart and clear his head. he’s more than down to torture someone if he deems them evil, and he’ll destroy creatures like aberrations, fiends, and undead without a second thought, but he views life as a very precious thing - even when torturing an evil demon-summoning spellcaster, he still was trying to find ways out that resulted in that spellcaster getting out alive. this has come back to bite the party in the ass, since it was kip’s insistance that the party not kill all the guards on their little anarchy stunt that got them blackmailed to infiltrate the evil army of darkness, which is something he most certainly DOES NOT want to do.

65. what is holding them back?

kip: kip’s hang-ups about the soul and how he was raised are holding him back from becoming a stronger necromancer, while his grief and refusal to accept mortality hold him back from possibly still being some flavor of raven queen follower.

baylock: baylock’s hesitance and confusion over what he wants are holding him back from either fully embracing the rebellion or ditching it to get vengence

izak: izak’s self-loathing and fear of himself hold him back from interacting with people and forming meaningful relationships outside of the handful of people who’ve found out he’s a tiefling.

69 (nice): how would they describe their party members?

kip:

maya is... complicated. kip admires her pragmatism and her faith - it reminds him of his older sister, and he’s been missing that rock in his life. however, he butts heads with her a lot, because he finds her cold duty-bound outlook to be pointlessly cruel.

meera is wicked smart and talented, if a little misguided at times. he’s very big brother protective of her, always trying to offer her his dagger because ‘it’s a nice dagger’ (it’s +1)

amity is a good kid, and smarter than some may give him credit for. he’s fun to be around, and usually a level-headed presence, which makes it even more surprising just how ok he is with killing.

baylock:

morgran is an asshole, but is also probably the only person in the group who believes in this whole rebellion thing, so that counts for something. he’s decent people, can probably be trusted to see a mission through and not do anything completely stupid, but since he’s decent people he’s probably going to insist on staying on this path of lunacy with delusions of ‘taking down the Summit’. also, morgran shouldn’t be allowed to talk to anyone they meet, because he’s an asshole, and doesn’t bother pretending to be personable like baylock does.

surina is insane. she’s deranged, like everyone who tries to live outside the sanctums is. also just racist at times. when their cover gets blown or when they get mixed up with people they should be talking down, she’s gonna be the reason they all get killed.

porthos is was an idiot and a liability and just proved him right by running off and doing something rash and probably getting himself killed and also maybe compromising the whole rebellion which baylock doesn’t care about, so why does he feel like he should have done more to stop Porthos’ demise?

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 13

Episode 25.

I spend twenty minutes after the episode ends trying to articulate what I think happened to my friends, gesticulating wildly.

The episode starts with a condensed version of the last upsetting bits of the previous episode and thus sets the ground for my difficulty in expressing my thoughts on it because of the imperfect intersection of linear narrative and metaphorical examination of selfhood. I've been trying to follow the show as a narrative, even as things dissolve, but here everything just goes STOP NO CONTEXT JUST IDEA AND INTERNAL INTERROGATION which I think I follow but I have difficulty following WHILE ALSO thinking about giant robots.

Something bad happened after the events of the last episode and maybe in the overall narrative structure that's all that matters? I guess this episode is about the question of what the end goals of all the barely understood players are vis-à-vis humanity through Shinji et al.

How can we be our fullest self? What and who informs who that self is? The passive approach, as seen in Shinji, isn't it. You cannot only do what you are directly told to do and you can't intuit what other people want you to do as unspoken directions.

The isolationist approach, as seen in Asuka, isn't it, either. Trying to act and live above and without human connections or direction has made her sense of self the most fragile. She's just a shell projecting an ideal around a core of hatred.

Misato is there as, perhaps, the end result of trying to live life like Shinji into adulthood (the result of Asuka's approach is evident because she's shattered), a projected false self created to fulfill the outside expectations of others while the inner self gets lost.

Rei I feel is the one who is closest to having it 'right' insomuch as there can be a right way to be a human being (and perhaps part of what Evangelion and its characters are grappling with is that there isn't or if there is, it's not a simple thing). She recognizes that who Rei is is shaped by Rei's interactions with other people and the passage of time and I think that Rei 3's apparent rejection or turn on Gendo's influence is because she knows that's not the entirety of it. Everyone is confronted to some degree by the fact that the version of themselves seen by other people is flawed but in Rei's case she's able to know it in a profound way because she is aware of the previous Reis and their memories but also of herself as distinct from them. So Shinji knows her but he doesn't Know Her and much of what Rei knows of others is removed, the Rei deaths and recreations putting a barrier between a direct human connection. The human connection is key but perhaps the degree to which so much of it is abstracted in Rei is why she isn't fully emotionally engaged as a person, even when her understanding of personhood is so much fuller than the others. No human connection leads to Asuka: fragile and quickly destroyed. Shinji recognizes the importance of the human connection, maybe, but fails to enact the how and in its place he has the projections of what he thinks other people want guiding him.

The people in our hearts aren't real people but just manifestations of our self speaking through puppets that look like people we know and can't substitute for human connection and create a similarly false self for the benefit of the false people projections (Misato).

Shinji's fear of being hurt by human connections results in his inability to make human connections and his holding himself up to the standards of imagined human connections which are unsatisfying and disappointing to everyone, including him.

Gendo's Human Instrumentality Project seems to be about recognizing the need for human connections, specifically individuals filling needs for each other that cannot be filled by the individual alone, both for the pursuit of fulfilling the need to find the true self but also taking humanity beyond humanity. I think it's because Gendo has sublimated his grief and sense of loss with respect to his wife into viewing the ability of individuals to obtain fulfillment and then lose it as a weakness that can be overcome.

If all of humanity loses its individuality and turns into the orange tang all humans are always complete and cannot be made incomplete by losing part of themselves. This is too much connection and gross, indistinguishable. What is the point of this if there is no individual?

Right now it looks like all approaches are imperfect and lead to failure, certainly in the context of Evangelion and these characters.

Visually everything is very cool in this episode even though the budget limitations are obvious. The work arounds are creative and inform the substance of what's being said, I think? There's distortion and dissolving and isolated figures on foldout chairs under spotlights.

My favourite thing is how the false characters, the characters talking to the real characters in the chair, are clearly drawn differently, badly, off model. Something is done to indicate their lack of realness, especially the false Shinji in Misato's heart.

I'm sorry if this commentary has become increasingly boring, I'm sorry if I'm doing or talking about Evangelion wrong or badly or pointlessly. I've really enjoyed it. This concludes my report on the penultimate episode of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

The final episode behind the cut.

Episode 26.

I appreciate the honesty of opening the episode with text that basically announces "look we don't have the time to explain everything so we're just going to explain it as it pertains to this microcosm called Shinji". It's a very clever/honest sort of meta acknowledgement of MAN THE BUDGET OOPS but I feel it's also in a way of framing the psychological aspect of the narrative as something that is not unique to Shinji but Shinji is merely the lens through which something more universal is viewed.

The episode seems to be divided into four distinct sections. The first bit is a ramped up version of the meditative internal discussions that have become increasingly frequent during the series. Interrogation by on screen text asking questions like are you happy, why aren't you happy, what do you want, why do you want this, why do you do that ... some of them very basic therapy sort of questions, others being refinements of that, questions meant to prompt you to look inward for an answer only you have.

But although we're told that this is an examination of Shinji sometimes Asuka is answering, sometimes Rei is answering. Sometimes they're asking the questions. Sometimes other characters are asking or elaborating, unseen.

Previously I've talked about feeling like narrative-wise things have been dissolving, when I try to recall a sequence of events, but here what's dissolving is the distinction between the characters because the experiences are unique but the feelings are inherently universal.

There's a lot of different things going on here, visually. Still portraits, reused footage from previous episodes, repeated shots of a rotary phone with the cable cut really sticks in my mind for some reason, what seem to be actual black and white photos of contemporary Japan. There's a universal quality and it's also how everything around you, all the people and experiences, make up the you that you are, shown with an outline of Shinji that's filled with rapidly flashing poorly imposed images of others that don't fit in his outline. It's cool.

That's when the episode transitions to its second bit which is, like, I don't know. It's a bit student film, it's a bit like that Loony Toons bit where Daffy Duck is talking directly to the animator who can erase and redraw him at will. It's barely animated in parts.

I had this understanding that Evangelion ran out of money near the end and that the last episode was barely animated at all and I think I assumed it would be like how I understand the second disc of Xenogears to be, just ... text because we can't do assets? But it's not. It's unpolished and sketchy and minimal, in spots just pencil drawings or roughly coloured in with markers, at one point it's just wave forms? But it was sad and weirdly beautiful and it felt like an extension of Shinji's internal struggle for meaning and understanding. Maybe because the lack of budget gives it an aesthetic similar to a student or art school film, it informs the material with a sincerity that I feel would be lacking in a more polished, traditional product. The fewer hands that can be felt in something the more /authentic/ it feels.

I, at least, have a greater patience and a great appreciation for something when I feel an authentic quality from it, even though that's only my perception. Form and substance compliment each other here, even if it's just because of budget constraints.

There's a really good part where it's just Shinji in a white void and it's, you know, about how that's the safest because there's nothing constraining him because he's the only thing, but it feels empty because how do we know what we are if we have no references. So a horizontal line is drawn and that's the ground in this white void and Shinji is then standing on the ground and it's reassuring, it's a reality that simultaneously limits your options but in limiting them defines what they are. It's just ... good.

Once things have been completely broken down it's time to I think reassemble them and that's the third part of the episode where Shinji wakes up in an otoge game where everything is good and normal and Asuka's his childhood friend, his mother is alive (but still faceless) and his father ... also exists and is not being actively cruel but hidden behind a newspaper, similarly faceless, existing but known (he's at the table, Yui is in the kitchen with her back always to the camera), Misato's his hot teacher, Rei is the new transfer student ... There's running to school with toast in mouth (from otoge Rei). Shinji's just a Normal Teen (but the normalcy is false, this weird artificial hyper normalcy that contrasts with the sad, raw realness of Shinji's life in Tokyo 3).

That's on the stage that Shinji is watching from his stool in the empty gymnasium with Misato and it goes dark and it's like ... this is another reality but I don't think it's meant to be a quantum thing but an example of the potential of, like, /imagine/ a you who is happy. So this is the fourth part of the episode and it's characters, every single character, interrogating Shinji, pointing out Shinji's flaws, and giving him ... advice? Guidance? A lot of it is ... bad. The characters recognize real problems Shinji has, that Shinji knows he has and then they tell him things which are presented as, for lack of a better term, 'solutions' to his problems of self. But a lot of them are not actionable. Some of them are little more than 'you hate yourself but have you considered ... not hating yourself?'

Much like when Shinji gets praised, once, by his father for what he did in the robot and that is assumed to be good because it's good in comparison to the nothing he's received, the words Shinji gets here are presumed good because they're actual acknowledgement of his problems.

The result is Shinji standing on the earth, surrounded by the other characters, announcing that he is determined to care for himself, and they all applaud and congratulate him and it's weird. It's presented as happy but there's no emotion. No emotion in this climax of a series that has so effectively evoked so much emotion, raw and powerful and real and relatable. It's not happy. It's not sad, either. It's just an absence of sadness. It's this orange tang safety in muted absence of loneliness or danger. I think because Shinji is given good conclusions for his problems (self-worth and love have to come from within, you need to allow yourself to care for yourself or you'll never believe completely that others can care for you) but he's not shown a good path to get there. What people tell Shinji gives him an understanding of what the goal is (happiness) but none of the tools to get him to happiness, something he has no real personal experience with, so the ending he arrives at isn't authentic. It's a false construct, like the otoge realty.

It's not a good ending but I think it wants there to be a good ending and the viewer to recognize when a 'good' ending isn't really good. It's a lot to think about. This concludes my report on the final episode of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

[ladysophiebeckett]

Steele Trying: The Aftermath 

Part 1

summary: bonds of steele: it still happens but I take things out and put other things in in my attempt to make steele make sense. 

a very, very belated birthday gift to monica ( @beckybloomwood )

“Would you have married me?”

“Of course not!”

“And I wouldn’t have asked you!”

“I knew if we worked at it hard enough we’d find something to agree on.”

 ___

He knew it.

 He knew if he told her about his problems with immigration, she’d reject him. Of course she would. His past catching up to him yet again—now when their relationship was flourishing, only to be threatened. It would be too much. This would be Laura’s limit. There was only so much a person could take before they gave up on you. And she would, inevitably give up on him. Again.

 On top of that, he couldn’t ask her to partake in a ruse. It would offend her and lead to yet another path where she rejected him.

 Either way, he only saw himself losing.

 So rather than face her rejection, he returned to old habits.

 Time was running out and he needed a bride, so he called Clarissa. Made the arrangements.

 In his head, everything worked out fine. In his head, he marries Clarissa on time and Laura is none the wiser. In his head, it’s all so simple; he marries and divorces in two years. He becomes a citizen and gets to stay in the one place he considers home. And somehow, Laura doesn’t find out.

 But if she does find out, and in his head this all makes sense—if she finds out, then there’s nothing left of them to salvage. Because he will have destroyed it all on his own.

 However, none of his plans ever work out how they’re supposed to. Not since he met Laura. Of course she finds out. She always does. And while he loves the quickness of her mind he finds himself irritated with her from the moment she steps foot into the church.

 Of course there was guilt but he pushed it away. There was no time. You had plenty of time, the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Laura, tells him. No there bloody wasn’t! He argues back pointlessly, as irritation and panic flood through him leaving him with no other alternative than to hoist the real Laura over his back and away from the altar.

 He’s made her angry so many times in the past but he knew--as she hit his back with her fists, practically threw her into a closet and then ridiculously barricaded the door with a couch and a coffee table—he knew this was the worst thing he’d ever done to her.

 But he couldn’t stop. He was mid con and he couldn’t turn back.

 He’d already lost everything.

 Now it was after 5 pm. Clarissa in jail. Deportation soon to follow.

 Finally, he thought bitterly, a con he couldn’t complete.

 He jokes with Laura, asks if she’ll visit him once he’s settled. Steele knows she won’t.

 ___

 “That’s it? You’re just giving up?” she exclaims.

“Leaving aside the small matter of a bride for a moment, there are certain legal niceties regarding marriage that cannot be overcome in one hour and ten minutes!”

“You’re the duke of deception! Think of something!”

 And so he did.

 ___

 “This is your plan?”

 “Do you have a better one Laura? Because I’m all ears, it’s only my neck on the line—“

 “When I told you to think of something I didn’t mean this”, she gestured angrily to the docks they were now on.

 “Well what did you think?”

 “I don’t know! But this isn’t what I—“

 “This isn’t what I wanted either Laura! But you mucked up my first wedding by inserting yourself in something, that if you note, I tried to keep you out of. So the least you can do is play my bride”.

 He thinks for a moment she might slap him but instead she looks at him with cold indifference.

 “My, what a proposal. However can I say no?” she replies sarcastically.

 He knows he’s being deliberately cruel at this point. He knows who’s doing who the actual favor. But he can’t stop. Right now, he’s not Remington Steele. He’s just a conman trying to stay afloat.

 “She’s here!” Mildred rushes up to them. “Did you get the boat?”

 “Yes---“

 “From some questionable contacts, I’m sure”, interrupted Laura. “But yes, Mr. Steele secured a boat”.

 “Oh, I love a wedding!” Mildred exclaimed. “And I’m honored to be your witness!”

 “It’s not a real wedding, Mildred. Won’t even be a real marriage”, Laura added under her breath.

 “Of course it is! Once the---“

 “Ta-ta-tah! Mildred, didn’t you say Ms. Becker was here?”

 “Oh right! Her taxi just arrived!”

 “Why don’t you go get her? We’re on a tight schedule”.

 “You got it boss. On my way. We’ll get you two married in no time.”  

 “Wonderful, Mildred thank you. Now run along”, he said waving her away.

 “Well”, Laura said looking ahead of him to the tuna boat that would act as their wedding chapel, “let’s get this over with shall we?”

___

 “Before we begin, I need to ask you some, um, questions”, Estelle Becker said as she side stepped a fish.

 “Anything you’d like Ms. Becker. I’m an open book! However, we really would like to get married before the sun sets. Don’t want to lose the light.” Steele said gesturing to out to the open sea, away from the sun.

 “No, not you Mr. Steele. You, Ms. Holt.”

 “I—Uh, of course! “ Steele panicked.

 “This is your second wedding in one day, Mr. Steele,” Estelle continued. “While I am sympathetic to your case, I need to believe that this is real. I need to believe this is will be a genuine marriage based on love and not your immediate need to stay in the country. Your previous actions don’t look, pardon me when I say this, trustworthy.”

 “Ah yes, the theatrics of this afternoon. I can see why you think that I would be—that this—“He gestures to him and Laura—“would seem like it wasn’t genuine but if you let me, let us explain—“

“It was cold feet”, Laura interjected.

 “Ah yes!” He jumped in. “Just a case of wedding jitters, you know how it is.”

 “For who?” Estelle asked.

 “For him”.

 “For her.”

 They looked at each other, bewildered.  

 “For me”, they said at the same time.

 “For both of us”, he added.

 “Both of you got cold feet? That doesn’t bode well for my report, Mr. Steele”.

 “Well, it’s a bit complicated Ms. Becker—“

 “Because we work together”, Laura cut in.

 “Right! And you know how those office romances can be—“

 “I wouldn’t classify this as an office romance. It cheapens it don’t you think, dear?”

 “See? We can’t even agree on the proper term for this relationship”.

 “Partnership”.

 “Oh now it’s partnership. Where was this talk two years ago?”

 “In your hotel room in Cannes”.

 Estelle watched them, fascinated. “Well, you two certainly have a history”.

 “You don’t know the half of it”, Mildred muttered.

 “Be that as it may, I still need more proof. Specifically from Ms. Holt.”

 Laura sighed. “You need, what?  What kind of proof? A declaration of love?” She rolled her eyes.

 “Yes, actually.”

 “Pardon me?”

 “In some occasions it would be a written declaration, notarized but in this case it would have to be verbal, as long as we had a notary present—“

 “What if a notary is right here?” Mildred interjected. “I’m still a notary—very helpful when you’re turning paperwork in late and the notary office closes at 5pm. You can just take care of it yourself.”

 “How many times have you done that Mildred?”

 “Don’t worry about it Ms. Holt.”

 Laura shut her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Will that do Ms. Becker?”  

 “It helps your case a great deal, yes. As well as attest to his character, with Ms. Krebs serving as well, a double witness I suppose.”

 Great, thought Steele. There was no way Laura would declare anything about him in good faith, least of all attest to his character. Not after all he’s done today. He may as well turn himself in—

 “I’ve loved him from the first moment I met him.”

 What?  

 He thinks as he looks up to see her sitting atop an old crate, across from Estelle.

“He has all the qualities I admire in a man: honesty, integrity, compassion.” Laura continues. He hears the slight undertone of sarcasm but, for a moment he wonders if—

 “Sometimes he seems too good to be real. It’s…almost as though I invented him.”

 He knows it’s a dig at him, but if it this was any other time, under any other circumstances, Steele would laugh. Who would ever doubt them as real couple with private jokes like that?

 “I’d be the happiest woman alive if I could spend the rest of my life by his side”.

 He feels a little overcome when she says that and he can’t explain why.

 “I think that’s the most beautiful expression of love I’ve ever heard”, Estelle exclaims, eyes brimming with tears.

 “It comes straight from the heart, Ms. Becker”.

 “I want to believe that. I want this all to work out. I want—“

 And right as Estelle lets out a scream, Steele realizes that he wants that same thing.

 He wonders if he succeeded in making sure it wouldn’t.

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 5.14

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 5 (trial 5!!), Kaito was incredibly confused about who the hell Junko was supposed to be, called Shuichi distrusting with his own mouth, apologised for lying and claimed he did it to help someone (two things Kokichi would never do), hated the way Kokichi pretended to enjoy this game and never told anyone anything, felt horrendously helpless watching Maki attack Shuichi about his supposed distrustfulness and eventually broke it up by saying something vaguely Kokichi-esque that really isn’t remotely what Kokichi would say if you think about it for two seconds. During all this, there was also an actual case being discussed, albeit rather a fillery part of it, involving Himiko being way too antsy about being suspected, Shuichi frustratingly not telling everyone she couldn’t have done it until the last moment, and Kaito being a dick to Himiko, but only just enough of a dick to keep up the charade and not a single bit more.

As Shuichi finally explains that Himiko shouldn’t have known how to use the crossbow, Maki is briefly hesitant to confirm that she didn’t teach her how.

Himiko:  “Wh-What’s wrong? Are you… mad about before?”

Maki:  “…”

Himiko:  “S-Sorry… I thought they were gonna suspect me, so… I lied.”

Exisal Kokichi:  “I really have to question your morals if you’re blaming Maki for your lie, Himiko!”

If Himiko really was doing that, then, phrasing and intonation aside, this actually wouldn’t be a sentiment that’s out of character for Kaito. If you’re apologising for having lied, then of course you shouldn’t try and push the responsibility for it onto anyone else – you’re the one who chose to lie, so you need to take responsibility for that. Questioning someone’s morals for pushing responsibility onto others is again not really something Kokichi would do, because he was constantly deflecting his own responsibility all over the place. …Though to be fair he did also deflect his deflection a lot, so maybe that isn’t completely far-fetched.

Himiko’s not actually blaming Maki at all, though – so the part where “Kokichi” has decided that’s totally what she did is definitely all from Kaito’s idea of the kind of thing Kokichi would do (he’d always assume the worst of everyone, of course), even if the line said in response to that idea is maybe more from Kaito himself.

Himiko:  “I’m sorry, Maki… Please… can you tell them the truth?”

Maki:  “Fine… I’m not going to lie.”

…Not about this, at any rate.

Keebo:  “I do not think she would bring it at Kokichi’s request…”

Himiko:  “Of course not! Why would I ever listen to Kokichi?”

Exisal Kokichi:  “Cuz I know you like meeee.”

Himiko:  “Nuh-uh! I hate you!”

Exisal Kokichi:  “But I like you.”

Why. Why even.

As I mentioned when Kokichi once presumably-lied about liking Himiko way back in chapter 2, either he was attached enough to that stupid lie to put it in his script (this part could be scripted, as just a general “something to say if Himiko is hostile at you” thing), or Kaito heard that back then, happened to remember it, and figured it’d be another way to be believably Kokichi and technically kind of a dick without being especially cruel.

Shuichi:  (But to think that Kaito asked Himiko to do that… Maybe Kaito is trying to keep the promise we made yesterday…)

Of course he was! He just needed a little time to actually think of a “plan”, but asking for a crossbow was absolutely part of the doing something about it that he was totally going to successfully do because he has totally always been successful in such endeavours in the past.

Also, I see your pointed use of present tense there, Shuichi. Which is massive amounts of wishful thinking, but also not wrong! Kaito is still trying his hardest to keep that promise, right now!

Himiko:  “Well, Kaito… sorta asked me to keep it a secret…”

I wonder why exactly Kaito wanted it to be a secret anyway. Maybe he was just hoping to surprise everyone when he showed up in front of them the next morning having heroically escaped all by himself (if he even survived for that long). Or maybe he knew that if they heard he was about to do something that haphazard and reckless on his own then they’d try and stop him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to get their hopes up for his early escape if the plan failed and he ended up with nothing to show for it. …Probably a bit of all three.

Himiko:  “Then Kaito died and… I got scared. I thought I was gonna be next.”

Exisal Kokichi:  “You’re the worst for trying to pin the blame on Maki just for that reason! Maki, teach this dumb monkey the true terror of human beings!”

This time he’s not wrong, because while Himiko didn’t blame Maki for her lie, she did try and push the culprit-blame onto Maki while she was being accused. It is still of course a dick move for him to have a go at Himiko for that… but it is a dick move which is on Maki’s side. Kokichi was never on Maki’s side. Kokichi would have been joining Himiko in pinning the blame on Maki.

Kaito is at least trying to make Maki sound scary and dangerous while being on her side, but… it’s a bit of a half-hearted attempt.

Himiko:  “So I took a walk near the hangar, and that’s when Kaito called out to me.”

Kaito, who had thought up his brilliant, elaborate plan of “uhhh threaten him with a crossbow I guess” but took long enough to do so that Shuichi was long gone and he was looking at spending the entire night pointlessly crossbowless if nobody else came along, must have been really glad that Himiko just happened to show up.

Tsumugi:  “So if Kaito asked for a crossbow, does that mean he was going to kill Kokichi?”

Himiko:  “No, he said it was to disable Kokichi. I wouldn’t have helped him otherwise. I trusted Kaito and took a crossbow from Maki’s lab.”

This really is a testament to how trustworthy Kaito is. The request to have a weapon delivered, when the only potential target of that weapon is the supposed evil mastermind, is super suspect even if the requester is claiming they’re not planning to kill with it. But she trusted that Kaito really didn’t want to kill anyone, not even Kokichi! Kaito might have asked for only one arrow partly as a way to show good faith, that he really did mean it about only wanting to injure and not kill. (Even though you totally could kill with a single arrow, but.)

As soon as they start discussing what happened once Kaito had the crossbow, Shuichi very quickly and confidently asserts that Kokichi was shot too. Where was this certainty about that back when we were claiming the culprit totally shot Kaito through the bathroom window, hm?

Tsumugi:  “Then it was Kaito who shot him, right?”

Exisal Kokichi:  “Hmmm, I’m not suuure. I don’t remember anything like thaaat.”

None of this crossbow stuff was in the script, so Kaito genuinely Is Not Sure how he should be responding to this and who he should be claiming shot Kokichi to best achieve the goal. So he just works that unsureness into his act and figures that’ll do, hopefully? (Shuichi’ll figure it out in the end anyway.)

Maki is very insistent that it doesn’t matter exactly how the fight played out because obviously Kokichi killed Kaito somehow as a result, end of story.

Maki:  “Then, let’s hurry up and vote—”

Shuichi:  “No, it’s too soon. There are still mysteries—”

Maki:  “Who cares about that? We already know who the culprit is.”

Monokuma:  “You sure about that?”

But of course, Monokuma also very much doesn’t want to do the voting yet.

Monokuma:  “As the one running this trial, it bothers me when anyone says mysteries don’t matter. It affects the overall entertainment value, so I encourage you to reaaaally think about things.”

This is a plausible reason why he’s bothered, and it is part of it – it’d be a disappointing trial if it just went to the vote right here, before they’d actually figured out the whole story of what happened (and Monokuma knows there’s a lot more to the story than what they’ve figured out so far, because he knows everything that Maki did). But of course, it’s really because Monokuma himself doesn’t have a clue who did it yet and doesn’t want the vote to happen until he’s become sure of it.

Monokuma:  “After all, there should be some mysteries that still matter… For example, is Kokichi really inside that Exisal? Stuff like that…”

And this is pretty telling as to the real reason why Monokuma interrupted. If he was only annoyed because they’re giving up without fully explaining the mysteries, then he should want them to focus on the mysteries they were busy talking about: exactly how the crossbow fight played out and who shot who. If they talked about that enough, that should get Himiko to mention that she only brought one arrow and let them unravel things further from there.

But that’s not really what’s bothering Monokuma the most. He’s probably been super antsy during this whole discussion of the boring bits involving the crossbow that he already knows about, when the real question on his mind is who is even dead, and he was really hoping that Shuichi would turn his Ultimate Detective skills towards that topic a bit more.

Exisal Kokichi:  “…”

Awkward silence. He might be afraid Monokuma already knows and the plan is pointless. Or perhaps he’s just realising that the conversation is about to move back to things that are in the script and is frantically trying to find the right page.

(Or he’s having an inconveniently-timed coughing fit and couldn’t respond to this even if he knew how to.)

Himiko:  “His voice is even coming from the Exisal and everything.”

Come on, Himiko, you heard Kaito’s voice, too! The reason Kaito started out as himself may well even have been specifically so you guys wouldn’t write things off this easily!

Monokuma:  “But we heard it speak in Kaito’s voice earlier, didn’t we?”

I wonder, if Kaito hadn’t started out as himself, whether this would be the moment in which Monokuma would have told everyone anyway that the Exisals have a voice changer. He’s allowed to give them information that’s necessary to solve the case, after all! If Kokichi had wanted Kaito to be him the whole time in order to hide the voice changer, it really wouldn’t have helped the plan at all.

Exisal Kaito:  “Yeah, don’t rely on that. After all, this Exisal has a voice changer.”

Kaito is probably very happy that this discussion has given him an excuse to be himself again, even if it’s only for a short while. I also wonder if this switch is scripted or not. I suppose it’s more likely that Kokichi might have scripted one for after it gets revealed that there’s a voice changer, just to demonstrate it while still messing with them.

Also, can we talk about the Exisal’s voice changer? Obviously it’s really there from an out-universe perspective simply because it’s utterly vital to this case’s premise. But I still couldn’t help but think about why an Exisal would even have something like this, which can apparently perfectly impersonate the voices of… all sixteen students here? When none of the students were ever meant to even get inside an Exisal? It’s a bit much.

What would be slightly less much (albeit admittedly still a lot) would be if the voice changers weren’t already programmed with all sixteen students’ voices, and instead they just could be programmed with anyone’s voice if someone spent the time to do so. Meaning that Kokichi had to spend several hours in the hangar talking into the Exisal until it learned to emulate his voice patterns perfectly, such that currently the only voice it can do is Kokichi’s, not Kaito’s.

…I had a point to this thought when I planned to say it, probably something about how this could mean that Kokichi had to have Kaito pretend to be him and not the other way around. Except I just now realised that, if all this were true, it’d mean that Monokuma would know about this and would have seen only Kokichi talking into it to program it, which would mean that he’d know the truth the moment he heard Kaito’s voice come out of the Exisal. So never mind, scratch that. I guess the Exisal really does just have all sixteen students’ voices for some reason even though that makes very little sense and is Team Danganronpa shooting itself in the foot again.

So yeah, in the end: it is a pretty big stretch to believe that the Exisal just randomly happens to have a voice changer like this. But it having one is absolutely vital for the premise of this case, and the premise of this case is so good that I do not remotely care what narrative contrivances were necessary to make it possible in the first place.

Shuichi:  (…It what?)

Shuichi! You heard it speak in both voices, too! Did that really not occur to you as a possibility, when it’s one that leaves open the chance that Kaito could be alive?

Exisal Kaito:  “Hah! Cuz of that, nobody realizes I’m pretending to be Kokichi!”

Heeee! That’s precisely the truth! Kaito must be delighted to just get to be honest for a moment. And sure, it’s something that he intends for everyone to eventually conclude was a lie, which is why he’s able to safely say it, but in this moment, he is not making himself sound insincere. That’s got to be so refreshing.

Exisal Kaito:  “But no more! Sorry for the wait, guys!”

[the Exisal leaps over into Kaito’s spot]

Exisal Kaito:  “The Luminary of the Stars has arrived! This time for real!”

He’s being such a dork and so himself. Of course the hero should have a dramatic entrance, right?

…And he’s still technically lying slightly, because he doesn’t intend this to be “for real”. He knows this is most likely going to be very temporary. But still.

Exisal Kaito:  “I told you, I’m Kaito. I was just pretending to be Kokichi is all. There’s a bit of a situation going on, so I didn’t really have a choice…”

Technically not an incorrect reason why he was pretending. Just a really, really vague one. He obviously can’t tell them the full truth about why he was doing it, but he also doesn’t want to outright lie here.

Although, he says he didn’t really have a choice, but he absolutely had a choice in whether or not to participate in this plan. It’s just that this is the only choice Kaito would ever have made. One might think that’s why he says he didn’t really have a choice… but no, it’s not, because framing things that way would make it sound like his actions aren’t his responsibility. Even if he knows he’d never have chosen anything else, Kaito would never shy away from the fact that this was his decision. So that bit’s just part of the lie.

Exisal Kaito:  “Sorry about tricking you guys like that. My bad!”

He really is sorry for tricking them! And yet, this apology still comes off as insincere, because he doesn’t sound like he feels bad about it. He appears to be apologising for something he was doing until half a minute ago and apparently just stopped doing on a whim. Kaito would definitely also disapprove of apologising when you don’t really feel sorry at all, making people think you’ve learned from your mistakes when you actually haven’t, which is how he’s making himself sound right now. But, of course, that’s because he’s still pretending to be Kokichi pretending to be him – if he made himself sound truly sincere and showed genuine pain over having deceived them, it’d make it too clear that he’s the real deal.

Maki:  “How many times are you going to be tricked by him? That’s Kokichi pretending to be Kaito.”

Last time Kaito spoke as himself, Maki believed it for a brief, shining moment. But that was because she hadn’t heard both voices. Now that she knows about the voice changer, she is certain this has to be Kokichi pretending, because Kaito is definitely dead.

Exisal Kaito:  “Hey now, Maki Roll. Don’t you believe me?”

Maki:  “Don’t… *ever*… call me that!”

Exisal Kaito:  “Whoa there! Chill! You really think I’m Kokichi?”

Unfortunately, Kaito can’t not call her that, because it’s very definitely what Kokichi would do while pretending to be him, especially since doing so would hurt her. He absolutely does not want to cause Maki any more pain than he already has… but in this situation, he had basically no way to avoid it.

Unless Kaito just didn’t even realise how much hearing that would hurt her. It’s possible he was still hoping she might not be completely convinced that he’s Kokichi and might be able to start believing he could be alive after all, especially if he acts like his usual self and calls her Maki Roll. He’s optimistic enough that that’s absolutely what he’d do in her shoes, so he might not realise she definitely wouldn’t.

Or maybe it’s that Kaito just doesn’t realise how much that nickname has come to mean to her and therefore that hearing it from “Kokichi” would even hurt her at all. Maki hasn’t done a lot to properly show how much Kaito means to her at this point, and Kaito does after all have a tendency to be An Idiot when it comes to realising how important he is to his sidekicks.

Exisal Kaito:  “I mean, I guess I understand. Sorry I can’t really get outta this thing right now.”

It’s also very not-Kaito of him that he just shrugs it off when she clearly doesn’t think it’s him. The real Kaito, if he was truly only being himself, would desperately want them to know that it’s him and would do whatever it took to convince them, even assuming he literally couldn’t open the Exisal cockpit to show them. There would be plenty of ways to prove it’s him, too! He could offer that Shuichi and/or Maki ask him something only the real Kaito would know the answer to – stuff they talked about while training! His favourite spaceship!

Even though Kaito isn’t offering, this could also be something Shuichi could challenge him with to try and prove or disprove his identity. But even if he did that, it wouldn’t actually work, because Kaito is pretending to be Kokichi pretending to be him, so he’d deliberately get the questions wrong.

Exisal Kaito:  “I can’t move because of the injury I got from Kokichi… It’s so bad I can’t even stand. That’s why I’m in this Exisal.”

Ah, yes, that incredibly vaguely-defined “injury” that, wherever it is, really shouldn’t be preventing him from standing since he was standing up to have that window conversation with Shuichi yesterday and it shouldn’t have gotten any worse since then.

And even if it’s true that he can’t stand, he could still open the cockpit to show them it’s him, since if it really is him then Maki won’t be trying to murder him! It’s a little awkward that nobody points that out, but not a huge deal since they’re soon going to be concluding that he really is Kokichi after all.

Exisal Kaito:  “But if you guys don’t believe me, then we can’t move on…”

The way Kaito talks about “moving on” here is interesting. The ultimate outcome of this whole being-Kaito-for-a-bit escapade is that Shuichi is going to finally conclude and accept that he’s really Kokichi and Kaito is dead. This line suggests that this is what Kaito’s trying to achieve here – to get Shuichi to settle on who the victim is once and for all so that he can continue the trial with a firmer premise in mind. It’s most likely also what Kokichi intended for this, if he did indeed script Kaito switching to his own voice once the voice changer was mentioned; he’d want to remove that ambiguity as soon as it appears and convince everyone that even though the voice doesn’t prove anything, he’s still definitely Kokichi anyway.

Exisal Kaito:  “So, you’re up, Shuichi!”

Shuichi:  “What!? Me!?”

Exisal Kaito:  “Explain to everyone how I wasn’t the one that died!”

Kaito is encouraging Shuichi to explain his deductions, just like old times!

Despite what I just said about how the point of this is to make Shuichi accept that Kaito’s dead, I think Kaito could also genuinely believe that Shuichi might be able to prove he’s alive. Kaito has unending faith in Shuichi’s awesomeness and knows for certain that he’ll reach that truth eventually – but he has also been known to overestimate Shuichi’s abilities in terms of how much he’s figured out, so he might think it’s possible that Shuichi can prove it already. The usual problem, as far as Kaito sees it, is less Shuichi not having figured things out, and more him simply not having the confidence to be sure about what he’s figured out and explain it.

So I wonder if Kaito could be doing this while thinking that if Shuichi has already figured it out, then he really might as well reveal the whole truth right now. If that happens, then it’s not a huge loss, since Shuichi was almost certainly going to reach that point eventually anyway, and at least having it happen sooner rather than later will save everyone an hour or two of painful deception.

(However, there are a couple of specific things Kaito is aiming for, things that he will eventually achieve, that require the trial not to end so soon. So even if he thinks it’s possible, he shouldn’t be hoping for this too strongly.)

Shuichi:  (Kaito is alive after all… No… maybe… that’s just what I want to believe. Is it really true?)

It seems like having spent a while sort of more or less entertaining the idea that Kaito is dead (even if still not acknowledging it completely), Shuichi is able to catch his wishful thinking a little more now that he’s being shown this glimmer of hope again.

Shuichi:  (What story does the evidence tell?)

It might also be because “Kaito” is here, encouraging him to use his detective skills like always, that Shuichi is finally able to accept that he needs to look at things objectively with those skills of his, even if they end up proving that the Kaito encouraging him to use them isn’t really Kaito at all.

Shuichi:  (Does that story end with Kaito or Kokichi being the victim?)

I really love how he describes it as a “story” here, and in particular, the way he talks about the story’s “end”. It draws attention to the fact that, despite how things might seem like they could go either way right now, this story has already been written and the end has already been set in stone.

Which one would be the better story? There’s only one correct answer to that. But Shuichi can’t use that as an argument, because that’s a narrative argument.

And if you’re a first time viewer of this story who has only shaky faith in Spike Chunsoft’s writing skills because the writing in previous Danganronpa games has disappointed you before (not always, but sometimes)… you can’t use that argument either. I so, so desperately wanted to be watching a story where Kaito wasn’t the victim, because that was so obviously the best possible story to tell about him here, but I just couldn’t trust that that would be the case. Especially not when they’d also been spending this game building up the impression that Kaito was expendable and liable to get himself pointlessly killed off and that they didn’t really care about his story.

(As it turns out, they very much do care about it, so much – but all of the indications of that are fairly subtle and not something I picked up on first time around.)

Shuichi:  (I need to give a well-reasoned answer to that question, and soon. …I can’t look away from the truth.)

Shuichi is so clearly trying to talk himself into facing Kaito’s death here. The whole time, he’s really known deep down that that has to be what the truth is because it’s where all the evidence points. This is him finally telling himself he needs to stop running away and face that already, partly because it’s hard to make deductions when you haven’t even properly established the premise of who the victim is, but mostly just because it’s the truth.

Shuichi hasn’t been explicitly objecting to the idea of Kaito’s death for a while, but he only actually acknowledged the concept out loud once, and very indirectly at that. While they were discussing the crossbow, Shuichi was only ever talking about it in terms of “who shot Kaito”, as a convenient excuse to stop him from thinking about how the real question is “who killed Kaito”. This is the moment when he finally forces himself to accept it.

Shuichi:  (I’m trying, I really am, but I can’t think of anyone other than Kaito…)

This is a really awkward way of him phrasing it here, most likely due to the localisation. This was never a question of “who other than Kaito could be the victim?” – obviously the only other option is Kokichi; that’s not the problem. His line should be something more like “I can’t think of any way it couldn’t be Kaito”.

Exisal Kaito:  “Hey, what’s the matter, Shuichi? Just hurry up and tell everyone why I’m not dead! Should be easy!”

…As much as I like to think Kaito might believe it’s possible Shuichi could prove he’s alive already, I doubt he thinks it’d be easy. So even if part of him was hoping for something less painful than this, what this mostly is on the surface is Kaito trying to push Shuichi into accepting that he’s dead, if he really doesn’t have any way to prove otherwise. And he does that not while being a dick as Kokichi, but while being himself. That has to hurt.

Shuichi:  “No… I won’t. Because you’re not Kaito.”

He doesn’t say “I can’t”, even though that’s true. He says “I won’t”, as if he thinks that Kokichi was tempting him with false hope into continuing to try to deny Kaito’s death, and he’s choosing not to fall for it. (When actually that’s completely the opposite of what Kaito was trying to do.)

Shuichi:  “Kaito is already dead!”

And he’s finally, directly accepted it. Right in front of Kaito being Kaito at him. That’s got to be the most painful way this could have been done, for both of them. And yet, something like this was probably necessary to get Shuichi to even accept it at all.

Monokuma:  “Puhuhuhu! Good, good! This is already more entertaining!”

I mean, it is – you just got some quality despair right there as Shuichi finally put the lid on his baseless hope – but entertainment value isn’t really why you did this, is it, Monokuma?

And then suddenly Monokuma jumps into a Debate Scrum, even though there is no obvious split opinion at all. Himiko, Keebo and Tsumugi are about to get put on the “Kaito is alive” side, when their only reactions to Exisal Kaito here have been vague confusion, and not “welp I guess Kaito really is alive after all, awesome”.

The opening cutscene for the Scrum is technically incorrect, because the Exisal is shown standing in Kokichi’s spot when it should currently be in Kaito’s. Apparently they made this cutscene while the script of exactly how this would go down still hadn’t been finalised and they didn’t know Kaito was going to be being himself during this moment. Or they did know, but the person making this scene didn’t get the memo.

Monokuma’s decisions of which death portrait to put on which side of each Debate Scrum are usually pretty arbitrary. But of note this time is that he put Kaito’s portrait on the “Kokichi is dead” side, and Kokichi’s portrait on the “Kaito is dead” side. I guess he was thinking of that in terms of “this is what they’d think if they were alive”, rather than “this is where they should be if they really were death portraits”.

Joke’s on you, Monokuma. In reality, they’d both be on the “Kaito is dead” side.

Monokuma doesn’t try and make the Exisal participate in the debate either, partly because the morphenomenal trial grounds don’t work for something that huge, of course… but also partly because Monokuma doesn’t have a goddamn clue which side he should be on anyway.

So, on the one hand, I really enjoy that they highlighted the importance of this moment of Shuichi forcing himself to accept Kaito’s death by making it the subject of a narrative-driven trial minigame. But it awkwardly doesn’t quite work as a Debate Scrum, which are supposed to be about the entire class being unable to agree on something. Right now, the only one whose opinion is relevant to the narrative is Shuichi, and to some extent Maki. The other three are getting forced by the writing into acting like they firmly believe Kaito is alive just so Shuichi and Maki can have opponents, even though that’s not how those three really feel.

What this moment is really, meaningfully a split opinion between is the two sides of Shuichi. His Ultimate Detective side has finally outwardly admitted that all of the evidence says Kaito is dead, but Shuichi Saihara who just doesn’t want to lose his best friend would still be fervently fighting against that. It would be really cool if the writers had decided to make this moment truly about that by throwing out all preconceptions of how a Debate Scrum should usually, physically work and just getting incredibly metaphysical, forcing you to play as the Ultimate Detective side of Shuichi as he faces the truth by shooting down his own desperate, flimsy protests as to why Kaito totally isn’t dead. It wouldn’t make much sense in terms of how that’s actually happening, but it would be such good storytelling for this moment that I wouldn’t care.

Tsumugi:  “Is is possible that Kokichi got crushed instead of Kaito?”

…

Keebo:  “But there was an arrow hole on Kokichi’s shirt.”

…

Himiko:  “I want to believe Kaito is still alive and defeated the mastermind, but…”

All of these lines are arguments that Shuichi tried to make himself at some point earlier while trying to deny Kaito’s death. (Even the last one; that was the promise Kaito made to Shuichi in which he totally already had a plan, right?) Just imagine if this Debate Scrum really was Shuichi versus himself, pushing back that desperately hopeful side of him and forcing himself to face the truth. It would work!

Keebo wins the arbitrary honour of being the only character who has been on the correct side of every single Debate Scrum, since this is the one time Shuichi is not. For this one, though, it’s definitely more by luck than judgement (and by being awkwardly forced by the writing into acting adamant that Kaito is alive even though he really wasn’t so sure).

Shuichi:  (Damn that Exisal… Why would he confuse us like this?)

It’s ironic that Shuichi phrases this as being about the person in the Exisal, even though he specifically means Kokichi – because phrased this way, it also applies to the person who’s really inside the Exisal. That person definitely is being infuriating and confusing them a lot, isn’t he.

Shuichi:  “I don’t… want to believe it… In a way… I still can’t…”

Of course he can’t! Accepting it on an intellectual level is one thing, but it’s going to take much longer than that for it to properly sink in that his best friend is gone. With all the other victims, there was at least a bit of time after the body discovery to just sort of process the fact that they were dead and grieve a little before having to focus on the investigation. But here, Shuichi has only allowed himself to acknowledge that fact right now, and yet he’s now got to immediately press on with the trial without any time to deal with it. And that’s bad enough without the fact that Kaito was closer to him than anyone else who’s died before, even Kaede. Just… ouch. They were friends. (Are friends.)

Shuichi:  “I hate it… I hate it so much, but it’s the truth.”

I know you hate it, Shuichi. Of course you do.

(It’s still not actually the truth, but he’s now completely certain that it is and aaaagh.)

This whole thing of having had a Debate Scrum to determine this is also a very importantly misleading narrative trick. Shuichi’s side of a Scrum has always been correct before, so this makes first time players more likely to assume that apparently Kaito being dead really is the truth after all, even if they���d been doubting it up until now. It also seems reasonable, narratively, that the point of keeping things ambiguous for so long could purely be for the sake of emphasising Shuichi’s struggle to accept the painful truth because of how strong his friendship with Kaito is, an arc that focuses on two things that have been very prominent themes throughout the whole story. First-time-me was completely taken in by this, specifically because there was a Debate Scrum about it. I lost all hope for a while from this point on, just like Shuichi has.

Exisal Kaito:  “…”

Oh, hey, look at the camera panning to Kaito saying nothing. On a first time, this would seem like it’s Kokichi thinking “welp, you got me”. But no. It’s Kaito, doing what he’s usually doing when the narrative makes a point of the fact that he’s saying nothing. How must he be feeling to hear the pain Shuichi is in right now because of him. (“Because of him” in two very different meanings of the phrase at the same time. Because of how much he means to Shuichi; because of what he’s doing to Shuichi.)

It’s also relevant to note that from where the Exisal is standing right now, in Kaito’s spot, Shuichi is most likely too close to be in the angle of the Exisal’s camera if it points straight forward, meaning Kaito can’t see Shuichi’s face. He’s… probably kind of glad about that, really.

Tsumugi:  “Then the one here is…”

Exisal Kaito:  “Heh, looks like I messed around too much.”

This line here is my main reason for the idea I presented earlier that part of Kaito was hoping Shuichi could already prove he was alive. Out of all the things he could have said as the last word as himself before switching back to Kokichi, it’s this. Admittedly, this is probably intended to be spoken as Kokichi already, before turning the voice changer back on, but even so, this sounds ad-libbed – I’m sure the real Kokichi would have said something more dickishly flippant, rather than thinking he messed with them too much. This isn’t just, welp, everything according to plan, had some fun being Kaito for a while, convinced everyone he’s dead, now let’s get on with the rest. If it’s an ad-lib, it’s still partly drawing from how Kaito’s feeling right now – and it sounds almost… disappointed. Like Kaito was hoping to have achieved more with this, and he realises now that he was “messing around” (being a little too optimistic about Shuichi’s abilities) to have thought he could do so.

Exisal Kokichi:  “Soooorry! That was just a little joke!”

And look who’s apologising for (supposedly) lying to them, again. Also evidently not scripted.

Maki:  “You’re still an asshole…”

Maki only ever uses language this strong towards Kokichi, and only during this case. Pretending to be Kaito just to toy with their emotions sure is an asshole move, and the person who did that asshole move definitely knows it.

Shuichi:  “True, and I can’t forgive him… but we still need to stay calm, be rational. Because we need to get to the truth of Kaito’s death.”

Monokuma:  “Y-Y-Y-Yeah! Just keep calm and carry on!”

Monokuma was really, really hoping that this whole endeavour he prompted would have actually unravelled the mystery, like, at all. All it did was get them right back where they started, still without any more proof of it than Monokuma’s already seen. He still isn’t sure that’s the real truth of the matter, but he’s not going to find out more about that if Shuichi isn’t thinking about it any longer. He’d love to tell them to keep thinking even more about if Kaito really is dead, maybe poke them to look at the video more closely, but that’d make his intentions too obvious at this point.

It seems that despite wanting to know who the culprit is, Monokuma is also trying not to let them realise that he needs to know who the culprit is. He does not want them to figure out there’s an audience, does he.

---

[Next post]

[codenamecynic]

Helplessness (Dungeons & Dragons - pre-relationship Taliesin ‘Harper’ Ferryman/Cort Raghnall, circa year 13 of Swordmaster’s Son)

Warning for violence, abuse, mention of harm to animals

If this was the first time, Cort might have been surprised. It’s not.

He knows what’s going to happen even before Taliesin throws the first punch. He should have stopped Gordri the minute the ham-fisted bully decided to amuse himself at Taliesin’s expense, or whatever it was he thought he was doing, drowning a litter of kittens. He isn’t even sure that Gordri knows himself, except that hurting things seems to come naturally and a hammer is just as useful for breaking bones as it is for building bridges, a tool regardless.

It all happens so fast. Cort’s too far away to make a move, his feet frozen to the ground, and his father, impassive and blank-faced as ever, stands still and silent next to him watching as Lord Dorhal Ferryman dismounts his horse and whips his son bloody.

Cort wants to look away but he doesn’t, curling his toes against the insides of his boots until his bones ache because he can’t even clench his fists, can’t even frown. People are watching. People are always watching.

It isn’t over quickly, and it’s all the more savage for it. Taliesin, the bloody little idiot, won’t just take it - he never just takes it - stumbling over and over to his feet, and then his knees, and then crumpled into a ball in the dirt, back rounded against the lash. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t plead for it to stop, just these little sounds when the leather connects that seem like they’ve been strangled out of him, high and sharp.

The crop breaks across Taliesin’s shoulder and Lord Ferryman sneers and throws it away, leaving it and his son on the ground like refuse for someone else to clean up. The sparse crowd disperses, the entertainment over. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

Cort doesn’t move until his father does, hard on his heels but still walking. The swordmaster doesn’t run for things that aren’t emergencies. 

Taliesin hasn’t risen and doesn’t as they draw near, head down with forehead resting in the dirt, both arms crossed across his stomach, holding himself like he’ll split apart at the seams. His breath is short and sharp like the noises from before, face splotched red and wet with tears, his eyes screwed shut. He doesn’t open them, not even when Cort’s father reaches down to pick him up, pulling him over one shoulder like a corpse. Cort trails behind him as they walk to the swordmaster’s quarters, reassuring himself with the way one of Taliesin’s hands clutches the back of his father’s shirt, clenched to a white-knuckled fist.

*

They lay Taliesin out face down across the little bed in the back, made up with just a sheet, and Cort fetches water while his father hunts down the bottle of strong-smelling astringent and a handful of bandages.

Taliesin whimpers once when the first strip is laid, fingers curling into the sheets until his knuckles go pale and bloodless, but quickly hushes when his father's ministrations don't cease, as if he knows it's pointless. Instead he shivers mutely, the muscles in his thin arms flexing as he holds tight to the wet coverlet beneath him as the blood from his wounds is sluiced away and Cort’s father covers the angry rents in his flesh with the tincture-soaked gauze.

It stings, Cort knows, but Taliesin bears it in silence, his face deceptively neutral. His eyes are open, unfocused, fat tears sliding unchecked across the bridge of his nose until they disappear into the blanket beneath him, but he doesn't make a sound. It strangles something in Cort's own throat, choking him on the urge to vomit or scream.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, and eventually his father stops, pulling himself up from the edge of the mattress with a creaking of knees and a sigh. He crosses wordlessly out of the room, drying his hands on the remains of the shirt they've cut from Taliesin's back, and Cort follows him silently into the office, closing the door behind him.

"You have a question."

"Why didn't you stop him."

It doesn't sound so much like a question but a desperate accusation; he hears the edge of emotion in his voice and immediately tempers it, body shifting unconsciously to mirror his father's stance, firm and planted.

Nial Raghnall looks at his son across the distance of the desk between them, more expressionless than usual. "Taliesin or his father?"

"Lord Ferryman." He wants to hiss the title, spit it from his mouth like venom.

"Why didn't you?"

He's not expecting that, the burbling wrath in his chest suddenly falling still. He doesn't have an answer that feels right. It wouldn't have made a difference. It would have made it worse. Taliesin should have known better, should have picked a better moment, shouldn't have cared at all.

He clasps his hands behind his back, tight and wringing, unable to answer as his father moves to face him, man to man.

"That's not what we do."

"What do we do, then?"

"We serve. And we remember our place."

It sounds like a threat, but when he lifts his eyes to his father's face all he sees is weariness, no hint of sharp disapproval in the edges of his expression. He doesn't know what it means. Less so when Nial lays a red vial down on the edge of his desk and crosses to the door.

"Have him drink it, and make him rest. He'll scar if he doesn't."

And then he is alone with the cacophony of his thoughts, roaring like blood in his ears. He takes the vial and it is strangely hot in his hand. He can't feel magic like some people can; maybe it's just his own body going up in flames, so fruitlessly, pointlessly angry and dissatisfied.

But that's not something he's meant to need. Satisfaction is for people who want things, and that is not what they do either.

The hopelessness in that moment is overwhelming, and he puts the vial in his pocket lest he crush it in his grip. Then it would be as much use to Taliesin as he is.

He doesn't make a practice of crying but the tears come anyway, gathering hot and hateful. He lets them well but not spill over, pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, deep breaths until the hammering inside him stops and his vision is clear again. He does not have time for this self indulgence, pointless wallowing when there is work to be done.

Taliesin needs someone, and all he has is Cort.

He looks almost asleep when Cort reenters the room, too exhausted to do more than lie there. He stirs when Cort sits down at the end of the bed though, blearily lifting his head. Cort hesitates and then reaches out a hand to soothe him, fingers sliding over the frantic curl of Taliesin's hair, smoothing it back.

Taliesin hesitates under the gentleness of the touch but quickly sighs and lays his head back down, letting Cort do as he likes. They stay that way for a long time, Taliesin's hair soft and cool under Cort's fingers, delicate in a way Cort has never been.

"You're upset," Taliesin ventures eventually, less a question than a muted bid for confirmation. "At me?"

Yes. "No." Both are true.

Taliesin makes a humming sound deep in his throat, quietly acknowledging.

"I shouldn't have. It was just kittens. I knew better."

He shouldn't say it, shouldn't say anything; it's not his place, but the words come spilling out anyway, too honest. "It's never just kittens, Taliesin."

"No, I don't suppose it is."

His voice is tired, world-weary, ill-suited to the distressing smallness of him, and Cort's fingers go still on the back of his neck, just above the highest strip of gauze that wraps over the deep gash in his shoulder. It's tempting to let him fall asleep where he is, feels cruel to make him move, but his father's words echo in the back of his mind. This will leave its marks, and he doubts Taliesin will thank him for them if he can lessen their effect and chooses not to.

"Sit up," he prompts and Taliesin shifts sleepily under his fingers, needing help. They manage it between the two of them, slowly and careful, though Taliesin wavers again with his fingers around the vial, unsteady. Cort closes his hand over Taliesin's to keep him from dropping it, and bites his tongue against the urge to wince when Taliesin looks up at him, gray eyes dull with more than just pain.

"Should I? It's not so bad."

"You'll scar."

"I already have scars."

He does, and each one feels like a failure. "...drink the potion, Taliesin."

Eventually Taliesin tips his head at the command, acquiescent, and drains the vial. Cort watches him swallow painfully, taking the empty glass from him before it can fall from nerveless fingers and shatter on the floor. 

"S'gross," he complains, words slurring, and Cort frowns.

"The least of your problems I'm sure," he says tartly and Taliesin gives a little laugh that comes out more like a wheeze, and doesn't argue. Cort relents, too quickly like always, and allows it when Taliesin drops his head onto his shoulder, leaning against his upper arm.

It's no good to hold him, the mess of his back won't permit it, and he's not sure he should anyway. He doesn't want to encourage this, even if he doesn't really think that Taliesin was wrong. In starting the fight, anyway. Cort's not sure about the rest of it. It's dangerous, clear and present, and no one will miss an unruly fourth son, especially one who won't buckle under authority and toe the line.

Taliesin's young, there's still time to learn, but Cort isn't sure he wants that for him. Isn't sure whether or not that makes him a traitor, or who in this situation most requires his loyalty.

As if he could choose.

"Lie down." The words come out harsh, much more harshly than he means them to, but it only stirs Taliesin a little.

"Mmm?"

"I said lie down, Taliesin. You need to rest so the potion will work."

"Okay, okay," he capitulates, almost drunken, and again between the two of them they get him horizontal, spread out over soiled sheets on his stomach. Cort checks his bandages once he's settled, smoothing them over tender skin so they lie flat over each wound. He tries to be gentle, but if he isn't Taliesin doesn't say.

He does reach for him when Cort makes to get up though, a clumsy finger hooking into his pocket. "Don't go."

"Taliesin-"

"Stay. Please?" He murmurs, both pleading and bargaining so pridelessly. "Just ‘til I fall asleep."

Such a child and still, fool he is, Cort can't say no. He settles down again, bed dipping cautiously beneath his weight, and Taliesin closes his eyes, long thin fingers curled to clutch at the loose fabric of the leg of Cort's pants. Such a desperately small thing, a sad little gesture like that's comforting enough and he'll make do, and as his breathing calms and deepens Cort fights to control the way his own wants to thunder out of him like clattering stones down a mountainside. He doesn't even dare to touch him as he had before, does nothing at all, sitting still and silent with hands clenched into fists on his thighs until he's sure Taliesin is asleep.

[zacharybosch]

Playing Dead - chapter 5

in which will and hannibal finally have a conversation

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

read chapter 5 of Playing Dead below or on ao3!

Will left Beverly and Miriam at the café, with instructions to meet him the following day at a nearby park. On the walk back to the house, he turned over in his mind the options he now had laid out before him. He could do just as he said he would, kill Hannibal and wipe him from memory and then take off somewhere new. It was an appealing thought, to be cut loose and on the road again; so much of his life he had spent solitary and transitory, and he liked it that way.

He could take Hannibal and disappear into the night, lead Beverly and Miriam on a wild chase across the continent. Maybe even take a foray into Asia, though it would be far more difficult for him to blend in. But what was life without a little danger? It had been too long since he’d had a real thrill. Moving Hannibal in his current state would be difficult, though. Would his body even hold together through the upheaval of a cross-continental race into oblivion?

Or he could attempt the change again tonight, one last time. There was a good chance that it would fail again, just as it had failed so many countless times already. It was the jagged friction between them, the months of bickering and sullen silences that made up the roadblock on their path to the future; Will’s blood could flow freely into Hannibal’s body, but the spark, the vital essence that would transform Hannibal from human to vampire, was not getting through.

Will could snap his fingers and make it all go away if he wanted to; it was a perk of his vampire nature that he could choose what bothered him and what didn’t, fine-tune his feelings to be perfectly in line with whatever a given situation required, and to do so wouldn’t bother Will in the slightest. It was an act as simple as choosing whether to sit or to stand, and the resultant feelings would be no less authentic for it. Every emotion would be deep and true, from the word go right up until the moment he decided to stop.

But Will was stubborn, sometimes to a fault. He didn’t want to give it up so easy. They would go into it as equals or not at all, and Hannibal had to understand that Will was not a toy to be played with or thrown out of the pram as the whim took him.

Will arrived back at the house with no real decision made, and as he crossed the threshold from the hallway to the sitting room he could see Hannibal, entrenched on the sofa in his ostentatious silk robe and gearing up to greet Will with what was no doubt some terribly clever and cutting remark.

Will held up a weary hand, and to his faint disbelief Hannibal actually paused. “No. Not tonight, Hannibal. No more of your barbs. I’m sick to death of it all. We have more important things to think about right now. We’ve been found.”

“I see. Beverly and Miriam, I assume?”

“Yes. They cornered me at the market.”

“And I suppose now you’re going whisk me off into the night again, leaving them another flimsy murder scene to discover? Your last one evidently didn’t work out so well, if they’ve managed to find us.”

Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “This is why I don’t want to fucking turn you, Hannibal. Everything is a problem for you these days. You’re in the middle of the longest, shittiest tantrum I’ve ever seen. A vampire’s temperament is formed largely by the mood they were in when they were turned, and I do not want to turn you when you’re like this and then be saddled with your eternal bad mood.”

For a few seconds, Hannibal was perfectly still, his face blank while he tried and failed to select the appropriate emotion. When he did speak, it was careful to the point of hesitation. “I didn’t realise you were having second thoughts about this.”

“I’m not having second thoughts,” Will sighed. “I just… You make it hard. As much as I’ve been able, I’ve always lived my life alone, and I’ve taken great pains to keep it that way. Right now you’re really making me regret ever trying to integrate into society. It’s difficult, okay? Turning a human is difficult. If it wasn’t, there would be a hell of a lot more vampires running around. It’s not just your body that needs to accept the change, Hannibal. You need to be open to accepting it and I need to be open to giving it. If we’re out of sync then it’s not going to take, no matter how many times we try. It’s mental as much as it is physical, and lately I’ve been struggling to remember why I liked you so much.” Will sat down heavily next to Hannibal and put his head in his hands, and then laughed bitterly. “We should’ve tried when you sucked my dick. It would’ve worked then, I guarantee.”

“This is the first time you’ve acknowledged that encounter.”

“And that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged it.”

“I would’ve done more, if you’d asked it of me. I expected… hoped… that you would,” Hannibal said slowly, a not insubstantial amount of old hurt underlining his words. “But it seemed to mean little to you in the grand scheme of things.”

“It was a mistake. I hadn’t planned it. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Then why did it?”

“I don’t know. I wanted it.”

“Have you wanted it since?”

Will looked sidelong at Hannibal, a beat of silence before he responded. “Not enough to do anything about it.”

“But you have wanted it.”

“Please stop poking at me and just say whatever it is you have to say.”

“You’re falling into old patterns, pointlessly rebuilding walls between us that had already been torn down. It hurts us both, and makes us hurt each other in turn.”

“Maybe I like to hurt.”

“Then there are more mutually satisfying ways to hurt than this. Will, you said that for the change to take hold, you have to be open to giving it. You’re sealing yourself back inside your forts. Come down from your high tower and understand that opening yourself fully to me is not the weakness that it would be with any other human. I am not one of them. I came into this life only so that you could take me beyond it. Perhaps waiting for the change has made me sour in these past months, but I’ll not apologise for it. All this time I have been waiting for you, Will. I would not have waited for any other.”

And there it was, the tiny admission that was Hannibal’s equivalent of rolling over and exposing his underbelly. It was the Hannibal that Will hadn’t seen in months, the Hannibal who sat across from him in therapy, at dinner, late at night in front of the fireplace; the golden spiderweb cracks in the porcelain exterior, tiny glimpses of the tender flesh beneath. Will was Hannibal’s one weakness, and Hannibal had always wielded it as a weapon. His soft parts were quicksand, ready to swallow Will up at the first tentative touch.

“You make me weak,” Will said, though there was no anger or resentment in his words.

“We make each other weak,” Hannibal countered, “and drive each other to reckless and cruel actions. But together we are still stronger than any who could hope to stand against us.”

“You would paint the world red, wouldn’t you? Leave cities awash in blood.”

“Only for you,” Hannibal said. And then, for the second time that evening, he was on the verge of hesitation when he asked: “Do you experience love?”

Will smiled. Hannibal might as well have torn his own heart out and laid it in Will’s lap. “I did when I was human. Or at least, I experienced something that felt like it. But the things I feel as a vampire don’t really map neatly to the human range of emotion. Love is part of a feeling that I can experience, but it’s not a whole feeling by itself.” Will shifted in his seat to look at Hannibal fully, at the proud, aristocratic line of his nose and the pillow of his lips. He looked more like a vampire than Will ever had. “Why do you ask?”

“A little apprehension, I suppose.”

“Worried that you’ll fall madly in love with me after the change?” Will asked, half-joking.

“To the point of foolishness, yes. It is a concern. You’re already… important to me, Will. More than I can adequately convey. I wouldn’t have let you anger me so if I didn’t care about you. But I’ve no wish to be a slave.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never experienced emotion as others do. I never wanted to. But when I knew you in Baltimore you were nothing but emotion, a restless sea of churning feelings that you couldn’t, or wouldn’t, control. You had a panic attack in the foyer of my house. I don’t want to become a vampire only to discover that every emotion is a consuming tidal wave. I find the idea of being overwhelmed like that to be repulsive. If that’s what life is like for you, I would rather remain human.”

“I wasn’t sure if you remembered the panic attack thing,” Will said. “Those were extreme circumstances. I’d been playing at being human for decades, and I’d let human weakness creep in. When… when I don’t fight what I am, all emotions are optional. I can view and dissect them from the outside, choose what to feel and exactly how much I want to feel it. Nothing is overwhelming. Everything is possible.” Will placed a cool hand against Hannibal’s chest, and felt the weak thud of his heart. In that moment, he was decided: Hannibal would die for the final time tonight. Will would bite over his heart, sink his teeth into the fluttering muscle and drink deep. And if their stars aligned and their blood was true, he would arise the next day burning brighter than the sun. “You don’t need to be concerned, Hannibal. You’ve never really been human. You can choose to love me or not.”

“Just as you have chosen?”

Will tilted his head and parted his lips, and let his fangs slide out on a purposeful exhale. “Yes,” he said, all teeth and covetous eyes.

“I fear my choice is already made,” Hannibal said, and he sounded just like he had miles away and months ago, patching up a savage bite mark on his arm, staring at Will’s reflection in his bathroom mirror and promising never to stop him.

“I know you’re just telling me what I want to hear,” Will murmured, mouth suddenly very close to Hannibal’s ear, “but it’s working. Maybe there’s truth behind it. Maybe there isn’t. I don’t care either way. You’re sly, and tricky. I like that about you. Base anger and pettiness was never very becoming of you.”

“What else do you like about me, Will?”

“I like your teeth. Fangs would look beautiful in your mouth. I like the way you walk. Your penchant for manipulation. The way you manoeuvred me back in Baltimore, serving me that fucking human steak, god… I don’t think it was even a truly conscious decision on your part. You just couldn’t help it. You slide people into these situations even when you have no reason to. You’re a snake.”

“Would that make you Eve?”

Will ran his lips over the fine skin of Hannibal’s neck, tracing the pattern of veins and the dip of muscle. “It was hardly Eden I was in, but you were my passage out into something new. Fuck, you smell so good. Take this off.” Will pulled at Hannibal’s sleeve, dragging it down to expose his shoulder and chest. His other hand still lay against Hannibal’s chest, and he began to move his fingers against Hannibal’s impossibly warm skin, desirous and possessive.

“Kiss me,” Hannibal said, and Will was on his mouth almost before the words had left his lips. “Bite me,” Hannibal said, and Will pulled Hannibal’s head back and sank his teeth into Hannibal’s shoulder. “Fuck me,” Hannibal said, and Will moaned into Hannibal’s skin.

Will gathered up Hannibal’s trailing robe and slung his arm under his knees. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Hannibal did as requested, and Will picked him up as though he weighed nothing at all. “I’m not fucking you on that damn couch. I’ve half a mind to burn the thing. I don’t ever want to see you sitting on it again,” Will said between kisses, the heat of Hannibal’s mouth too intoxicating to resist.

They made it to the bedroom, and Will threw Hannibal down on the bed with no great care for how he landed. He stripped quickly and inelegantly, and was back sprawling over Hannibal within seconds. He licked at the bite wound on Hannibal’s shoulder, a few sluggish drops of blood still leaking out, and then they were kissing again, Hannibal breathless and overheated.

Will was hard, harder than he’d been when Hannibal had sunk to his knees in Baltimore; harder than he’d been two hundred years ago in the middle of an orgy that still made him colour a little to think of it; harder than he’d been as a green boy in his first ever tumble in a haystack, feeling as though his whole body might explode.

Hannibal was half-hard at best. He doubted greatly his ability to maintain an erection, weak as he was after so many months of being drained of all his blood, and though Will kissed him thoroughly and rubbed his hard body luxuriously against him, Hannibal’s doubts proved correct.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will said, already working his way down Hannibal’s body. “It means now I can do this.” He took Hannibal’s soft cock into his mouth, dragging it delicately between his fangs; if Hannibal had been fully hard, his cock would’ve been too thick to safely fit and Will’s teeth would’ve torn it to shreds. Will laved his tongue over the pliable flesh, wrapping the lushness of his lips around the faintly swollen head and then pulling back to open his mouth wantonly and let the dangerous points of his teeth peek out.

“I would let you,” Hannibal breathed, staring at Will’s teeth where they hovered over his tender flesh. “I would let you do anything.”

Will smiled savagely, and licked a long stripe up the length of Hannibal’s cock. “Ask me when you’re changed.”

Will sat up then, and pushed up Hannibal’s legs from where they were splayed about his hips. He gave his own cock a few long strokes, then rubbed the head against Hannibal’s body, smearing pre-come between his cheeks. “Do you like it to hurt?” Will asked, already breaching gently with a finger.

“Spit on me once. That will suffice.”

“In all my years I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so filthy,” Will said, and then pushed Hannibal’s legs back further.

“I’m, ah, I’m sure you ha--” Hannibal’s words were cut short as Will let a long trail of saliva fall from his lips and land hot on Hannibal’s hole.

“Oh, I have heard plenty worse,” Will mused, pressing the head of his cock into Hannibal’s body and pushing in excruciatingly slow, “but, fuck, it’s your mouth that makes it sound so, so…”

Will fell forward onto his elbows and rolled his hips, and for the next few minutes words were put aside in favour of the fevered clutch of their hands, the crush of their lips, the push and pull of their bodies in tandem.

Will bent his head and bit gently into the flesh of Hannibal’s chest, directly over his heart. “What does that feel like?” he asked, his voice little more than a husky murmur.

“Like I want to die.”

“Good. Hold onto that.” Will sank his teeth further into the heaving muscle, sucking and licking at the blood that overflowed from the wound. Hannibal twined his fingers into Will’s hair, sighing and moaning at every swipe of his tongue and thrust of his hips. Truly, Hannibal couldn’t think of anything so transcendent, so purely blissful as this. He had thought that being hauled over his butcher block and drained like a sacrifice at the altar of Will’s godhood was the peak of ecstasy, but the memory of that first draining now faded into nothing. This was his true arrival, the moment he had sought his whole life before ever he knew that such a thing existed.

Will pulled his mouth away briefly, and bit his own wrist to let a spill of bright blood come forth. He held it against Hannibal’s mouth, urging him to drink, and then bit down anew into the meat of Hannibal’s chest. The pull was harder this time, Will drawing out great mouthfuls of blood every second, and Hannibal knew that he must drink deeply of Will in turn. He released a hand from Will’s hair and used it to hold Will’s wrist more firmly in place, difficult though it was to coordinate his limbs. He felt light as air and just as insubstantial, as though Will’s blood would fall into his mouth and through the back of his skull.

Even as his life began slipping away, Hannibal could feel the heat rising within him, though he could no longer tell if it was the warmth of Will’s blood dripping messy over his face or if it was the rushing tidal wave of his orgasm. Will was biting him, and he was fucking him, and he was killing him, and he was filling him with new life so that he need never die again.

Keeping Will’s bleeding wrist clamped to his mouth was a struggle. Hannibal barely had strength left to hold himself together any more, so he let his arms drop to the bed and let the blood smear over his face and trusted that Will would do what needed to be done.

The last bright image that seared itself into Hannibal’s mind was of Will above him, mouth dark and bloody and hanging open in pleasure as he spilled himself inside. The terrible searing light of him expanded and blinded and burned Hannibal up where he lay, a great flare in the darkness of existence as his human life crumbled to ash and drifted away on the winds of oblivion.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 10: INFINITE

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a series of mine in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, we’ll be sharpening our blades and resisting the pain as we discuss what it takes to be the right-hand henchman of Sonic Forces: Infinite.

The Gist: Dr. Eggman was minding his evildoing business when one day, from thin air emerged a particularly strange jewel that seemed to be drawn to him. Realising this was no mere Chaos Emerald, due to both its peculiar shape and its bizarre reality-distorting effects, Eggman immediately contemplated how he could effectively utilise this new gemstone for his purposes.

Suddenly, jackals!

“Go forth, Red Shirts!”

Eggman's base was under attack by the imaginatively titled Jackal Squad, a group of thieving mercenaries who figured they could profit from the theft of the doctor's equipment. Unfortunately for them, Eggman had Main Character Immunity, so their efforts to kill him send him to the Shadow Realm fell flat. Despite nearly getting killed by them, Eggman knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he offered the role of apprenticeship to the squad's heterochromia-inflicted leader. His fellow jackals insisted not to take up the offer, because even they knew the risks, but the leader signed up immediately, because he's not all right in the head if you know what I'm saying.

In a cruel twist of fate, Eggman's first request for his new stooges was for them to take care of Shadow the Hedgehog. That Shadow the Hedgehog. Ultimate Lifeform Shadow the Hedgehog. Fast, immortal, capable of stopping time, drops his bracelets to grow even stronger Shadow the Hedgehog. They had to defeat that Shadow the Hedgehog.

They did not succeed.

BOOOONESAAAAAW’S READYYYYYYYY

After metaphorically and literally murdering the rest of the already forgotten squad, Shadow gave some parting words to their defeated leader, and those parting words were responsible for what happened next, and everything after. As someone who prided himself on being the ultimate mercenary, Mr. Jackal was bloody well peeved off about coming to terms with his physical shortcomings, and thus decided to give himself an upgrade in the form of sticking a gem on his chest, putting on a mask worthy of a heavy metal cover, and rechristening himself as... Infinite. Infinite power. Infinite possibilities. Infinite memes.

The upgrade paid off. With the aid of the gem, known to us as the Phantom Ruby, Eggman's latest minion was able to distort the environment, summon past foes, and do what no other villain not retconned out of existence had ever managed to achieve: defeat Sonic the Hedgehog.

Eggman was delighted. The past foes were delighted too, as evidenced by how they stood there to take it all in.

This is a very sentimental moment for them.

With Sonic out of the way, Eggman was able to take over 99% of the planet, because Sonic's friends were tragically all on holiday at the same time. During the subsequent six months of suffering and strife, Infinite relished in the doctor's conquest, but not as much as he relished in killing and terrorizing innocents. One incident in particular involved him leaving behind a scared youngster for the sake of letting them know fear. This would turn out to be a big mistake on his part, when - with the ever reliable power of friendship - said youngster would go on to oppose him as part of the Resistance. (This franchise isn't known for creative group names.)

“L’Oreal: Because I’m not weak.”

The formerly incapacitated Sonic also managed to eventually break free from his captivity, and proceeded to do what he does best alongside his new friend. Infinite was having none of this, and so he made absolutely certain to... leave him alive. Despite Eggman's insistence that a freed Sonic could cause as much trouble as a freed Sonic could in every other situation since 1991, Infinite remained confident that he couldn't be beaten. Three guesses for how that turned out. The first two don't count.

He was serious about crushing the Resistance though, and together with Eggman, not only did they summon a whole army of clones, they also summoned an artificial sun that, upon reaching the ground, would ensure the Resistance would meet a terrible fate. Good always triumphs however, and the clones were fought, the sun was vanquished, and Infinite himself was defeated once and for all.

It was at this point that Eggman decided to reveal that Infinite was a sham, a distraction, a red herring. For all his power, Infinite was little more than a glorified mook the whole time. Infinite was never the doctor's endgame. He was. Infinite didn't even have true mastery over the Phantom Ruby... but he did.

Death Chad Robot.

In just a few minutes, Eggman tapped into the power of the Ruby more than Infinite ever did, and overclocked it to turn his Doc Ock-looking mech into a beast. But through thick and thin (and a second Nega-Wisp Armor), Sonic and his ambiguously named friend teamed up to take the madman down, because we're Sonic Heroes.

The world was saved from further tyranny, and Eggman went on to either lose his memory or shrug it off to take part in racing spinoffs depending on the continuity. But Infinite - or rather, the jackal who called himself Infinite - remains absent. He could be alive. He could be dead. He could finally get a haircut. His fate is a mystery that we may never know the answer to. Maybe he's spending his retirement climbing the tallest of mountains.

The Design: Careful you don't cut yourself with all this edge.

You could have gotten yourself an eyepatch for half the price.

Demonic eyes, dark colours, anime hair... he's a villain alright. Infinite's design is unashamed of itself. It knows it's ridiculous, and it goes all out with it, which - let's be frank - matches the character in general pretty reasonably. Funnily enough, I don't have much else to say about it. It's not my favourite character design in the world, but I can credit them for pioneering loudspeaker ears. And at least he's not a hedgehog. Or an echidna.

If you listen carefully, you can hear Shadow sighing in relief under the knowledge that he's no longer the edgiest guy in the room.

The Personality: What's an easy way to make a villain a villain? By making them pointlessly sadistic, of course.

"You may call this the Sonic Chronicles soundtrack... in the brief moments that remain to your eardrums."

And I don't speak lightly when I say pointless. Infinite's penchant for sadism is actually treated as a character flaw, as it contributes heavily to his ultimate downfall. He wastes time by drawing out his kills, and his decision to leave his greatest foes alive because they're supposedly "not worth killing" bites him in the ass on more than one occasion. Even Eggman calls him out on his shitty decisions.

"Don't get cocky with me, son. This ain't the Adventure Era anymore.”

And this ties in with how he is in general. Infinite, for all his delusions of grandeur and nihilistic waxing, is a bit of a fuck up. Him and his squad combined couldn't even take on Eggman on his own (albeit with a Phantom Ruby in his possession), and when the mask comes on, it becomes clear that he only defeated Sonic through the element of unfamiliarity. Once Sonic starts to know about him and fights him for real, Infinite doesn't rely on the Phantom Ruby nearly as well as he could. He has a jewel that can do all sorts of distortions, and all he can think to do with it is use basic lasers and blasts for the most part. He's a thug at the end of the day. A powerful thug, but a thug all the same.

Despite this, though it's only hinted here and there, it seems that he has an Inferiority Superiority Complex. His passionate response to Shadow calling him pathetic (ironically, he never actually said he was weak) goes without saying, but then there's his dramatic speeches about having no hope, and how you can't count on anyone, and blah blah blah eat a Snickers already.

The Execution: Much like Erazor Djinn, you may have gathered that this character has a lot in common with everyone's favourite Ice Age antique, Mephiles the Dark. Like Erazor, Infinite is a better (albeit flawed) take on Mephiles' schtick, but whereas Erazor better emulates the success that Mephiles tried to go for, Infinite better represents the failure that Mephiles actually is... right down to showing how Silver would react if he had actual brain cells.

Above: Character development.

Hell, they both share the fate of getting swatted by Omega.

Not bitter at all.

Anyway, to explain this requires some elaboration. I'm aware that a lot of what I've said about Infinite sounds negative, and that's not entirely untrue, since I'll be the first to admit that he could have been handled a little better, and fleshed out a bit more, especially with all the pre-release hype and attention he was given. At the same time however, he's still leagues above the likes of Mephiles, for one simple reason that we discussed previously: his incompetence is intentional.

Maybe not fully - the pre-Infinite breakdown probably wasn't meant to be as comedic as it ended up being - but you can't tell me his setbacks weren't there on purpose. Eggman lost the war because Infinite left his enemies alive and free. Eggman lost the war because Infinite clumsily left a Phantom Ruby replica behind. Eggman lost the war because Infinite kept messing around when he had better things to do, didn't know what to do other than blindly attack when the chips were down, and got disposed of with little fanfare by the doctor after having failed him enough times. Compare all this to Eggman himself in the same game, who despite being known for his childishness and occasional shortsightedness, had a lot of genuine foresight to share around, and went from backup plan to backup plan like it was nothing.

In other words, Infinite could be seen as a well-needed deconstruction of villains like Mephiles, and why they're not as great as they look at first glance. And in that respect, he's kind of a genius concept.

“Ugh, MORE shitty friends...”

Infinite is a very divisive character, and I can see why. Alongside his far from perfect execution, many fans were expecting and hoping for a straight example of late 00's Sonic villains, in part because that's what the marketing and his infamous theme song set him up as and partly because '06 is now considered better than everything afterwards because Baldy McNosehair is literally oppressing all Sonic fans across the world. If you're like me on the other hand, and don't have the slightest unironic interest in those kind of villains, you can probably respect Infinite a little more for addressing the elephant in the room. And even though he is indeed flawed, I think most of that has to do with the wasted potential of the plot itself rather than anything inherently to do with Infinite's own character.

He's no Eggman, Erazor, Metal Sonic, or Hard-Boiled Heavies. But he's above Mephiles, Black Doom, Eggman Nega, and so many others who blend together after a while. Still, maybe someone should assist Shadow the next time he decides to insult somebody.

Crusher Gives Infinite a: Thumbs Sideways!

[cryptidcommander]

All the numbers for Var? >:3ccc

1. On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

Varellias bathes, that’s it. She hates getting stuff on her skin.

2. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

She’s really fond of fruits and vegetables- she can eat meat, but she won’t unless forced to. (Cooked meat or just meat in general reminds her too mch of Risen and Forged.) Her favorite foods tend to be those that aren’t too overwhelming in flavour; after all those solo trips out in Orr and Maguuma and often having to go without food for the night in the interest of mantaining supplies, her stomach isn’t built for anything too fatty or rich. Porridge, salads and fruits are okay, soup is fine, but anything else runs the risk of her throwing up.

3. What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

Hmm… I don’t think she has any pet peeves actually, she’s pretty chill. 

4. What’s your OC’s response to being asked for money by a homeless person?

She would give it, she has way too much money on her hands. The only thing that would make her hesitate is if the one asking is showing obvious signs of using the money for less than acceptable causes, but generally she just gives it.

5. Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

For a ranger, Varellias has horrible navigation skills. At the very least when she’s outside she can usually take to high ground to figure out where she is (she’s a very good climber) but in buildings or airships?? She can be staring at a map and still get lost.

6. What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation?

The people she cares about. If they were threatened, or hurt, or in danger, or even if they just ask… She’d once almost doomed the world for her best friend. She has unhealthy levels of devotion.

7. Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at thier own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to?  A Dog?  A Houseplant? A rock with a smiley face painted on?

Well, yeah! She has a lot of pets, practically raised Taimi, took good care of Aurene. She’s a solid A+ choice for a babysitter, whatever she’s taking care of would be the safest thing in the world.

8. f your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do?  both emotionally and academically.

Probably badly if she only had one night to prep, but I can’t see her caring all too much anyway. 

9. What would cause your OC to chose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

Grudges, and again, if it relates to the people she cares about.

10. On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

“Breaks out and utterly destroys the spaceship she was in”.

11. What song is 100% guaranteed to get your OC beyond turnt and will be sung loudly and embarrassingly, either in public or the shower?

She never sings, but she can be persuaded to hum and whistle “Don’t fear the night”.

12. What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbours?

What do you mean, normal people don’t trap the area around them before going to sleep? It’s just common sense!!

13. Under what circumstances would your OC appear naked in public?

A dare. She takes promises very seriously.

14. What thing did your OC’s parents do that your OC wishes they had a better explanation for?

Why did the Pale Tree never offer more support to Caithe or Trahearne or Canach? Didn’t she notice that they weren’t doing well? Varellias is… not sure if she can forgive her mother for that, and for what happened in Heart of Thorns. It’s strained their previously close relationship heavily.

15. How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

VERY RARELY. She’s incredibly focused, and her mind isn’t likely to wander.

That said… She was basically unresponsive after Heart of Thorns. Her body was going on autopilot while her mind was near cataconic- she did things numbly, couldn’t focus, wandered in a fog. It took her a very while to recover, and in that period of time her friends had to step up to keep her out of trouble.

16. How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened becuase of thier Impulsivity or inability to be so? 

 Varellias actually has pretty decent impulse control for a commander- but she only has it as The Commander. Outside of battle her impulse is basically “ride or die!”. Ask anyone about The Commander and they would say that she’s an amazing coolheaded fighter, and then ask anyone about Varellias, and they’d tell you about how she jumped out of the Pale Tree’s chamber last week and crashed into Canach like a missile. 

17. How does your OC sabotage themselves? 

 Not sure how to answer this question, but she does have the habit of pulling her punches when fighting more mundane threats outside dragons/gods, which has on more than one occasion caused her to take far more severe injuries than she would have otherwise taken. 

 18. What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it? 

 It’s the Starborn Outfit, which she has been wanting to set on fire for a while now. The only reason she’s keeping it is because (1) the rest of the DW keeps stopping her, those traitors and (2) it was a gift. She last tried it on when it was given to her and never again. 

19. How Dehydrated is your OC right now? Are they going to fix this? 

 She’s staying hydrated! Gotta water the plant! 

 20. What’s your OC smell like?  no, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically.  Body odor? what have they been touching all day? When was thier last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent? 

 Thanks to being a Sylvari, Varellias has a pretty distinctive scent. It changes slightly depending on her surroundings, but the majority of the time she generally smells either like crushed rosemary or grass after the rain. Tried perfume once during a social event when Kas offered, but it just clashed with her natural odor too much to be worth using.

[letgraysonsheart]

Day Six/April 13th - Rain

A memory Damian thought was long forgotten emerges, of a time when everything was alright and he still had Grayson.

A/N: This is set before Dick comes back from being undercover, but after Damian came back from the dead. 

The sun is shining harsh and unrelentless on his face as he steps out on the patio. There is not a cloud to be seen, the Gotham sky looks almost an unnatural blue colour. The air, even as far from the city as the manor is, is never usually something that can be categorised as clean and fresh. Yet those are the words that comes to Damian’s mind as he walks towards the old wooden swing.

The swing is hanging from a thick branch on an old tree. It's one of those threes that have big roots and seems too have been standing there forever. Damian recalls seeing it in one of the old, very odd, family pictures that his father for some reasons insists to keep up in the manors halls. A cluster of Waynes in nice old-fashioned clothes, with somber expressions, all staring into the camera. His forefathers, which he's never felt connected too even as he walks their halls and eats at their dining table, all had the same jet-black hair and serious eyebrows.

The swing is one of the only signs that a child having has ever lived at the manor, at least if looked on from the outside.

The old wood creeks as Damian sits down on it. Bits of the old white rope that connects it to the tree falls off and sticks to his hand as he brushes over it to get a better grip.

Even if the swing is rarely used, there is a dented pitch of brown under it where the ground has been worn from countless children’s feet hitting it. It rained yesterday, and the brown mud has yet to completely dry. Some of it covers the tip of his red sneakers as he dips his foot down in it.

He slowly tests if the swing will hold him as he moves back and forth.

A memory he thought was long forgotten emerges.

Richard was the first one who had invited him to use the old swing. It had been a day not much different from today. The sky had cleared after a few days of heavy rain. They had both been tired and on edge after days of coming home from tense patrols, drenched to the bone.

He and Grayson were back then still new to the whole partner thing. Damian had not been in Gotham for too long, and was still heavily influenced by his upbringing in the League. It did not help that Richard, even if he tried to hide it, was both uncomfortable and insecure under the heavy cowl of the Bat. Damian had not been merciless in his critique of his older brother. He too had been unsure and insecure himself. He hadn't known any other method of reaching out to Grayson, besides with cruel words and too honest observations.

“Why are you dragging me here?” Damian remembers saying, most to fill the silence and to make sure Grayson knew his discomfort. Richard had interrupted him while he had been cleaning his katana, making sure the blade was sharp enough.

“Come on, it’s a beautiful day! We can’t sit here, stuck inside this dark cave all day,” Richard had exclaimed and Damian had known, even then, that arguing was a lost cause. He had huffed and scowled, but still followed Grayson up the stairs.

It had, in fact, been a beautiful day. Damian of course, had refused to admit that to Grayson.

The older had lead him through the mansion, out the glass door and towards the swing.

“No way, Grayson, we are not children in need of play,” he had said the moment he laid eyes on the swing.

“Come on, Dami-” the stupid nickname had earned Richard a scoff from him but the older continued nonetheless, “- all Wayne’s have used this swing. Used it to proved their amazing skills, flown higher than anyone before them!” Dick had exclaimed, throwing his arm out in a big movement as if that would make his point better. He had been walking backwards, his face towards Damian and his back towards the swing.

“I highly doubt ALL Wayne’s could’ve have swung from this unsturdy piece of wood. I refused to believe it’s that old, the Wayne-line goes very far back,” Damian had said, kicking the ground. Dick had frozen in his movement, his suntanned arms falling back to rest at his sides.

There had been a small silence.

“Your father did,” Richard had said. Something odd with his voice, something that Damian couldn’t decipher at that point. Grief, Damian had realised much later, when he had learned to read the older man better. Grief, with a hint of bitterness.

“Well, I guess I will have to prove myself, if only to show myself superior,” Damian had said. He had then made his way over to stand under the branch. Then and there he wasn’t sure why he had indulged Grayson. Maybe it was to put a stop to the awful silence. Later he recognised it as one of the first steps of what would be their strong partnership. Their brotherhood.

He had plopped down, and kicked his feet at the ground. Damian remembered the feeling of embarrassment when the swing barely moved, besides swinging a little to the side. The whole thing felt clumsy and odd. Embarrassment was something Damian was quite familiar with at the time, as he still was completely new to so much others deemed normal. It was just another feeling he masked in anger and cockiness.

“There is something wrong with this machine,” Damian had uttered. He had refused to meet Richard’s eyes.

“Damian, have you never used a swing like this before?” Richard had asked, his whole body screaming caution. He had been afraid of Damian’s reaction. Damian hadn’t answered. The silence had said enough.

Richard didn’t comment anything else. He didn’t push or pull or force Damian to admit to not knowing, he had only started moving. Damian had figured it was to leave, and had felt disappointed. Not that he would admit that to anyone, even now. His thoughts were telling him that Grayson had realised it wasn’t worth his time to teach a broken pre-teen how to use something as mundane as a swing.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Richard had surprised him.

A quite embarrassing sound had left his mouth, sounding much like a surprised yelp, as strong hands pushed at his back. He swung upwards, then back. His feet swinging with the momentum.

Another push.

He was flying. His stomach was swirling, and even if he tried he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Richard had been laughing.

The sun had been shining, and felt warm in his face. Damian had left himself close his eyes and live in the moment for a few seconds. He had basked in the feeling of being safe.

Now Damian uses his feet, back and forth, and gains speed as he swings. There is no one to push him. He is much bigger, he has done this before, he does not require any help. He gets higher than before, without anyone helping him. Not father nor Alfred would be adequate to perform the task anyway. It had always been their thing, his and Richards.

Not anymore.

For a few seconds he can see over the white fence, squaring in a small part of the big Wayne manor garden. He continues gaining speed, seeing even more of the closed in area.

He can see the stones from as the top of his swing. The grey row, with flowers some more beautiful than others in front of them. Some stones old, weathered down by the years. Others, more new with words that hurt more than the others.

Richard was never supposed to be captured in a space like that. He would feel like it was too small, and with too little room to move. Not that he could move anymore. Or even care. Grayson was never supposed to be so still, six feet underground in a wooden casket.

Damian stops his movements. Holds onto the ropes as his speed slows down again, not swinging back and forth as fast as before. His feet hits the ground more, and it makes stutters in his movement. The mud covers even more of his shoes, Alfred will in no doubt greet him with a sigh when he reenters the manor.

As he comes to a stop, blinking furiously away something that is not tears, he realises it has gotten darker. As he steps out from the shadow of the tree, he sees that the sky has in fact greyed again. The sun seems to only have been allowed to shine for that small amount of time.

The air seems heavy again, familiar, like it has been the last weeks since he came back home. Much like the air that has filled the halls of the manor in his absence. Something dark that has been looming over him since he first heard of what had become of Grayson.

The sky now matches his current emotions. It will in no doubt start to rain soon, if not today then tomorrow. It will be harsh and careless, in that way only Gotham weather manages to be.

Good, Damian thinks as he kicks the wood on the swing. It breaks in two, not surprisingly, as it’s been there for so long no doubt worn down over time by use and by weather. The pieces of wood fall to the ground, into the brown patch. The ropes now hangs pointlessly in the air, rundown and slack.