#metaphorically covered in flies

[irhinoceri]

I think the shock and brutality of the smash cut to Jecki (and Yord) dead in the jungle is meant to jumpscare us out of being too enraptured with Qimir or lulled into the “I’m just a guy who is making soup” routine. He is seducing the audience at the same time as Osha, so lest you forget, here are Jecki and Yord abandoned and covered in flies.

[heartgold]

(incest, csa, suicide cw)

umineko is full of complicated and fucked up parent/child dynamics, so the way kumasawa and genji were like the parent figures sayo always wished she could have and then turned out to be the people who hurt her with the most intent often flies under the radar. but I'm constantly thinking about it.

they never saw her as more than an extension of her biological mother and a way to personally atone for failing her... by ultimately failing her daughter too and in very similar ways. kumasawa incentivised young sayo's beatrice roleplay and taught her magic bc "it was like it was meant to be". in kumasawa's eyes, it was as if beatrice's daughter unknowingly shared a connection to her mother thanks to the whims of fate. but to sayo, the magic she was taught became her primary way to cope and to find some confidence in the face of the hardships she was going through. of course the idea of no longer being 'yasu', the clumsy servant mocked by everyone, but rather the powerful witch beatrice who inspires their respect became so important to her! but then as she learned later, she spent all her life roleplaying as her dead mother who was horribly abused (and whose abuse was enabled and covered up by sayo's parent figures!) and by then she had all but absorbed her as part of her identity and sense of self, all while being secretly primed to ultimately play her part and finally "become" her in genji's bullshit redemption arc plan for kinzo. kumasawa knew everything and intentionally encouraged this while sayo had no idea. it's no wonder beatrice went from being something empowering to sayo to the cruel voice tormenting her in her head, reminding her of her worst thoughts. beatrice became an embodiment of trauma! not just sayo's trauma but also her mother's, which she took upon herself. all of the people who knew the truth manipulated her into walking the path of becoming her mother and saw her as nothing but that. a replacement, a vessel for the "true" beatrice. the very same idea behind her mother's grooming and abuse.

the cruel irony here is how all of this was done to prove a point about kinzo not repeating his actions and to relieve his guilt in time before his death, with genji/kumasawa/nanjo celebrating kinzo being "successfully redeemed" by not raping his daughter again... all while sayo comes out of this horrific situation terribly sexually traumatized regardless. all at once, she learns the depth of violation she suffered from some of the few people she thought were on her side. the way she was manipulated and gaslit all her life about the circumstances of her birth, her parentage, her body, her entire identity and personhood. how they were willing to risk her safety by making her work under kinzo to prove that he wouldn't sexually abuse her. the shock of learning what happened to the mother she was unknowingly raised to become, and how those people did nothing to help her back then either. how her mother, too, was groomed into playing the role of her own mother for kinzo!!! the horror doesn't end. the traumatic impact and consequences of all of this on her life were never in their minds, only making sure sayo would play her role in granting kinzo a peaceful death. putting kinzo's guilt to rest was always the priority, and by trying to prove he wouldn't repeat the past, they did so themselves by dooming another beatrice into becoming a vessel for her mother and shouldering generations worth of trauma.

there's this metaphor in umineko about the powerlessness of children before their parents and how many are born to fulfill a specific purpose for them, becoming an extension of their parents who project on their children and try to shape them into a specific kind of person to successfully play a role. having a child is compared to creating a fictional character which is compared to inserting a piece of yourself on a gameboard. this goes for every parent/child dynamic in the story including allegorical ones such as bern/erika, and of course this reflects the way the only people sayo could call her parent figures shaped her into an accessory in her father's narrative. she was always their means to achieve that, not even a person in the grand scheme of things. a piece of their own creation, shaped and molded into a role, without autonomy of her own. furniture in every meaning of the word in sayo's personal lexicon.

it hurts how she trusted them and even made fantasy versions of them to include them in her world! she wanted them to be part of it and that's a precious thing to her! and then turns out the characters she created were much better people than their human vessels. even more encouragement to reject reality altogether and immerse herself even deeper in a rabbithole of fantasy to cope with her real life being almost unsurvivable after nonstop betrayal and hurt!

the nail in the coffin is, after doing all of... That out of his fucked up sense of loyalty to kinzo, genji goes on to enable and help out with sayo's mass murder-suicide plan... as his way to atone for how much suffering he caused her? the results of his actions were a major driving force in her suicidality and furniture complex among all the many factors pushing her into a corner, and then he reasons that agreeing to help her kill herself along with literally everyone and providing her with the means to do it is the correct thing to do for her??? genji's undying sense of duty and loyalty is truly his worst and most terrifying quality. he'll stop at nothing to honor it.

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: It's been a while since I've wrote something for my beloved, and I miss him 🥺💕

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, lots of hunter and prey metaphors, implied kidnapping, gn!reader.

Rook's smile is sharp as he hands you the bow, his eyes gleaming with that unnerving mix of admiration and obsession that makes your heart skip a beat — for all the wrong reasons, few months ago you wouldn't mind how his fingers remained touching yours or how his eyes kept staring at you. But now, after you caught him burying one of your friends, blood on his hands, the same hands that used to pat your head or massage your shoulders, or hold you in his arms. You couldn't help but shudder.

His touch lingers on your hand as he helps you grip the bow correctly, his voice a low murmur in your ear, like the hiss of a predator close to its prey.

"Mon trésor," He whispers, the endearment curling around you like a hook. "You must learn to wield this with precision, with grace, it has to be as natural as breathing. And no one's better to teach you than a hunter like me."

The word sends a shiver down your spine. You know he isn't just referring to your normal hunter; there's a duality in his words, a hidden message that reminds you of the dangerous game you've been forced to play. Rook’s obsession with hunting isn't limited to the creatures of the forest. No, his most cherished hunt is the one he conducts every single day — the hunt to keep you by his side, to ensure you never escape his cruel clutches.

He stands behind you, his breath tickles the back of your neck as he aligns your body with the target. The air is thick with tension, each inhale feeling like it's laden with a hint of danger, a promise of what will happen if you ever dare try to escape him.

“Steady, mon amour,” He purrs, his hands pressing down on your shoulders, holding you in place, as if testing just how easily you could be trapped beneath his grip. This soft touch used to make you giddy, now the only thing you feel is dread. “Feel the tension in the bow, the way it quivers, longing to release… like a heart yearning to be free, n’est-ce pas?"

Your fingers tremble as you pull back the string, the bow straining under your touch. He’s close, too close, his presence overwhelming, making it impossible to focus on anything but the feeling of being trapped. You feel like a prey caught in his web. Rook’s hand covers yours, firm and unyielding as he adjusts your aim.

“A true hunter understands the delicate balance between freedom and captivity,” Rook continues, almost purring, his voice a silken thread winding around your thoughts, binding them to his will. “The prey… it runs, it flees, but it always falls, in the end. Always.”

The arrow flies from your grip, slicing through the air and embedding itself in the target with a solid thud. Rook’s laughter is soft, approving, but there’s an edge to it, a dark satisfaction that chills you to the bone.

“Magnifique,” He praises, though you can’t tell if he’s admiring your shot or reveling in the power he holds over you. His hands don’t leave your shoulders, instead sliding down your arms, his fingers brushing over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath your skin.

“You are my perfect prey, mon couer,” He murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “So fragile, so beautiful in your attempts to escape. But no matter how far you run, the hunter always catches his prize. I will always catch you, that I promise you.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone. There’s no escaping him, no slipping through his fingers. You are the deer caught in his sights, the rabbit trapped in the hunter’s snare. He has trained you with the bow, but the weapon feels useless in your hands, a cruel mockery of the freedom you so desperately crave.

You can learn how to hunt, how to hide. But are you a truly hunter or just a prey playing pretending? You don't know.

Rook steps back, allowing you a moment of space, though the distance feels hollow, meaningless. His gaze is still on you, piercing, possessive, as if he’s already decided your fate. The forest around you is silent, the trees closing in, forming a cage with no visible exit. Even the wind seems to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“My dear,” Rook says, his voice carrying the weight of a promise, a warning. “Remember this, my beloved, no matter how skilled you become, no matter how fast you run, my heart always knows where you are, for it beats for you and my eyes always know where to look for you."

You lower the bow, your hands shaking. The lesson is over, but the real lesson was much harder to swallow. There’s no true escape, only the illusion of it, dangled before you like a carrot to a starving animal. You’re trapped in Rook’s twisted love, and the knowledge of that truth settles in your bones like ice.

The bow falls from your hands, landing on the ground with a soft thud. Rook’s smile widens, a huge grin, and he steps forward to claim his prize; a kiss from your lips, the breath from your lungs.

And the worse part is that you let him.

[everlastingfable]

as much as I love robbie's silliness, I think this line about him is my favorite because of how it says so much in so little. robbie is impatient, distractible, easily frustrated. heartsong in particular well establishes that. he's can't finish his dramatic wolf thoughts without getting distracted by a squirrel and chasing after it, he gave up relatively quickly on catching a deer because it was too fast, he couldn't last more than 15 minutes when he decided to give kelly the silent treatment etc etc

so it makes moments like these hit hard. here is robbie, finding a pack nearly broken by grief. though they are kind enough not to immediately run him out and even kinder to give him a place to stay. but the house is blue blue blue, both physically and metaphorically. it was where it all started to fall apart. a constant reminder soaked into the living room floor

did it remind robbie of his own mother? seeing her covered in flies while the wolves that found him whisked him away from the carnage? her death loomed over him for years, preventing him from truly bonding and becoming part of a pack. but somehow. somehow he managed to remove the stain. how long did he spend scrubbing it away? trying to fix something that he didn't have to. but he did because he cared. and I think that's one of my favorite characteristics about robbie, he's naturally impatient but he'll try anyways for the people he cares about

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

【Part 1】

你先通過我的城市-高雄柴山的挑戰之後我就向你推薦和建議其他台灣的山脈 After you pass the challenge of my city - Kaohsiung Shoushan first, I will suggest other mountains in Taiwan to you ha!

👆 我這張封面頭像的故事背景就是我住的城市有一座人盡皆知、依山傍海並且滿是台灣猿猴的"柴山"，山上有很多爬山的路線，退休老人當然都選比較容易健行的路線，而我們卻挑戰一條俗稱"A線攻頂"。(The story background of my cover photo is that the city where I live has a well-known "Shoushan／Monkey Mountain", which is surrounded by mountains and seas and there's full of Taiwanese apes. There are many climbing routes on the mountain, and retired elders of course choose the easier ones to hike. route, but we challenged a route commonly known as "A line to the top" The path very less people go even young guys under the sun heat day.) ～

We chose a way It's really terrible difficulty climbing path to top of mountain, especially way to back I still remember clearly want me die at the time. lol and look my face… XD I was serious thinking & praying secretly : Jesus, Did I use my two legs get down to moutain or could you give me wings flying but rather a ball rolling down straight to the hospital better?! You know that I even almost cry to please : Oh No!

柴山 (Shoushan, Kaohsiung/Taiwan) - 入口位於中山大學文學院旁 / A線攻頂記 ◠‿◠ in 2015, April. 28. (It was 9 years ago. Time flies! lol)

Since a story He was a New Zealand mountaineer, explorer and philanthropist. On 29 May 1953, Hillary and Nepalese Sherpa mountaineer Tenzing Norgay became the first climbers to reach the summit of Mount Everest. once He said: "The key is not just to climb to reach the summit of Everest, it should be able to secure more important down." And as people said that " It's not ending on the hilltop, Must be returned safely to be successful. If you want to mountain climbing, be sure to leave enough time to come back. "  then climbed on mountain, though laborious, but not prone to danger. If down the mountain, It's easily slip down. so have to grasp the balance. And if the speed is too fast, legs and feet will be sore and trembling. Accidentally, it became a free fall and fell directly down the mountain. In addition, the metaphor ~~~ "When a person's social status will improve honored, It's easy for their life, but if It became lower status, it felt embarrassed and sad days. Must be learn and To face it also." ...much regard.

距今約70年前第一個登上珠穆朗瑪峰的紐西蘭的登山家和探險家艾德蒙·希拉里曾經說過：「攀登珠峰的關鍵並不只是登上頂峰，應該是能夠安全下山更為重要。」以及「登山不是登頂就結束了，還得安全返回才算成功。如果要登山的話，一定要留夠回來的時間。」意指上山雖費力但不容易發生危險，下山雖省力卻容易失足。下山時重力重心是向下，自身作用力也是向下，所以要確實掌握住平衡，弄不好前衝力過大，會發生危險。以及速度如果太快，腿腳會發酸並且發抖。一不小心變成為自由落體直接滑落山下。另外，比喻~~~「當一個人的社會地位提高時感到榮耀，日子容易過，但若是地位降級時感到丟臉，日子難過。」

[that-ari-blogger]

The Episode That Needs No Introduction

This is a post about Promise. And I could end this introduction here and you would know what I'm talking about. Because Promise is the episode that made She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Before this episode, this is a war story, with an abusive parent figure and a femme fatale that the hero will have to overcome and befriend respectively.

Even two episodes prior, in the darkest episode up to that point, this was still a war story. The stakes were barely personal.

Promise is when that changes, and this series becomes psychological. Or rather, reveals just how psychological it has been the entire time.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Promise is one of the most well written episodes of television out there, to the point where several top ten lists for She Ra actively exclude it because it is too obvious of a choice. TheGamer.Com calls it "a masterstroke of emotional storytelling". Meanwhile, Five By Five Takes' video, She Ra's Internal Trilogy is a powerful analysis of Promise in the context of the whole series and is genuinely what inspired me to create this blog in the first place. Promise is good cinema.

I'm going to start with that opening sequence, because it summarises all three characters and their arcs masterfully. Light Hope responds to She-Ra but ignores Adora. Catra is desperate for Adora, but despises She-Ra. So, our protagonist is pulled in both directions, by others and by herself. You get all this from the emotionless dialogue from Light Hope, despite it not stating it directly, and from Catra's expressions.

I am aware that this robot specifically isn't technically Light Hope, but Light Hope is the entire system, so I consider this robot a part of that.

Even here, there is a dichotomy between the characters. Catra and Light Hope are opposites, where one says only kind things, but her actions betray a more Machiavellian nature, the other's words are hurtful, but despite herself, she cannot help but show a kindness. Exhibit A: The last time these two saw each other, Catra was giving Adora back the sword.

There is also the emotionless vs ball of anger in a vaguely humanoid shape parallel, but that is mainly superficial.

This training scene is cool because it gives us yet another look behind the curtain at Catra's psyche. Take a look at these two lines, back to back.

"Way to gang up on me!"

"No, I'm fine. You're just lucky I let you win."

Catra puts up a brave face to impress people and to cover up for herself. But look who she is saying that to. Catra wants desperately to show off to Adora. She has no interest in showing strength to Shadow Weaver at this point, her defiance isn't fueled by that.

The one person at this point in the story that Catra has been shown trying to impress is Adora. It gets mentioned that she does things to gain Hordack's favour, but we never actually see that, and her words are far from trustworthy.

It is also notable that the first thing Catra tries to do is scream for Adora when she's met with the spider. It's instinctual, and there's something to that.

Because... is it instinctual? I've talked about Catra's character design in the past, focusing on the symmetry, but I took care to not mention her stand out quality. Catra's animalistic physical appearance is a metaphor for one of her strongest themes, instinct vs choice.

It is possible to make a case on almost every single one of Catra's actions for either instinct or choice. Is she instinctively caring for Adora, but choosing not to? Or is she desperately trying to be kind, and instinctively rejecting that? I am partial to the second idea, but it could quite reasonably be either. The story doesn't at any point make the answer clear, which is a strength of the writing.

An instinct is a behaviour that you do not think about, not necessarily one you are born with. For example, flinching when something flies by your face is an instinctive behaviour, but so is lashing out when feeling threatened. Some compulsions and addictions function like this. And I think that Shadow Weaver's manipulation has caused Catra to develop these behaviours. Catra has been raised to instinctively push away affection, or to stay silent when feeling love of her own.

Shadow Weaver physically abuses a child in this scene. That is objectively what this is. The fact that this is magical is the only thing that let the writers get this through censorship. But I want to be clear here, this is not simply punishing misbehaviour, this is not tough love, this is not building strength. Shadow Weaver physically abuses a child in this scene.

And this is favouritism as well, Shadow Weaver could have cast her spell and frozen both Adora and Catra or reprimanded them both. But she chose to torture Catra exclusively.

However, favouritism and privilege are two different things. In this case, they are unrelated. Again, there are so many ways Shadow Weaver could have done this. She could have let Adora go, but she kept her, and made her watch.

"Adora, you must do a better job of keeping her under control. Do not let this happen again."

This is a statement. It says: "this is what affection gets you, pain".

Shadow Weaver is at her lowest in this scene. She isn't introduced as a terrifying threat like in episode one. This Shadow Weaver is frail and unmasked. She is breathing heavily, and exhausted. This is who Shadow Weaver is, truly.

Michaelangelo is attributed the following quote:

"All I did was chip away at everything that didn't look like David."

In truth, Michaelangelo probably never said this, and Quote Investigator references the line's evolution in this source, up to its current form, first published in 1974 in the Boston American Herald. In any case, you can apply this to characters in fiction. If you take away everything that isn't that character, what do you get. What is the element that stops this character from feeling out of character.

Redemption arcs often struggle with this, as the single essential element is usually their motivations, and in a shallow villain, switching sides can make them feel out of character. Spoilers for Avatar: The Last Airbender (Skip to the next paragraph if you want to avoid those), but one big reason for why Zuko's redemption arc works so well is that his villainy isn't his essential element, that's his drive for honour.

So, what is Shadow Weaver's core attribute? When you take away her schemes and her power and her mask? Who is she? The answer to that is simple: Shadow Weaver is cruel.

Rise Of The Guardians presents the idea of a person's centre, and it fits this concept really well. Cinema therapy has a video dissecting the subject, and it comes down to this: Your centre is the thing that makes you who you are. In the Ship of Theseus question, your centre is the one plank of wood that makes it the same ship. You can change some important things about yourself, but if you keep this, you fundamentally remain yourself.

With that said, what is Catra's centre? This isn't a rhetorical question, I'm genuinely not sure. I think it's her empathy, for good or evil. But again, I'm not sure. Let me know.

There is actually a chance to find this centre in Promise. And it's here:

"Catra, wait. I'm sorry for leaving... You could come with me! You could join the rebellion! I know you're not a bad person, Catra. You don't belong with the Horde."

This is everything Catra wants, it's an apology. It's an affirmation of friendship and love. And you see her genuinely consider the chance. But unfortunately, Light Hope steps in to tear them apart.

Because Light Hope is also manipulative. She wants everything Shadow Weaver wants, specifically control. She tries to mould She-Ra into her weapon just like Shadow Weaver, and she tries to tear her away from Catra in the same way. That's why she chooses this specific memory, because she knows it will hurt the most. Because she knows it will tear them apart.

Both Shadow Weaver and Light Hope know that an isolated Adora is an easy She-Ra to manipulate. Because the one thing neither of them can possibly account for in their plans is love.

Light Hope is named to reassure, to give Adora some sense of trust there, and it works. Because She-Ra is a story about hope, and about finding it in others.

But here is an important distinction. Others don't give you hope, you do that to yourself. Others can inspire you, or connect with you, or kindle that flame. But at the end of the day, hope is something you give yourself. Someone claiming to be your only hope can just as easily be seeking to control you. A lighthouse might lead you to a shore, but a fake flame over dangerous waters could sink your ship.

Those final two conversations are infamous amongst the fandom, and for good reason. This is the worst parts of both characters being brought out. Adora and her hero complex, and Catra with her emotion. Both good features in certain circumstances, but in the wrong place, they can create a wedge. Light Hope has precision engineered the exact circumstances needed for that wedge to crack their relationship so she can take advantage of the wreckage.

Final Thoughts

This was a difficult post for me to write for two reasons.

First, what can you say about Promise that hasn't been said before a hundred times? This the quintessential episode of She Ra and almost everyone in the fandom has weighed in on the subject. So, finding something original to add was an interesting experience.

But second, this episode has a reputation for a reason. I've said before that the greatest strength of this series is its humanity, and that is made even more obvious by Promise. There are real people who have had conversations like the one in the corridor. There are real people who have experienced what Shadow Weaver's behaviours are an allegory for. If you stripped away the magic from these scenes, they would play out almost exactly the same.

The reason the series overall is so powerful, is that it tells you that things will be bad, behaviours have consequences, trauma hurts you and people around you. But it also tells you that there is always hope. There will always be someone willing to offer you a hand of genuine kindness, and over time, that can change you. She-Ra gives people hope.

I'm away next Friday. But I'll be back in the new year with some analysis of Light Hope

Previous - Next

[the-possum-writes]

[Day 5] Facesitting

Character: Marceline Tags: NSF/W, gen neutral pronouns, AFAB reader, oral, facesitting, casual hook up, use of the pet name "Baby" Word count: 1033 Synopsis: A fun night at a dance club leads you to meet a stunning woman who has you both aroused and scared for your life.

There are flashing strobe lights, cigarette smoke and music beating into your eardrums as crowds of people fill your peripheral vision but even in the busy space of the night club you managed to see her through everything covering your sight.

Her long black hair is raised into a high ponytail, cascading down her bare back and striking out from within her bright red tube top and leather mini skirt, trailing down the fishnets surrounding her long legs and ending in a pair of punk boots with metal accessories dangling from them. She caught you staring at her and disappeared in an instant, you look around hoping to see her again but to your surprised she manifested right beside you and threw her arm around the back of the booth you're sitting on.

"Heeey~"

"Hi." You're voice is barely audible through the music and the chatter.

Marceline notices your gaze focused on her teeth, prompting her to smile even larger. "What's wrong, baby? Do they scare you?" Her innocent tone does not match her gaze, and you are taken aback, but she then leans closer to your ear and says something that makes your face flame. "You should see me in action and they won't look so scary, I promise they don't hurt." Despite the loud music, she manages to speak to you in a sensuous voice that sends tingles down your body and into your core.

"Promise~?"

Marceline grabs your hand and leads you backstage, both of you giggling and exchanging desperate kisses that felt like they were about to devour you, but she takes her time, pressing you against the rugged wall and lifting your leg as she trailed her kisses down between your thighs. You're not sure if it's the music, the thumping, or your own heartbeat, but there's a deafening ring in your ears as you watch Marceline pull your underwear aside and give a long lick upward your slit, with the tip settling on your clit, swirling it around to add pressure on that spot in particular.

The excitement of the whole event is heightened by the possibility that someone could stroll in or she could end up actually biting you; you could never be certain. Marceline licks your slit a few more times before dipping her tongue inside of you and swirling it around you as she pokes and prods your gummy walls. You had no idea what she was thinking, but you guessed she was having as much fun as you were. Her moans echo through your pussy, and she tightly grips your thighs, almost to the point of bruising. She growls a little as you attempt to break free of her grasp, but all it does is make her clutch tighter and cause her claws to pierce your skin. She then does the unimaginable and floats upward, carrying you with her. Marceline flies in such a way that she is on her back, forcing you to hold onto her head for support as you ride her face. The movement causes her to eat you out more erratically, slurping and licking your folds and hole, switching to rub your clit with her tongue again while her thumb penetrates you repeatedly. The stimulation has you unconsciously lurching forward as the build up has you dangerously leaning on the edge, both literally and metaphorically.

"Hah... Maaaarcy..." You're on the verge of tears, your body deliciously trembling as you try to hold back whether it's because you're scared of falling or because you don't want to create a mess on her face. In any case, she safely supports you with an otherworldly grasp as she speeds up her ministrations on your clit, abusing the heck out of your g-spot while fingering you.

"Come for me baby, I wanna hear you. See you... Taste you~"

That was enough for you to cum on her face, experiencing the most intense orgasm you've ever had with your body while sobbing and pulling at her beautiful long ponytail. Marceline is merciless, continuing to stimulate your sensitive clit to the point where you squirt a little all over her, leaving you absolutely satisfied and a little embarrassed, but Marceline was overjoyed as her fangs and lips glisten in the residue of your climax, licking them as if she had just had the best meal of the night.

"Oh baby, you're the sweetest little thing... I could eat you up." Marceline moans, hugging you upwards as she whispers in sinister tone that doesn't match her playful flirting from earlier. "...maybe I will."

You nervously laugh it off, but the tight grip she has on you feels like that of a boa snake as she transforms into an enormous bat creature with coarse black fur that scratches your face as she moves closer to your neck. You struggle to free yourself from her clawed hands as she breathes heavily into your jugular, and panic sets in. Instead of suffering a horrific death by her fangs like you come to expect, she pinches the side of your neck and you scream in surprise, while she bursts out laughing and returns to her regular form.

"I'm just messing with you baby! I wouldn't hurt someone so sweet like you. I made a promise didn't I?" Marceline lowers you onto your feet, supporting yourself against the wall as you join her with an exhausted chuckle. "Alright, you had me there for a moment not gonna lie."

"So, you wanna come back to my place~?"

"Promise you won't rip me to shreds?" You raise an eyebrow at her and this has her laughing again.

Marceline holds out her pinkie finger. "Promise~!"

[dicenote]

This is so, so self-indulgent and rushed but I had a shower-thought and had to realize it. So here's part of a Hurricane cover but instead it's Matsuda in the last episode. (Audio transcript under the "Read More")

The metaphor of the "Hurricane" is really interesting because I feel like it can be taken in two ways. One is the more obvious "force of nature" comparison that Light uses. He believes he's God and that the world is going to feel his power, like the winds of the hurricane. Essentially, he's the one in control, and everyone is going to fear him.

But the other way to think about it is that Light is swept up in the power, like the water is pulling him under. He isn't the hurricane itself, he's a victim to his own power-trip. This kinda comparison also works with Matsuda in the end of the story, as Matsuda flies into a rage and nearly kills Light himself.

Also something about "writing is a gun, I only have to aim" when Light is literally shot is kinda funny ngl. It turns out that the thing that can beat his metaphorical gun is... a gun.

LYRICS:

You say you're God of a trembling world But you will have to pray If he could be here, what would your father say?

"Oh, there are lines That can't be crossed" But he told you those words in vain

To you, the lives That we all lost Meant nothing!

The hardest rains The coldest winds But you are not a hurricane

You're just a man With all his sins On display

I'm gonna shake, I'm gonna scream 'Cause it's like I'm drowning in the hurricane!

[quirkless-accident]

Runaway/ homeless Danny saves Eri (with or without his sisters)

Danny could only go near to her only in ghost mode

(cant bring the dead back to life but she may revert him to before he got his accident)

Danny honestly doesn't know how he ends up here.

He's been on the run from months. The Guys in White are relentless. As soon as they found about him, kicking the door down with way to much force, he went along with them to keep his family safe.

The look in his mother's eyes still haunts him. Her cries, her grip being broken by agents in white, as she's separated from her baby boy. It hurt both of them.

After a couple of new guards had been assigned to him, it wasn't hard to get out. Well, it was because he was held together with nothing but hasty stitches and luck, but overall, it wasn't the worst experience he's ever had.

And now they're after him.

He escaped nearly four months ago. He managed to get the inhibitor collar off, and therefore is fully healed, at least physically. He's spent all of his time running from one end of the country to another, trying the skies and the roads and even the seas. The only place where they can't follow, he's found, is the ground.

He usually hides out in small pockets that are just big enough for his lean frame, or the sewer system, but that's more open so he tries to avoid it. He travels with his flight and intangibility, and if he's in the sewers he uses his invisibility as well. It makes covering ground-literally-a hell of a lot easier.

Or, at least it was supposed to.

He's lucky he's invisible when he flies into this new place he's found himself in. It's not a sewer or compacted earth. It's an underground base, with tall ceilings and narrow halls, and if the purple bird guy is anything to go off of, it's also run by bad guys.

His metaphorical kryptonite, if you will.

Bad guys mean danger, and danger means he has to protect, but before he can do any of that he needs to figure out what the fuck they're even planning.

He follows the bird guy. He's quite prideful, and he talks about his plans openly to his direct underlings.

"The test was a success against Suneater," bird guy, Chisaki, is telling someone. "However, it seems as though the effects were only temporary. If we want to make any kind of change, we need to adjust the formula to make the quirklessness permanent."

"Do you want me to receive the girl for you?" Chisaki's assistant asks.

"No, her body is too exhausted to do anything. I'll have to continue my tests tomorrow. But do get her something to eat."

Danny's core hums in discontent. He's only gotten a few pieces of the puzzle, but he can't put them together quite yet. If there's a girl here that they're using for this permanent quirkless bullshit, he needs to find her.

He follows the assistant to the kitchen where he picks up a plate of something pretending to be food, and then to a large, locked door. Inside is dark, with nothing but a large bed, a million unopened toys, and a small, small girl, trembling in fear as the assistant comes in. She can't be older than five or six, and her arms and legs are covered in bandages.

I'll have to continue my tests tomorrow, Chisaki had said.

Danny understands what kind of tests they are.

The flash of metal. The burning just beneath his skin. The feeling of his skin being pried apart, and the way the tools poked and prodded at his muscles, his tendons, his core. He'll never forget the tink tink tink sound that Agent O's tweezers made as he poked Danny's core. The painful sensations going down his spine, so painful he couldn't even scream.

The door closing brings his attention back to the present. Right. Girl. Tests. Quirklessness. He has to get her out of here and get her somewhere safe.

He pokes his head back outside, and once he's sure nobody is coming back in, he pulls the rest of himself back in and takes a deep breath.

"Hi there," he whispers. The girl's head shoots up from the slop that was given to her, eyes wide and terrified. Danny drops his invisibility, and she scoots away from him.

"Hey, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just-I'm...A hero? I'm gonna get you out of here."

"You can't," the girl tells him. "No way out. Or they'll-they'll hurt the nice hero..."

"I promise I'll make sure the nice hero is safe, too. What's your name?"

"I'm...I'm Eri..."

"Eri. Such a pretty name. My name is Danny. And, look. I don't-I know what they're doing to you is wrong and scary. And I get it. Tests have been run on me, too."

"Really?" Eri asks, voice full of childlike innocence as well as the world weariness he's only ever heard from adults.

Danny doesn't want to freak her out, so he pulls his sleeve up to his elbow and shows her the bright pink surgical scar running from wrist to elbow instead of the autopsy scar on his chest. She puts her hands out, and gently touches the raised skin, before looking up at Danny with something that looks like hope.

Danny gently pulls away and pulls his sleeve back down.

"I can get us out. But if I'm gonna do that, I need you to be very, very quiet, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Eri nods, and with her permission, Danny gently scoops her up. He pressed a long finger to his lips, and she mirrors him as she nods her head.

"Okay, this is going to be a little cold, okay? Now, shut your eyes, and hold on tight."

Eri shuts her eyes and hugs Danny's neck, burring her face in his shoulder. He slowly, as to not startle her, turns them invisible and intangible before lifting them up through the ceiling, through the dirt, and into the fresh air. When he's high enough he looks down and makes a mental note of where they are before flying away.

"Okay, you can look now," Danny says when they're far enough away. Her face moves, and he hears a small gasp. He drops the intangibility as well, letting the warm night air flow through her hair. And though she's not smiling or laughing, she does relax more in his arms.

It's the middle of the night, so they probably won't notice her gone until the morning. He thought about taking her to the police, but he also just doesn't rust them. Not after they ignored complaint after complaint about the abuse he went through when he was quirkless. And he's not going to touch the Hero Commission as long as he lives.

But he does know one safe place. He had applied, but because of reasons he never had a chance to actually take the test to get in. It's full of heroes and hero students, and if anybody is going to take care of this girl it would be them.

It takes a little while to figure out exactly where he is, but when he does he's quick to change his course and head to the only safe place he knows.

U.A. High School.

When they get there the sun is just peaking over the horizon. He doesn't want to waste time or energy with whatever security system they've got going on, so he turns them both intangible once more. he flies over the gates, and through the halls of the school before he eventually finds what has to be the principal's office.

When they arrive, said principle's head shoots up. He sniffs the air a couple of times before offering Danny a sharp toothed grin.

"If you're going to sneak in here you're going to have to try a lot harder than that," Nezu says, eyes the general area of where Danny is.

"Sorry, sir," Danny says as he drops his invisibility and intangibility. "I wasn't trying to sneak. Well, I was but not-anyway, never mind. This is Eri," he says, bouncing the sleeping girl on his hip. "I found her waiting to be experimented on by the Yakuza."

The explanation takes a while. Danny is protective and hasn't let go of Eri, but Nezu doesn't seem to mind that at all. At one point another hero joins them, and then two hero students who are interning under the guy who's spearheading the operation against Chisaki and the quirkless bullets he's been trying to make.

"This is all well and good, and we're thankful that you've rescued her," the older, dark haired hero says. "But what exactly were you doing there anyway?"

"I was just looking for a place to crash when I came upon them."

"In their underground base," the hero bluntly states, face emotionless except for the single, raised eyebrow. "Why not crash at home?"

"It's not safe. Not for me, anyway. I've been running from the Guys in White for months, and that's the first place they'd think to look for me."

The organization doesn't ring a bell for this new hero, but the principal sits up a little straighter. The hair on his back rises, and the smile he had been sporting is gone completely.

It opens up another line of questioning from the principal, who apparently has some personal beef with the organization. At some point Danny tentatively gets up to show him the surgical scars they've given him, as well as the autopsy scar on his torso. The hero students are sent out before that, though.

Danny sits back down, careful not to jostle Eri too much, but she ends up waking up anyway.

She doesn't recognize him. At least, not at first. But the panic takes over before her brain can stop her, and her quirk activates. Her horn is glowing, and Danny is trying to calm her down. It's affecting him. He can feel his body changing, but he ignores it in his attempt to get Eri to calm down.

And then, after what could only be a few seconds, it stops abruptly. Eri falls forward, exhausted from her quirk, and crawls back into Danny's lap before falling asleep again. When Danny looks back up, he's met with the glowing red eyes of the older hero. And, well, it doesn't take much more than that for a fanboy like Danny to figure out who he is.

"What was that?" Eraserhead asks.

"I have no idea," Danny answers. "This is the first time I've seen her use it. I feel...Better though. Not brand new, but not as tired as I've been lately."

"I have a theory," Nezu says, clapping his hands to get Danny's attention. "Danny, if you would please show us your chest scar once more?"

Danny once again gently puts Eri down on the couch before standing up and lifting his shirt.

"How fascinating," Nezu says. Danny quirks a brow, before looking down himself.

He's still got all of his ghost hunting scars. The burn from Skulker and the stab wounds from Technus, but the newest addition to his chest is gone. No more autopsy scar, as if it had never happened. Danny checks his arm, a little sad to see that that surgical scar is still there, but relieved altogether to find that he doesn't have to be reminded of what happened to him every time he looks in the mirror.

He pats his face, too. It feels less angular than it had been a few minutes ago. He hasn't been able to eat properly since being on the run, and he was only fed granola bars while under the custody of the GiW. But this, this saves him months of physical recovery. He's almost back to a healthy weight.

"It appears to not be a quirkless quirk, necessarily," Nezu says, "but some sort of rewind quirk. How interesting." Nezu turns to Eraserhead. "I'll contact Sir Nighteye. Please escort these two to Recovery Girl and have Lunch Rush make them something warm and hearty."

For the first time in months, as Eraserhead leads them both down the labyrinth of U.A., Danny allows himself to relax.

He knows, somewhere deep down that as long as he's under their care, he and Eri will be okay.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 65] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: This chapter has mentions of sexual assault.

It's hard to complain about shitty sleeping conditions if you have nearly no memories of where you laid your head last night. Hours spent pouring over details, running through every textbook's spine, and scouring for a groundbreaking case study left you on the brink of utter exhaustion. Hoping that one of them will give you some direction because, at this point, you're coasting off hope in miracles. After hours of heated discussion, often boiling into screaming and resulting in a couple of shattered ceramic mugs, you'd retired to the dingy motel they're keeping you at. All you remembered was a drizzly outdoor walkway leading to your door, musty orange floral sheets and dead flies settled at the bottom of tinkering light fixtures. Frankly, you didn't have the mental capacity to process anything around you. 

So here you are now. A styrofoam cup of burnt coffee on an empty stomach compounded electrified nerves in the same repurposed restaurant. All of your Task Force comrades, plus a few more, stood in cross-armed silence, awaiting your solution. You and KKpt Wolf stood straight-backed and tall when your superiors filed in, a memo that Professor Kraus seemed to purposely miss. He doesn't owe these generals and captains the time of day; they asked him to be here, not the other way around. You could only silently envy the way he could lazily lick his cinnamon-covered fingers as Laswell filled you all in on the updated situation. 

"So, as I'm sure we're all well aware by now, more messages got in. They're demanding four million euros and a spot on daytime television to share this tape," she tapped a blocky black cassette down on the tablecloth. "Or they'll start executing."

Your fingers wrung your eyes, diffusing the words even as you could sense them coming. You'd seen their sign portraying the ultimatum as you passed the theatre, painted on the back of a glossy movie poster with scratchy black marker. A proud middle finger to your efforts, it made your forehead prickle with sweat from the stress. 

"We're still no closer to understanding the message," the Korvettenkapitän spoke for the linguists, and you sheepishly met Price's stare in agreeance. 

"But the words have meaning," One of the unknown faces with a reddish beard spoke up, some Joe from the German military that the KKpt yielded to. "They're not just random letters and numbers."

"Might as well be," Professor Kraus smacked with a mouthful of pastry. 

"If it's possible to crack it, aren't there algorithms to break these kinds of things?" Soap's foreign Scottish accent was cut off. 

"Attempting to break a one-time pad manually is like trying to shoot a bullet with another bullet, blindfolded, with your wrong hand, pissed drunk, while riding a horse at 70 kilometres an hour," Kraus interjected, reclining in his seat. 

The corner of Soap's mouth flickered into a smile, but the collective's stony expression only hardened. Clearly, Professor Kraus' metaphor didn't land. It would make sense for an auditorium of keen linguistics students but not for a choir of stone-faced army folks who don't have the patience for theatrics. 

"It's essentially impossible," you chose to break the cringeworthy stillness. "You can't see the message without the key, and the key doesn't make sense without the message. You can't have one without the other."

"How are they getting these messages, then?" Gaz asked, sliding one of the messy pieces of handwritten nonsense into his view, frowning at the scratched-out words.

"The message the hostage showed us was in a physical format, the most secure form. They could be using some sort of binary transmission, but it wouldn't make sense for them to add a seal of approval afterwards," you rubbed your eyes as you spoke. "The seal implies it's coming from outside the theatre, but all evidence says they're not being delivered by hand."

"Agreed," Kraus audibly scratched his stubble as he spoke, not even facing the direction of the conversation.

"Are there any underground tunnels?" Ghost asked, shifting on his hips with folded arms. 

"We have the original blueprints. There's nothing underground, not even a well," Laswell answered calmly, glancing at the professor's odd posture. 

"Even still, our heartbeat sensor would pick up any secret dropoffs." Price grumbled, his signature hat peeking into the corner of your vision.

"Let's double up overwatch. We clearly need more eyes on the building," Ghost ordered, nodding to Gaz and Soap.

"I already said they're not being delivered by hand," you bit back sharply, sucking your teeth in deep thought.

Only after another eerie creeping silence did you realize your transgression. Like something straight from a nightmare, everyone's eyes fell on you coldly, as if the teacher had just called your name while you were lost in thought. Speaking back to your lieutenant's order is a serious offence in this career, especially in the direct company of Captain Price and Laswell. A panicked surge of sweat and bile crashed into your system, and the room felt 20 degrees colder.

"-Sir," the correction meagerly slipped from your throat. 

It's easy to forget that he's your commanding officer, even if Price and Laswell are significantly higher up the totem pole than him. Even in the state that you've seen him in. It gets frustrating when you're talking in circles. Repeating old points that'd already been eliminated. It made you sharp and jaded, unaccustomed to the standard military dress. Luckily, Korvettenkapitän Wolf took the reigns, leading the conversation to wrangle attention off your risky insubordination, leaving eloquent closing remarks that silenced the investigation.

Eventually, they left just as quickly as they came in. The second that glass door clicked shut behind the last pair of polished boots, you could let out a long-held sigh. However, the tension wouldn't entirely dissipate. There was still so much work to be done. It's not wholly your expectation to solve this mystery. The linguistics team is just one cog in the machine. If anything, the overwatch squad has The Man's breath down their neck, as their iron blockade had been penetrated again. Your team is under additional stress because you're the closest to finding a solution. But that's the thing; you're no closer than them. One additional clue, likely entirely useless unless they happened to transmit game-changing information in a single message.

You'd started with creating potential profiles of the five terrorists, age profiles and demographics based on shoddy intel thus far. Having five of them suggests at least one is in command, delegating orders to the others and a second in command to help enforce command. The cult only lets men be their sacrificial lambs in their escapades, so you can expect five men between the ages of 18 and 45. Not much to work with…

Kraus was almost certain he found the word 'the' in the cipher, but you had to break his heart with the reminder that that's assuming they're working with a substitution cipher. Even if such a discovery would be a blessing, not unlike the feeling of a newborn child in your arms. The KKpt was tapping away at a laptop at one of the cloth tables, but every once in a while she'd slam it shut in frustration, let out a heavy sigh, and pry it open again only seconds later. 

You'd all reached a somewhat steady rhythm of work, about two hours of silence, looming over a book or laptop with an aching posture. Once the silence made everyone nervous enough to snap, you all broke into a fear-fueled, impassioned discussion. This was the kind of stress you'd feel if you'd found out the deadline for an essay was 11:59 that night, and it's worth 60% of your grade. Panic was only alleviated if you could focus long enough to forget where you were. There wasn't a reprieve in checking in on your colleagues either; the windows are all blocked to keep peeking soldiers and press at bay. Your British buddies could've given up on you and moved along to the next mission for all you know. 

Saliva stuck in a clump in your throat when the clock read 22:00. There's no way this day ticked past so fast. So horribly fast. An entire day spent in this restaurant, feeling like you could easily dissolve into a sobbing mess if you allowed yourself the time to feel the emotion. Your second day had melted away with nothing to show for it. One more day. Tomorrow, better make a difference. 

The stagnation made you stir crazy. You'd reached diminishing returns. When your eyes dragged over text passages, the words no longer sank into your mind, instead gliding off like rain on a wing. Passages about WWII linguists cracking Axis transmissions looked just as foreign as that crumpled letter the hostage pressed to the window, begging for your competence. Before you knew what was what, you'd entered the starkly lit kitchen, not even glancing to see if your peers were even present anymore. Wolf, Korvettenkapitän Wolf, had the same idea. Fresh air from the back door where countless sous chefs took their smoke break, a cool slab of concrete that separated the cobblestone from the swinging metal door. Streetlights were a foreign sight, and the darkness of the night sky was blinding. You settled in beside her, and she shifted to make room. Your polite smile was met with a curt nod, but you'd come to expect that from her at this point. But just as a comfortable silence crept over the two of you, her voice cut into the night air, and you didn't even notice her eyes on you. 

"What happened here?" KKpt Wolf tapped a dark finger on her cheekbone, mimicking the location she was referring to. 

Your voice caught in your throat. For a moment, you genuinely didn't know what she was talking about. Her pressing gaze persisted, and your exhausted mental faculties sputtered into action, remembering the bruise you'd suffered only days ago. Lorenzo. The shiner he'd graced you with as a parting gift. You didn't have any makeup to cover it up, shit. What do you say to her? The half-truth you told Gaz manifested on your lips, ready to explain it as a training mishap, but a foggy mind resisted the elusive response. 

"I rejected the advances of my trainer and…" you shrugged, forming a nonchalant smile on your lips to deflect any blooming pity. "I was leading him on, but then it- it suddenly started going too fast and I-"

"Did he come here with you?" she leaned in, gravely serious despite your attempted diffusion. 

“No- no,” you gulped. "He's back at the base we'd just left. One of the guys beat him within an inch of his life, I think."

Her pressing expression and snake-like eyes didn't relent, even when you were sure it would. If anything, she's more intense. The sudden surge in energy and attention made you cringe and tremble under the weight of her gaze. This was a can of worms you hoped to leave sealed, but your subconscious seemed to have insisted that it'd already been cracked open long ago. 

"I just don't know why I didn't just lean into it. I wanted it," you fumbled the words. "I panicked. I haven't had this problem before wit—" You cut yourself off before you overshared, luckily. 

That fucking stare didn't relent. Not even to blink. Two dark orbs tear into you like bullets through paper, wringing the truth from you with ease. It doesn't help that she keeps her navy uniform on 24/7, probably even when she sleeps, making her feel like a titan of forbearance and self-control. 

"I- ran away when he put his hands on me, I didn't even say a word. I guess he didn't like that, and he socked me," you tried to conjure a punchline and a weak chuckle to ease this electricity. 

She didn't even do you the kindness of sharing your laughter. Fuck. You were stammering like you'd taken a cookie from the cookie jar, wracked with a pang of guilt you couldn't understand. This silence stayed, though. She shifted her posture back, illuminating her face under the overhead door light. 

"Anyone with your best interests in mind will hear 'no' and not think twice about it," she finally spoke, her softness unfaithful to her grave expression. "I think something in you knew he was bad news."

"I think you're right," you sighed. 

"This career isn't kind to women," that severe tone you were expecting manifested again. "You have to come forward when something like that happens. Even if it might not always seem like anything changes afterwards, it does make a difference. If not for you, it'll make the path easier for the next woman that happens to." 

She spoke with a level of confidence that made your gut wrench, sure that was speaking from experience. The thought made your face wrinkle in despair and your heart soften in a conflicting cocktail of emotions. At some points in her speech, you weren't sure if she was scolding or comforting you, but that just seems to be the way she is.

"-And it doesn't sound like he'll be groping any more of his students anytime soon with the beating he got," she added, a smile finally cracking onto her lips.

It's like she's finally allowing you to laugh. And you did. Fuck, it felt good to laugh. There's nothing more embarrassing than being psychoanalyzed by a stranger, except for the fact that she's entirely correct. Someone you met less than 48 hours ago reads you like a book. Laughing away the stress felt like the relief you craved, even if the quip wasn't that funny. The change in gears stunned you. Not just her shift in attitude, from cold and calloused to displaying a steady thrumming heartbeat of compassion and respect, but also the unexpected change in tune from the slog this workday had been. 

"Better get some shut-eye. Tomorrow's the last day," she warned, dusting off her heavy coat as she stood, ordering you to do the same. 

"Goodnight," you nodded, meeting her face one more time before you parted for the evening.

Renewed hope for life and crushing dread at the current circumstances created a battlefield in your mind. It would usually be fodder to keep you awake for hours, and yet muscle memory commanded your sluggardy muscles to follow the route back to the motel. Boots tapped on creaking iron steps that brought you to the second floor of the same dingy motel, fumbling with a rusty room key past heavy eyelids. You collapsed on the squealing mattress, surrendering into the sheets and breathing in the stale pillow. You barely had the mental faculties to slip off your cargo pants under the sheets before you were deep into an impenetrable sleep. 

Dreams fill your mind with colours entirely absent from your vision for the past 48 hours. You dreamt of old memories with friends, times you'd snuck out late at night. Swaying palm trees and sturdy redwoods. Of the Korvettenkapitän's forgiving glare. Dreaming of that seaside park, peace and warmth at your back, of the osprey's wings slicing through the air. Warmth at your back dissipated, and you turned to see your front door, just in time to be met with an outpouring of dread. The dream shifted, and a wave of silky blue rose petals were washing on the sidewalk shores in front of your house, rising. You run to your front porch, desperate to escape the surging wave. Fingertips are a breath away from your front door; you can practically feel the biting metal before it slips from your grasp. The front door fades from view, and a crushing onslaught of velvety petals surge into your lungs, sapping the life from your veins.

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Master List

[midnightcreator12]

Someone Call a Doctor.... or a Vet

Mutant Mayhem, post Movie recovery fic that I wanted to read.

AO3 Version

Dr. Connor Maverick wasn’t unaccustomed to unusual cases.

He did specialize in exotic animals in New York, after all. If it wasn’t some rich aristocrat with way too much money to spend on animals that really shouldn’t be house pets, it was everyday New Yorkers bringing him whatever weird and wild animal that had somehow gotten loose. There was a surprising number of snakes and turtles that came through his door.

But…definitely none like the four that had just walked in behind his boyfriend.

Literally. Walked in. Under their own power. On two legs.

Because there were apparently half-human, half-animal mutants living in the city and some of them had fought off a giant amalgamation of the entire Rosebank Zoo. And Connor had not seen that event leading to a frantic call from Nick, begging him to open the clinic for an emergency.

That emergency being the four turtles, each looking like they’d gone head-to-head with a subway train. And a slightly less battered looking teenage girl, along with a really big rat in a bathrobe, limping in at the rear of the presession.

He really shouldn’t be surprised anymore. New York attracted weird like flies.

Nick led the little group, covered in grime and with a scrape over one cheek, but mostly unscathed. He leaned on the desk with a heavy sigh, “You’re a lifesaver today, ya know that? Don’t even know if a normal doctor could fix ‘em.”

“Yeeah,” Connor watched as the turtle in a blue mask held up the purple masked one with one arm, guiding him to the farthest side of the waiting area. “You forgot to mention that they weren’t, ya know, normal animals.”

“I know, I know, it’s a lot to wrap your head around. But they just saved the entire city, babe.”

“Did I say I wasn’t going to treat them? I opened shop, didn’t I? Just gotta…figure out where to start, honestly.”

“...the girl said their shells got cracked…it’s mostly why I called you…”

Connor blinked, frowning in thought as he watched the turtles. They’d all settled as far away from the front desk as they could and were watching Connor warily. He couldn’t see their carapaces and ‘cracked shell’ could mean a lot of things…none good, if he was honest, but smaller fractures would be a lot easier to fix.

Nodding to himself, Connor stepped out from behind the desk, “Go on, I can handle them from here.”

Nick blinked, “You sure? I don’t mind stayin’-”

“Naw, I’ll be fine. Besides, I can actually reason with these clients and they can tell me what’s wrong. Go, make sure Danni isn’t overworking herself again.”

Nick smiled, ducking down to press a quick peck to Connor’s cheek, “You’re the best.”

Connor hummed and started walking towards the mutants.

They all watched him like hawks…or trapped mice. The rat shifted subtly, eyes flicking to the door, to the turtles, to Connor then back to the door. The turtles weren’t quite as cagey or on edge, honestly, they looked more exhausted than anxious, but they still watched him warily as he stopped in front of them.

He did a quick scan, trying to determine who needed help first.

Apparently, that was a bad move, because the only human in the ranks stood, stepping right up to Connor so they were almost nose to nose, “You gonna just stand there and stare buddy? You got a problem?”

Connor blinked, “...who needs to go first?”

The girl smirked, like she’d won an argument, and spun around.

Connor didn’t need to see her face to know all the wind left her metaphorical sails. Her shoulders dropped and her head moved back and forth as she tried to parse out who needed help the most.

The turtle in blue straightened, pointing to the one in orange, “He should go first, he got milked earlier.”

Connor blinked, “That…isn’t physically possible…”

“I mean, technically, I think they were drawing blood?” Purple piped in.

Ah, blood loss. Yeah, that should be first.

Connor slowly approached the orange turtle, crouching in front of him, “I’m gonna need to take you to the exam room in the back to help you. Can you walk there okay?”

Orange nodded slowly, but his eyes flicked to the side nervously.

“...do you…want someone to come with?” 

Orange nodded again, more vigorously. Or, tried to, but the jerky motion clearly made him dizzy and he tipped forward. Connor’s hands automatically jerked up to catch him and…he was not expecting the turtle to be so light, actually. He wasn’t feather light but he didn’t seem much heavier then the average mastiff.

Everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath as Connor carefully helped Orange sit up, “Okay?”

Orange whimpered in the back of his throat.

Connor glanced to the side, where the rest of the group seemed to be having a silent conversation before the teen girl nodded, “I’m going with him.”

“Alright. Help him to the exam room?” Connor gestured to the turtle he was still holding up.

The girl quickly moved closer, taking Orange’s arm and slinging it around her shoulders. Connor nodded, more to himself then to his audience, and led the way into the room he’d already set up.

He decided to forgo the usual initial exam steps. For one, he didn’t have a baseline for ‘mutant turtle’ to compare with. And another, his current client could actually tell him what was hurt. 

And since the turtle could walk and was somewhat responsive, he could probably get away with just fluids and not try to figure out how safe a transfusion would be.

But when he turned from the cooler, IV bag and needle in hand, the turtle visibly recoiled, pressing himself more against the girl.

To her credit, she reacted quickly, bracing her legs more firmly and lifting her free arm to almost hug the turtle, “Hey, it’s okay Mikey, I’ll be right here if he tries anything, okay? It’s all okay.”

Right, having a client that talks means he can’t just wave something under their nose to tell them it’s safe…or use a treat to distract them.

Damn, maybe he should have asked Nick to stay. Nick was better at the people stuff.

Connor paused in his advance, holding the IV out, “It’s fluids to help your body replenish your blood supply. You’re dizzy right now because there isn’t enough blood to carry oxygen to your brain, this will help make that go away.” he patted the exam table. “You can sit here while I set it up and finish looking you over.”

Mikey still looked wary, but he let the girl lead him to the exam table and carefully climbed up.

Connor gave him a moment to settle before approaching, “It’ll probably pinch a little, uhh-” what did Nick tell people when he had to do IVs. “Um…you can look at the wall posters if it helps?”

The girl, thankfully, jumped in again, grabbing Mikey’s hand and pointing to a weight diagram for cats, “Dude, check it out,  it’s like that meme. You’ve seen the one, right?”

Connor took advantage of the destruction, quickly swabbing Mikey’s arm and finding the vein before slipping the needle in.

It was…weird doing this on something on a human scale.

But he was quite liking the small mercy of Mikey not trying to bite him. He only flinched when the needle went in and kept his eyes firmly on the cat poster while Connor taped the line down.

Connors' eyes drifted to the carapace next. The turtle was covered in cuts and scrapes and bruises but Nick had mentioned cracks and the sooner that was taken care of, the better.

He couldn’t help but hiss in sympathy when he saw the injury. 

Technically, it wasn’t anywhere close to the worst he’s seen. Between teenagers using sliders as hockey pucks, escapees from central park onto the streets or little kids who thought dropping their box turtles off balconies was a good idea, he’d seen a lot of messed up carapaces.

But the clear pressure crack starting from the middle of the shell and carving a deep ravine almost to the top lip still looked painful. No wonder the turtle had been almost silent the entire time.

Cleaning it out would be an ordeal, by the simple virtue it was a lot bigger than the average turtle shell. And he’d need a lot of screws for the patch…or were the shells on mutant turtles weaker? Maybe added screws would make it worse.

“You don’t happen to know how strong your shell is?” he asked.

Mikey peeked over his shoulder at him, shrugging one arm, “Donnie says they're even tougher than the average turtle…is it bad?”

And Connor didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t, because it was suddenly hitting him how…young the mutant sounded. Thinking back, the one wearing blue had sounded young too…and the purple one’s voice had been pretty high pitched.

He hadn’t thought too hard about it but now, with just one mutant in front of him, looking up at him wide-eyes in a very round face, that maybe wasn’t just turtle genes mixing weirdly with human genes…

Did New York just get saved by…kids?

Did a bunch of teenagers almost get killed trying to stop a freaky version of godzilla? 

Where the hell had literally anyone one else been?

He shoved those very, very foreboding thoughts down because Mikey was starting to fidget anxiously at the long silence. He took a deep breath and moved to get the saline bottle and cotton balls, “Good news, I am very good at fixing this kind of shell fracture. Slightly…less good news, I’m gonna have to put screws in to actually repair it.

“I’m sorry, you gotta what?” the girl, he should really get her name, looked baffled and a little...protective maybe?

“Only to hold the shell shut while I apply a resin epoxy patch. After I clean the crack out I need a way to stabilize it and drilling small holes for screws and basically ‘sewing’ the edges of your carapace back together is the best way for it to heal properly. I’ll only put the screws in as far as your keratin layer…erm, that’s the top layer of your carapace. After the patch dries I’ll take them out again and it should heal relatively quickly.”

The explanation didn’t seem to soothe either teenagers' worry.

Now he really wished he’d asked Nick to stay but it was far, far too late to call him back.

So he took another deep breath, “There is a mild pain-killer in the IV I gave you already. You’ll barely feel a thing and your friend…”

“...April,” the girl supplied.

“April is going to be here the whole time. I promise, this procedure is completely safe.

Mikey still looked unsure but he nodded and was clearly trying to keep still as Connor started to carefully clean the injury.

He worked as quickly as possible, uncomfortably aware that there were three more turtles with similar injuries waiting. Red tinted saline ran down the kids back and Connor worked diligently to make sure every bit of grime was gone before directing Mikey to lay on his plastron and pulling out his drill.

He’d made a point of getting one that wasn’t very loud so it didn’t stress out his clients, the whirr was barely louder than the average fan motor. But Mikey still tensed when he switched it on. April held his hands in hers, smiling encouragingly and talking softly while Connor worked.

He’d been right about using a lot of screws. He silently thanked Vanessa for accidentally getting a double shipment on the last restock, it was certainly paying off now.

He kept one hand firmly on the edge of Mikey’s shell, so he could feel every time the kid shivered or flinched. But he didn’t try to run or bite him so the process was going much more smoothly than he was used to.

Still, both human and turtle visibly relaxed when the last hole was bored and the final screw was put in place.

Moving quickly, Connor dumped the epoxy resin components into a mixer before going back to the carapace with fishing line and started piecing the broken ends back into one.

Mkey whimpered and shook, and when Connor glanced down he could see the green, three fingered knuckles going pale with how hard he was squeezing April's hand. She didn’t even seem to care as she kept praising how well Mikey was doing.

Tough kid. Definitely born and raised in the city.

Fishing line in place, Connor made short work of transferring his resin batch and applying it. That, at least, didn’t seem to cause Mikey any more distress, his hands loosening bit by bit as the patch was spread over his injury. And the waiting time for it to set gave Connor a chance to examine the rest of Mikey.

There were a plethora of cuts to bandage but nothing that needed stitches. Connor thanked fate for that small mercy, because he wasn’t sure if Mikey would stay put if he pulled out another needle.

He smoothed down the last bandage just in time for the resin patch to dry. The screws were removed and disposed of and Connor finished it all off with a stupid amount of tape and gauze.

He breathed a sigh of relief before helping Mikey sit up again, “I want that IV to stay in until the bag is empty. But you can take it to the waiting room with you.”

Mikey nodded as he carefully slid off the table, leaning on April again for support. He looked up at Connor with a very shaky but genuine smile, “You’re a lifesaver, dude.”

Connor huffed a laugh, patting the kids head, “Tell yourself that when you start getting tired of all that resin on your back. Now, let’s go get the next one.”

Mikey nodded and Connor led the way back to the others.

Exhaustion was clearly trying to pull them all down but they perked up when Mikey shuffled over and was lowered into the chair.

Connor didn’t even have to ask before the same blue turtle, who was definitely the oldest with that ‘take charge’ attitude, was pushing the purple one forward.

Connor knew better this time and quietly explained the process again as April helped Donnie to the exam room. The kid, who he learned was named Donnie, nodded along quietly and immediately laid himself flat on the table.

More screws, more resin, an exam showing the kid probably had a concussion and a deep cut up his leg that needed a few stitches. Donnie babbled quietly the entire time, talking to April about some TV show he’d been watching and a band he really liked. Connor huffed a quiet laugh when he heard BTS mentioned a few times.

Now that he wasn’t as unsure, the entire thing took less time and Connor was feeling pretty confident when he went back for the next kid.

And was very, very quickly humbled again when he got Raph on his exam table.

He doubted Raph was trying to be difficult. But his default when he was uncomfortable seemed to be very much fight or flight. And since flight wasn’t an option, it meant he kept trying to claw at Connor whenever something hurt a little too much. Connor was very happy to have April's help in making sure Raph stayed as still as possible while also keeping him from punching or biting.

Luckily, Connor was used to clients that tended to lash out. And it got much easier after the shell repair was done. Something had cut the kids hands to ribbons so both got a layer of disinfectant and gauze.

Leo, while not nearly as difficult as Raph had been, was definitely not easy. Not because he was moving or trying to bite. No, it was because he refused to hold onto April like the last three had and continued to insist that Connor cleaning and drilling his shell didn’t hurt that bad.

It was kinda cringy to watch the kid fumble over his brave face in a clear attempt to impress April. But then again, Nick wasn’t much better and Connor had found that awkwardness endearing so he couldn’t judge the kid.

He also needed the most stitches. It looked like every cut the kid got and dug in deep and left Connor the job of slowly turning the turtle into a poor copy of Frankenstein's monster. And the bruising over his arms was much worse then the other three had been, already turning an ugly shade of purple. Treating that presented a small challenge, because he didn’t make a habit of stocking anything that could treat bruising. So he settled for raiding the break room freezer for ice and instructions for April to pick up something for bruising at a pharmacy.

Which left the rat, their father, apparently.

Connor frowned as the older mutant slowly limped next to him, under his own power so April could watch his boys.

“You have a name, right?” Connor asked. “I’m not really a fan of calling you ‘dad’.”

The rat gave a wheezy laugh at that, hugging his ribs, “Splinter will do fine.”

Connor nodded and held the exam room door open, “Okay Splinter, let’s take a look at that leg first.”

Splinter nodded, grunting and groaning as he took a seat on the table, only pausing to stick out a hand when Connor tried to help, “I’m not that old!”

“No, but you are injured,” Connor crouched, carefully prodding Splinters leg and foot. “...I want to x-ray to make sure but I don’t think it’s broken. Maybe a hairline fracture at worst.”

Splinter nodded, “Good, good, don’t have time for a broken bone anyway. Gotta stay on top of those boys.”

“I’m sure April will help you with your kids aftercare.”

“Ha, with their injuries, maybe. No, I need to make sure they stay home! Those four are grounded for sneaking around behind my back!”

“I mean…they did help save a lot of people.”

“Yes, and I am very proud of them. That’s why I’ll only ground them for a month instead of the rest of their lives.”

Connor couldn’t help but snort at that, “Alright then. Would you mind taking off your robe? I want to check your ribs.”

Splinter hummed and muttered as he gingerly pulled off his robe, once again refusing help. So Connor waited until he was given permission to touch. He didn’t check for busted ribs often on animals but Nick had shown him how to do it one. ‘Just in case’.

What other odd, little moments in his life were just fate setting up something to pay off later? 

He probably would never know…and frankly, he’d had plenty of world shattering revelations today.

Splinter was, by far, the least hurt. His leg and ribs were the worst offenders and, after a little nervousness around the x-ray machine, Connor confirmed that his leg wasn’t even broken, just a thin fracture that would heal in almost no time. He had the same random cuts all over his limbs to go with his sons, but his fur had saved him from anything too bad.

He led Splinter back to his sons after a slightly longer exam but with fresh bandages on his foot and chest and three pages of at-home care notes.

Connor paused by the desk, watching as the turtles, despite almost being asleep on their feet, stood to hug Splinter. He squeezed each one in return, likely putting too much pressure on his ribs but…Connor didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

The relief among the odd family was palpable. Connor knew that particular brand of relief well, when the dust finally settled completely and it fully hit you that you survived something that should have killed you.

No way in hell would Connor intrude on that moment. 

He let the mutants be, going back to the exam room to clean up. If they needed more help they could find him easily.

They were long gone by the time Connor went out again, only leaving a note on the front desk.

The scrawl was messy, but clearly read, ‘Thank you, from Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo, Splinter, April’.

Connor smiled as he tucked the note into his pocket.

He had no clue if he’d ever see those kids again but he hoped he would.

He hadn’t properly thanked them for saving the city after all.

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

Two months later, Vanessa cautiously poked her head into the storage closet, “Uh, Dr. Maverick? We have a walk-in requesting you?”

Connor sighed, “If it’s Mrs. Jefferson, please tell her she has to wait like everyone else.”

“Um, no, it’s someone by the name Leonardo?”

Connor paused.

He only knew one Leonardo.

“...I’ll be right there.”

Inventory could wait until he saw why Leo was knocking.

Connor didn’t run, running was a stupid thing to do in the clinic. That was how you accidently got stabbed by a scalpel or spilled chemicals onto people. But he did walk a bit faster than he normally would.

And sure enough, there was Leo, standing in his waiting room, next to a bloody faced Rapheal.

Connor approached the two boys, looking between them, “...the hell happened to him?”

“Someone decided to fight half a gang. By himself!”

“That Hun guy called me a frog!” Raph defended. “And he threw a beer bottle at me!”

Connor sighed, shaking his head, “Come on, both of you. I do not feel like getting bit today so Leo, you get to hold him down.”

Raph gaped at him, crossing his arms, “I’m not that bad!”

“Uh-huh,” Connor nodded as he snagged an empty clipboard. “I’m sure Miss. O’Neil agrees with that.”

Raph grumbled but trailed after him, Leo following at the end of the train.

Connor smiled as he scribbled down Raphael's name at the top of the patent form.

These kids had put themselves through hell to save the city, he was fine being their designated doctor in return.

[offstage-euthymia]

Jewels and smoke.

On the window stains.

Smoke cessation

Empty facial expression.

Drowned in the colours of brown.

Wooden bar, tables and doors.

Dimmed in the within sparks of cigarettes

Ashes on the tiled floor

Maladaptive coffee drinking.

Along with cold spirits blinking.

That greet you warmly.

Either your throat or you personally.

Those who talk and those you drink.

On a brink of eye closing.. clapping softly in dreamy meandering .

With a soft word, with a sharp drink.

I sink below and i can see them talking.

But i can see them bearly speaking.

Smoking covering eyes along with time that flies by

Smoke crying, did you say something?

And by the minute the bags are packed.

And i sing with a metaphor of saying goodbye

Sockets closing

Endorsing in a good night...

Stained window glass in red blue and green.

Church in a bar?

Or blurry oiled painting of the streetlight?

Perhaps walking down the street and fainting.

Blacking out in a fever along with my tired liver.

By Marko Tivanovac

[hella1975]

the ethel cain blorbo song association pipeline is crazy because it always starts like "oh this song from golden age is sort of blorbo coded. and the everytime cover of course. nothing from preacher's daughter though that's a tad specific and darker than the character in question or their media" and then it's "well actually they have a complicated relationship with religion and their forced self sufficience and such so they're also sun bleached flies coded" and then inevitably even though everytime I tell myself that strangers is definitely too specific and is also about cannibalism I always end up deciding they ARE strangers coded actually. like no they DO struggle to be good their memory IS metaphorically restricted to a polaroid in evidence. they do really miss their mom. and that’s what it's really about the cannibalism is just the set dressing. but we inevitably always make it to strangers I really can't help it

real but also i do not have the control for this my attitude is 'do i relate to this character?' and if the answer is yes then off the bat they're strangers coded and if they're stupid enough for even one lyric from any ethel song to be relevant to them even in the most long-winded way then i WILL make that their song. sometimes it's about essay length explanations behind a song on their playlist and sometimes it is quite literally bc the vibes are there and that's enough

[journeytojaburo]

Zeta thoughts, comments, questions, concerns, etc...

Favorite episodes: To Earth, Amuro Flies Again, Cinderella Four, The Messenger from Axis, Casualties of War

Characters I thought were interesting (a condensed list):

MIPs (Most Intriguing-Looking Players) (mobile suits) from each faction:

What I Liked:

Man that finale…the ending of course really got me emotionally, but I loved the part in the abandoned theater where all those theater metaphors they made throughout the show paid off

The dramatic relationships in this were so good they made my chest concerningly hurt at some point

Following up on this, I knew Four and Kamille were going to get me emotionally because they're kind of like Lalah and Amuro 2.0 but I wasn't expecting Emma and Reccoa to fill me with such deep despair with how their relationship fell apart/the full reversal of their roles

The Cyber-Newtype stuff and the additional Newtype stuff (see: Kamille covering the gundam in psychic armor) was really fascinating

What I Disliked:

Had the sequel problem of extending its scope way too much. so it had a hard time juggling all the new characters and plot points which I felt hurt the potential of a few storylines (Scirocco and Haman as effective villains, Katz and Reccoa believing they were being forgotten, etc.)

More characters means more female characters but with that came way more misogyny (might expand on this later)

I wish the returning characters had a little more time to shine though I can understand why that’s the case

IDK if it was just the particular DVD set I had but the translation was really scuffed at points

Overall conclusion: It's a sequel! With all the ups and downs that come from that...I think overall I'd say I enjoyed my time with it

[brucenorris007]

Okay, I think I covered everything else that’s on my mind about this movie. Which just leaves....

Well. Puss, the themes and Death are so closely tied together that I can’t really talk about any one of them without also getting into the others, so... 

*Breathe in*

SO.

Death. 

“I don’t mean metaphorically, poetically, spiritually or theoretically. Straight-up.”

It–and he–are a constant presence throughout the movie, and the film isn’t shy about it. Horner’s men are swatted down like flies without even the dignity of having individual names assigned to them. The first five minutes are dedicated to showing us who Puss in Boots, the legend, is and his characteristically cavalier swashbuckling attitude toward everything

even in those five minutes, it’s been brought to my attention that Death, the character, is lurking in the crowd, watching and waiting for Puss’ eighth life to end, which it does at the end of the film’s first action sequence. (gorgeous sequence, natch)

knowing Dreamworks, I’m sure they found even more ways than that to weave death into the visuals, but the really genius thing is something I realized just in the midst of typing up a previous post

Papa Bear keeps suggesting that their family head home to hibernate, which fits in with his obvious desire to nap, yes, but it also implies the movie is set in autumn

as in the season before winter, when things freeze and die

Puss in Boots is on his last life, literally the last of stretch of the AUTUMN of his mortal time on earth 

AASDFSDFGDSDF dreamworks you beautiful brilliant MMMM

the otherworldly whistling that precedes Death’s soundtrack and appearance on screen is eerie and haunting and piercing, suits the character of death so well because even as it sticks with you it’s still startling and chilling each time you hear it

And of course I’m sure many youtuber’s have already said it, Death is a great villain because he’s not particularly a villain, but the personified phenomenon we all must face at some point made real (again, “Straight up”) who’s doing his job. the primary trait that makes him a character instead of some mystery man metaphor is that he loathes Puss for his complacency towards life

ironically, Death actually treasures life more than anyone; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent the film hunting Puss to prematurely end his last life, nor would he have let Puss go at the end

and that brings us to the transformation Puss goes through from Legend to Man. er, Cat.

everything that he learns throughout the film, all the growth he undergoes ties back to who he is when he first meets Death and when he meets Death at the end of the movie and it’s all about letting go. letting go of the delusion that he’ll be fine no matter what danger he throws himself into, of the legend he’s created for himself about himself

The task is the same both times; Puss has to confront Death. Nothing about that fact actually changes, he still has to do it alone at the end of the film, he still can’t definitively defeat Death

but Puss himself changes; he lets go of his image of being a fearless hero, accepts that he’s afraid of Death, he lets go of the hope that he can outrun death through using the fallen star’s wish, he lets go of prioritizing all the moments of winning glory over his past lives and learns to cherish those more mundane and innocuous moments he’s had in this life.

Puss sheds the Legend he once was to be the Cat behind the legend. and the awesome part is that he doesn’t lose out on anything in doing so; the cat he is at the end of the film isn’t weaker than the cat he was at the start, nor is his life less fulfilling. Life isn’t more colorful than it was before, and he doesn’t give up swashbuckling either; he just learns to cherish and fight for the life he’s got

In the end, neither he nor any of the cast really need the wish, and that’s the great moral of the film; the things you need in life, the things you really want, you don’t need magic for. So long as you have your priorities straight, they can be found

i think that’s all from me, then. good night

[deltaruminations]

one of my more out-there theories is that “mike” isn’t a regular secret boss but a name for the strange someone that connects all of the secret bosses, short for “michael,” as in the archangel commonly interpreted as the leader among seven archangels — metaphorical for six “enlightened” and especially powerful darkners + the strange someone who led them. this is possibly reflected in memoryhead having six faces (seemingly representing the memories) encompassed in the braincase of a skull (perhaps representing the one remembering) — one figure bringing six others together as it speaks into a phone. deltarune’s possible seven-chapter structure theoretically lends itself to confrontation of six enlightened darkners, then with “mike” themself. spamton may have still felt allegiance to “mike” because they helped him, and he still believed on some level that mike would come back to save him someday. in-game, his references to “mike” start with the insistent “WE DON’T NEED [[MIKE]]” — suggesting that mike had helped him at some point — before a wistful “… Mike…” — betraying sentimentality for someone he seems to consider a friend. as spamton NEO, he appeals to mike, seemingly asking if mike is proud of him; maybe he looked up to them. the reference to “mike” on the DAMN YOU, TENNA page being black text on the black background brings to mind a figure that’s shadowy and hidden, whose existence is shrouded in darkness.

if we take it to be true that strange someone is gaster, then “mike” could be a pseudonym he adopted — maybe as a symbolic practice, maybe just to cover his tracks. gaster having been metaphorically an “angelic” figure as strange someone — the secret bosses’ Michael — is consistent with angelic and luciferan motifs already associated with him, gaster being an intermediary figure between higher and lower planes (between light and dark worlds, in this case; then, post-shatter, between the player’s and deltarune’s realities) who may be seen as having rebelled against “god” (or at least the natural order of the world, the light-dark balance) by exposing the true nature of darkners’ existence to them and empowering them to change their own fates — to transcend the roles they were meant to serve to their gods — with he and the other rebel angels “falling from grace” (the secret bosses having lost themselves and becoming marginalized even further; gaster himself being figuratively cast into hell(s) in the Underground and/or out-of-bounds) as a result. aside from layering in the “leader of a powerful, select group” aspects of the Michael mythology, blending the “Michael” and “Lucifer” characters might serve additional purposes in maintaining mystery; the choice of “mike” as a name gives the figure an innocuous quality that flies under the radar, and “lucy” or “lou” might have been a bit too on-the-nose for a savvy audience.

anyway spamton’s mention of mike is probably just foreshadowing a future SB but it’s fun to imagine lol