#mysterious backstory — visage

[strangerplan]

tag dump!

ships

there is no together in panic — rel: dodge mason / natalie williams

there’s my guy — rel: dodge mason / ray hall

dynamics

who the hell is that? — dyn: dodge mason / ray hall

everything that i’ve done has been for dayna! — dyn: dodge mason / dayna mason

you used to hate cops — dyn: dodge mason / jessica mason

miscellaneous

thanks for the tip — musings

to win the game — headcanon

mysterious backstory — visage

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What if Idia added the school staff to the team to defeat Malleus? After all, the more, the merrier. How would they react about Idia’s video and everything else as well?

This is an idea I’ve actually discussed before (in the context of “would this actually happen in canon”)! So while I don’t think this would be canonized, I at least want to get my own thoughts and headcanons out there.

I feel like Crowley may have ulterior motives that have yet to be elaborated on, but assuming no such thing, he’s the comic relief of the group. Probably claims he is worried about Draconia-kun’s health + safety but in actuality he is worried about how a disaster of this scale could negatively impact NRC’s reputation and donors. (Also probably whines to Idia demanding to know why he didn’t include his dear old headmaster’s handsome visage in his explanation video.) But because he is such a maganimous headmaster, of course he will use the full extent of his magical might to properly punish the misbehaving Draconia-kun!

I’m not sure what Crowley’s dream would be since his backstory is so mysterious. By extension, that also means I’m not sure what would wake him up.

Crewel I think would be very mad. He taught his students better than this, how dare they betray Crewel-sama’s trust!! Since the Draconia pup has been so bad, it’s up to his owner (the game’s word choice, not mine 😭) to discipline him. You can only imagine how strongly worded his lecture would be… No holds barred. On a not-as-serious note, he has great fun with Idia’s Dream Form Change—they’re such fast wardrobe changes! Crewel even praises Idia for the innovation, but it makes Idia feel weird to receive compliments in this context…

As for Crewel’s dream… Well, since the dreams appear to be based on a shallow, convenient idea of the dreamer attaining happiness, perhaps Crewel stayed in the fashion industry and made it big. Like he owns his own popular fashion house or something, owns a house huge enough to house 101 dogs, never has to deal with the frustration of teaching or getting his student to behave ever again. Buuuut as we can see from his voice lines and vignettes, Crewel actually does like teaching (even though it’s tough on him sometimes) and, more than that, he loves seeing his pups learn and mature. He’d need to be reminded of the pride he feels when he sees his students succeed, and knowing that he had played an active role in shaping that success and interest in the sciences.

Trein would be the most interesting of the staff reactions, in my opinion. He would be able to relate a lot to Malleus’s struggle to accept loss, since Trein experienced the passing of his wife as well as the empty nest syndrome that comes with his adult daughters moving out. Because of this, I can easily see Trein empathizing with Malleus but also being extremely disappointed in him. He’d resolve to knock some sense into his student, and then deliver a harshly worded “tough love” lecture afterwards.

Trein’s dream would be so sad, man… Him living out a happy life with his wife and daughters, and then you have to come in knowing this peace has to be disrupted. Trein has been shown in the past—particularly when he interacts with Crewel and during GloMasq—that he cares deeply for his students and blames himself for failing to teach them right from wrong if they act out. Maybe the students would intentionally misbehave or act morally despicable in his presence, causing Trein’s emotions to get riled up. (After all, he did get pretty upset when his students suggested abandoning the flower infested city.)

Side note: both Crewel and Trein would worry about the health of their pets/familiar (Lucius) while they’ve been dreaming.

I unfortunately have a lot less to say about Vargas and Sam (since I feel like we don’t have enough significant lore about them to formulate concrete thoughts on this subject)… However, I do think that they’d be sort of similar in that while they do feel disappointed with what’s happening, they try to stay upbeat and optimistic about the circumstances. Like Vargas and Sam are encouraging everyone to keep their spirits high even if the chips are down! (Vargas in a more arrogant, “never fear, I am here!” way, Sam in a more “I’ll tell you some interesting stories to distract you” way.) If we wanna talk more superficially, Vargas might mention being worried about his irl muscles wasting away and Sam about his store and profits.

Of the two, I see Vargas leaning towards more disappointment and Sam being slightly impressed by what Malleus has pulled off. This is because Vargas strikes me as someone who values real, tangible gains rather than using shortcuts. That’s pretty self-explanatory from how he constantly talks about muscles, working out, and the effort it takes to get there. Sam is someone who also deals in desires + has a dark, mischievous sense of humor. He might take a look at the sheer scale of what Malleus has achieved and crack a joke about how he wishes he were the one that could take credit for it. If he had the power to make dreams come true… well then, there wouldn’t be a need to keep stuff in stock, now would there?

As is the case with Crowley, I feel like I don’t know enough about either Sam or Vargas to determine what a feasible dream for them would be. I guess maybe a world where everyone adores and fawns over Vargas like the village does for Gaston??? And maybe Sam is the one who ends up a super wealthy entrepreneur, although maybe there’s something more he wants if he’s actually indebted to his friends on the other side like Dr. Facilier is.

Anyway, those are my thoughts ^^

[katyspersonal]

Idk if you have enough to say since he’s a fairly minor character but can you give thoughts on the Hornsent (NPC)? I love him so much and I absolutely agree that he’s a huge parallel to Marika herself and I wanna hear more of your thoughts on that and him in general!

Hey, he is not THAT minor! xD All seven NPCs that were attracted by Miquella and are our guides through SOTE's lore are pretty much in the spotlight! Elden Ring's story just has these important Demigods and characters more strongly involved with them that their gravity makes it harder to focus on the Little Guy 😔 (and all Thiollier fans laughed sfdhfdh)

Okay so uhhh, I will post observations and thoughts in order, because yeah, with this guy you sort of need to pay attention twice or something?

1) He originates from Belurat

The kind of mask he is wearing could've created some confusion, but "the tower" exclusively refers to Belurat in the lore!

Freyja states this much at the beginning, and it is admittedly easy to forget because most likely you check this dialogue just on the first playthrough and before what 'tower' is clicks properly.. but yeah!

A more bold evidence here is that Hornsent will recognise the meal that is trademark of Belurat!

2) Don't be confused though, Grandam is not his mother!

He states in dialogues upon being killed by Leda and if he was not summoned to fight Messmer that his child, wife and mother were killed during Crusade!

2.1) He doesn't mention father nor gender of a child, though?

I think this on itself is interesting, and opens a bit more for potential backstory! His father might have been dead before the Crusade, or... maybe even divorced. x) Or maybe, he survived the Crusade, like Hornsent himself, but perished for another reason; maybe old age, maybe even upon seeking revenge as well? It would still make sense for him to not mention his father even then, because he would not count as massacred IN purge of the Tower!

Saying 'child', not 'son' or 'daughter', also gave me a kinda fucked up idea, listen! What if this means something? For example, his wife was merely pregnant, or the purge happened at the time when she just gave a birth, so he never learned whether it was a son or a daughter? I know I should not make it even darker than it already was, and it is probably just to specify the 'status' (he does say 'wife' rather than calling her by the name, after all)... But imagine...

In any case, his child was still very little! In Japanese he refers to his child as '幼子よ', and I checked... Yeah, it refers to basically an infant, it seems!

3) He is very reluctant to make a connection, even under spell!

After Tarnished gives him the Scorpion Stew, he gives them Furnace Visage (useful item for killing two Furnace Golems that can't be killed normally and to "wake up" one blocking the way in Ruins of Unte). His motivation is, "I desire not to be in your debt"!

And he refuses if you try to give him another Scorpion Stew:

The last phrase (お前と、慣れ合うつもりもな…) is more accurately says something like "I have no intention of getting used to you"! The only thing Miquella's spell did was to give him hope, but he can't open up even to "comrades"!

4) He is not likely to be a potentate, despite his mask!

He is wearing the mask that is otherwise worn by potentates, however, there is something else about potentates:

By the practice of his village of birth! It looks like this is basically a "family business" inherited through generations, something Hornsent already is probably excluded from, since he is one of the people of Belurat!

I think the simpler explanation for why he has this mask is not its context but its practical purpose: "to ward off thoughts and distractions (from his honorable quest of revenge)"! He must remain focused on vengeance; no friends, no falling into despair, no "wax nostalgic 'bout days gone by"... I also played around with the idea that this mask was from his mysterious never-mentioned father rather than something he picked somewhere! Maybe he was one of those Potentate barbarians that somehow climbed social ladder a bit by marrying a woman from Belurat! Don't know whether it is something possible in this society, it is hard to tell :p

Hornsent also doesn't use trademark weapon of Potentates, their butchering knife, but his weapon Falx - something created with the purpose of vengeance! I think it implies that he was not even a fighter before, and only started to wield weapon to begin with FOR vengeance!

4.1) He must not oblivious to where it comes from, though, so what does it say about his character?

Regardless of whether the mask comes from, I doubt he doesn't know its actual origin! I am positive that the people who executed Shamans are long ago dead, but the practice itself is alive. Besides, even Hornsent themselves get this treatment if they've convicted:

So you'd wonder what he is feeling avenging "his beloved people" who put other people in jars, and whether there is some hypocrisy, right? Well, I THOUGHT there was some awareness:

It makes it sound as though he is, at the same time, aware that his folks are not perfect either, and believes in Miquella's new world to fix their flawed, even barbaric culture as well, right? I double checked for Japanese text, and I do not really see it as translation mistake?

ミケラが、その誓いを違えず、一族をも救う神となるのなら

一族を、救って…

In Japanese, he uses 救, which means to 'save' or religious kind of 'salvation'! To 'redeem' doesn't seem to be too far removed from original meaning, but I'd say this gives off more of the vibe of 'salvation' that is justice for the martyred, for those who were murdered unfairly! Justice of God upon sinners and to help out the victims, rather than the 'cleanse our sins' kind of 'salvation'!

Maybe I am looking at it through the wrong angle, but I also kind of like this interpretation more! He is not exactly in the mindset to question imperfections or straight up hazardous religious practices of his nation when the wound of losing his own family, and countless other families being burnt in "cleansing" is what defines his whole life now! Hornsent culture deserves to be criticised, but it is not his priority for the long time now, maybe never again, and it is fair enough!

^ Another line pointing towards him certainly not having "criticism" towards his clan nor intending to, as this is translated very plainly:

…よくも、���らを汚物と呼んだものだ どちらが真に汚物なのか、自分でも知っていただろうに！

5) He disrespects Leda without crossing her boundaries

He never once addresses her by name! It is not just how he is, as he addresses not just Miquella by name, but also Marika and Messmer, his sworn enemies! However, Leda he addresses only as:

The thing is, she is not just Leda, she is Lady Leda! She has the title by her knightly status, and calling her by the name is something reserved only to either close people or those who wants to be an asshole on purpose x)

He surely would not call her Lady, and it could be not quite personal but just because he chronically dislikes Tarnished! But he also would not shorten the mental distance between them by using her name without honorfic. I think it is a neat detail!

6) He doesn't use the flasks to heal!

I actually only learned it from @slavonicrhapsody here ( x ) as I was not paying attention, but, yeah! Developers actually bothered to differentiate him by not having him use flasks, a thing of the Erdtree, that fits the lore!

7) His invasion location might be not coincidental!

Hornsent still invades us even if we helped him to complete his revenge upon Messmer because FromSLOP hates us and our desired bonds with the characters in case you haven't noticed that upon finding dead bodies of Ansbach and Thiollier lmao. But his invasion location is particularly quite close where Romina is, and in the place full of Scarlet Rot+! And Romina is herself form Belurat!

Perhaps, even though he called us a "comrade-in-arms", maybe meeting her made him turn upon us after all? Sure, he does say that after all, he doesn't wish Miquella's help but only vengeance upon everyone under Erdtree, but come on, dude, we are friends now!

But maybe meeting another Belurat survivor face to face after a long time knocked him back to his previous mindset harder, and he decided that "no, not a single person of Marika's world deserves to be spared, not even my comrade that helped me"! As opposed to just thinking up of a change of a heart on his own! It is one thing to keep the 'idea' of victims he is avenging in his mind as his compass, but another to meet one face-to-face, to see her living in the ruins now and latching onto twisted Eldrich God of endless death-and-rebirth that was not meant to be released similarly to Formless Mother! This is a far cry from Hornsent's religion and their worship of Divine Beasts from Heaven, Romina is "ruined" and so is the nature itself in some way, and it is all Messmer's and Marika's fault...

8) Another nameless character!

There are other characters in Elden Ring who abandon their names and instead take up titles that reflect their new purpose (like Dung Eater or Goldmask)! I can only assume that he forsaken his name, instead simply using title of his nation as one, after he lost his family. "The man I used to be died in the fires with them" kind of thing...

This is just an idea that I like, but I think if he was to ever find new relationship, he'd allow this person to refer him by the name or a nickname they pick for him! But he never wants to use his former name again. He might try to start a new life in the best case scenario, but never repair anything from the former one. Things once broken... you know.

9) You KNOW where his mapping skills come from!

He doesn't just also follow Miquella, but is an invaluable help to the team in picking and mapping his exact traces! He has been pursuing Messmer and his forces before in vengeance, and needless to mention that the size of Elden Ring's world is only scaled down for the sake of a videogame not making your brain AND computer explode x) He for sure needed a lot of spyoning, researching and seeking to both find his ways and not prematurely die.

I just think it works better if he lived comfortably in Belurat, a pretty high-class place, and HAD to develop both fighting and mapping skills as a response to his trauma and craving for revenge... I know there ARE military forces in Belurat too, but he is not exactly an armoured warrior, nor a Curseblade. And think about tragic drastic change of a character.... Miquella's charm sort of put those developed skills to a good use.

10) I am not sure what to think of his face data!

(From video by Zullie the Witch ( x )) I just had a flashback in black-and-white filter to the guy that passionately tried to prove us with the foam at his mouth that Fromsoft was super lazy, and honestly... all his arguments were super wrong, yet he never would mention something like THIS! You can absolutely tell that developers created one of these characters first, and then made the other one atop of these sliders instead of making a new one. 🙄

@slavonicrhapsody suggested that burnt marks on Hornsent's face could be from him surviving the purge, and I totally like this idea! Them making a unique character first with clear idea in mind and then remembering "ah, shoot, right we need a few annoying invader NPCs too" makes more sense! Especially since Potentates invaders are all generic, without variants! Basically, I think Hornsent holds priority in this kind of face data for obvious reasons, but, god, if they picked another type of beard, why not remove burnt marks? 🙄🙄 #FromSLOP

__________________

Tbh I already liked this character instantly upon first jumping into DLC! According to my friend @val-of-the-north people were thinking he was kind of an dick, which apparently absolutely went over my head as I didn't feel this way? Maybe it is because I am both familiar with distrusting other people as person with PTSD and not familiar with "being polite" as a concept as an autist lol dhsfh

I just found him intriguing, but his monologue after being summoned for Messmer scared me a little bit. The way he grows more obsessed with revenge, and doesn't intend to stop only at people who were actually guilty... Fun fact: I've summoned him on Messmer's arena by pure accident! XD I didn't know it could be done, I just randomly saw a summon sign while running from Messmer all over the place fhshfds Apparently it was a good call, because most people skipped this turn of character on their first play?

Also unpopular opinion, but I think him being "unlikeable" on some sort of objective level is good? I feel very strongly about the whole mindset of 'only feeling compassion for the 'good victim'' that lingers in society. Like... gooooood forbid if the victim becomes angry, or ends up hurting the world back, or otherwise develops the unlikeable traits, right? Only soft "likeable" victims that just weep and clearly never did anything wrong before OR after their trauma deserve compassion, right? (Slavonic I am using all my willpower to not link your post about Beebus rn fsdhfdhs) I think Hornsent developing negatively as a person is good and realistic. I praised the base game for how Dung Eater and Mohg were executed (not everyone who opposes the oppressive system or was a victim of it is automatically a good person), but Hornsent is not even a villain, and it is even better! He is "not good victim", and it doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve sympathy and recovery!

At the same time, really good character in his function, to show how revenge will only endlessly create more revenge infinitely! I think he deserves better than being automatically written down over what his mask item is given all the other context, and he definitely deserves all the "I can fix him" Tarnished bitches. 😔😔😔

[dyxtd21]

Dragon's Vein Agate aesthetic moodboard!!

Dragon's Vein Agate:

Appearance: Dragon's Vein Agate stands at an impressive 8'4", his presence both awe-inspiring and commanding. His entire being, from his skin to his attire, showcases the vibrant mix of colors characteristic of Dragon's Vein Agate.

Skin and Features: His skin is a mesmerizing blend of purple, orange, and red hues, with intricate vein-like patterns resembling dragon scales. The top part of his body features a gradient of purple, transitioning into rich reds and oranges towards his lower body.

Hair: His hair is big, long, and untamed, cascading down his back in a wild, fiery mane of vibrant colors. The strands mirror the colors of his skin, adding to his dragon-like appearance.

Tail and Horns: He has a long, sinuous tail covered in the same colorful, scale-like patterns. His horns are elegant and curved, extending from his forehead and adding a regal aspect to his draconic visage.

Eyes: His eyes are a striking blend of amber and red, glowing with an inner fire that hints at his powerful heritage.

Attire:

Pants: He wears traditional Chinese Ku pants, loose and comfortable, allowing for ease of movement. The pants are a deep shade of red, decorated with intricate patterns in gold and purple.

Barefoot: He prefers to be barefoot, his feet strong and calloused, adding to his natural, untamed appearance.

Gemstone: His marquise-cut gemstone is embedded in his navel, its vibrant colors reflecting the power and majesty of his being.

Backstory: Dragon's Vein Agate was created by the legendary Dragon God, Ryūjin. Raised alongside Ryūjin's daughters, Toyotama-hime and Tamayori-hime, he was welcomed into the family as their "Big Brother." This familial bond is the core of his existence, and he takes his role very seriously.

Personality:

Closed Off and Quiet: Dragon's Vein Agate is a man of few words, preferring to observe and listen rather than speak. His stoic nature gives him an air of mystery and strength.

Stoic: His emotions are carefully controlled, rarely displayed openly. He is a pillar of stability and reliability for his family.

Overprotective: He is fiercely protective of his sisters, Toyotama-hime and Tamayori-hime, willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety and happiness. His overprotectiveness stems from a deep sense of duty and love for his family.

Loyal: His loyalty to his family is unwavering. He prioritizes their well-being above all else and is always ready to defend them against any threat.

Role in the Family:

Big Brother: As the eldest sibling, he takes his responsibilities seriously. He mentors and guides his sisters, offering wisdom and support whenever they need it.

Guardian: He serves as the family's protector, his stoic presence a constant reminder of the strength and unity of their bond.

[val-of-the-north]

Top 5 hottest Bloodborne characters and why! (P.S. you must exclude Patches though, or else the top will be rigged and pointless)

FUCK YOU WHY DO YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE!!! (AND OF-FUCKING-CURSE YOU'D EXCLUDE MY BLORBO FUCK OFF)

Alright altright... let me think...

I don't have a particular order for any of these in mind, so bear with me here... the idea of hot in my head isn't really well-defined for these guys. I'll stick to the humans for this (and ones we actually meet and know what they look/ed like ahah), otherwise how is anyone gonna compare to like, Wet Nurse, Kos and Ebrietas? Simply impossible lmao. Also, it's half characters I personally really like and characters that just... ARE hot lol.

Call me simple but Annalise has some ALLURE to her. She looks absolutely beautiful in the portraits we do have of her, but her mask-bound visage inspires mystery and intrigue, as well as her just having that dignified nature to her. Despite everything she ever had having been toppled and destroyed, she keeps her chin up and still commands respect. She is very strong and confident in her blasphemy and you can't help but love to see it.

Call me simple YET AGAIN but Gascoigne is just undeniably hot lol. Like, I am not even his biggest fan but even I think it's an objective fact. He has everything you could ever want. Gigantic dad body, sharp teeth, a sexy voice... and he is probably sweet enough when off work to maintain a pretty stable loving family and a life-long buddy. Technically!!! He is the ONLY human character (that isn't a prostitute I guess) that is confirmed as not being a virgin lmao. Even the setting wanted you to know this man fucks. Like, there's no denying he is THE hot character of the setting when the topic comes up. People don't call him daddy for nothing...

Valtr. I don't even have to elaborate honestly. His looks are appealing, his insanity and violence are appealing, his voice acting is appealing. He is just REALLY freaking appealing with how strong he is and how passionate he is about the things he believes. And, while this may be a thing that only makes him more appealing to me, he also has the potential to be silly, which is hilarious since he is the character who'se goal is "everyone must die". I mean, it's THAT goal itself that makes him silly in the first place ahah. But yeah, solid design, concept, backstory and execution. It does not surprise me multiple people simp for him. Honestly, I am surprised it's not MORE.

Now with the more conventional out of the way, I'll go with Djura. He is a frisky old man, and one who tries to atone for his mistakes and crimes. He is well-meaning and surprisingly honest for someone in Yharnam lol, which makes him stand out in a sea of asshole opportunists and deranged lunatics. You know how people usually gravitate towards batshit crazy weirdo characters in a sea of relatively sane and good characters? I think Djura has the same effect but reversed lol. HE is the novelty in this world. Also, his design is pretty freaking attractive. It's simple, but the charm is there. His voice actor did a very good job as well ahah. I love his line delivery...

... I'll come out and say that I can see the appeal of Logarius VERY well. He is a tall evil man of dubious origin just chilling (literally) on the roof of Cainhurst for all time. He was most likely somewhat Pthumerian which adds to his attractiveness, as it would make him not QUITE a human (but still human enough to make it on this list lol). I also listened to the sounds he makes and I liked what I heard... he has a pretty cool evil laugh. I just like how he was either fully deluded and really believed his quest, or he was just enticing a group of fanatics while knowing full well their quest had ulterior motives. Both work and both are appealing for different reasons. One has to wonder what he looked like before he turned into a Halloween decoration...... welp, I said it. I am cringe but I am free...

Honorable mention to thicc Willem, the sexiest man in Yharnam and the one who ruined it. I like to think he wasn't JUST smart back in the day lol

[yamanaka-shin]

Pact

9/6 birthday fic for Shin 🧡🧡 (though it's actually part of a backstory fic I hope I can write in full one day)

Characters: Shin (age 6), Hyakutori (OC, Shin's dad), Parduoc (OC, giant otter summoning animal)

Setting: pre-canon, Kusagakure

Summary: good intentions that have accidentally bad results are the worst, aren't they? back in Kusa, it's as rough as it's ever been, even when there's days that suck less than others. (if you notice a pronoun switch between the present and flashback, that's on purpose)

He has no logical reason to ever expect a deviation. It's always business as usual when your summoner calls you forth for whatever pain in the ass matter they're wrapped up in. You get the call, you answer it, you handle whatever task you're given, then you get to leave again. So when that proverbial blowing of the horn comes once more for Parduoc, he prepares himself to be greeted by the tried and true visage of the current contract holder. The sight of the silver haired man might be largely unexciting but at least Hyakutori has never wished harm on any of the otters under his command or treated any of them inhumanely. None of them ever get hit, yelled at, or forced to do errands that he couldn't be bothered to do himself. So, to the ringleader of the semi-aquatic musteline fighting force, this should have just been the standard get in get back out scenario. Until a huge wrench got hurled into every expectation that the giant otter tried to maintain.

"Shin?" Big, almost kelpy green eyes blink in disbelief when the face he looks up to behold is that of his master's only brat instead of the master himself. And then Parduoc looks around to make sure he's not dreaming and finds nothing is meeting his usual expectations. "Where the hell are we and what's going on? Where's your dad?"

"Shh, be quiet!" The six year old pleads with the water weasel before placing one small hand over its muzzle haphazardly. Parduoc looks up at him with a miffed expression as a brief wet feeling accompanies the rough placement of the hand but decides not to continue his statement in case this is an actually serious situation. "They're looking for me."

"Who's looking for you?" The words are muffled by the hand in front of his mouth but he manages to make it decipherable, even with his father gruff voice.

"I don't know. And I don't know what to do." He's clearly trembling with every word he's saying. The full picture is still not cleared up but the obvious details that can be ascertained from all the current clues do not inspire confidence in the large otter. He still isn't seeing Hyakutori either and that is the most worrying factor of all.

Parduoc knows he has to be careful and conservative with every movement just in case they're discovered by the mystery pursuers but he still manages to wriggle away from the loose grip the small child had had on him in order to properly get his bearings. Those swampy hued eyes of his take stock of his surroundings the best he can with what he assumes is limited time and it appears that they're somewhere upstream from where Hyakutori would frequently bring Shin in order to teach him Shinobi life skills in the absence of a formal academy. During a lot of those educational sessions, the former Kiri nin would summon a couple of his contracted otters so that they might provide extra eyes and ears (and teeth, frankly) to keep on hand in case he himself misses a whiff of danger or suspicious activity. It paid to be careful in this part of the Land of Mushrooms because the ruling party in charge of Kusagakure were not known for their benevolent or transparent or fair ways. It wasn't quite lawless out here but sometimes it felt closer to that threshold than it did to one of safety. It was hard enough out here to be an autonomous adult, let alone a child who may or may not have adequate parental protection. Which only fueled the ongoing maybe-crisis paranoia further.

"Can you tell me all of what you know? I just need to understand what is going on." Parduoc takes a deep breath after speaking as lowly as possible. He has to center himself and focus, preparing for whatever information was going to be hastily dumped on him in the next moment. Part of him had the suspicion that his actual summoner was not the one who called for him. And the implications of that were definitely not pretty. Thinking back, he hesitantly relives the moment that may have lead him here, quickly enough so as not to waste precious time.

~~~~~~

"I think that's about enough for today. You did a really good job." That reassuring voice comes from the silver haired man standing on the bank of the stream. He watches his child hop just then, the best she was able, onto the nearest rock once she gets the signal to stop.

But said rock was just a little too slick from the combination of the constant contact with moving water and a little bit of algae that had been growing on it because of said water. Too slick, in this case, for a young child who had not yet mastered the fine chakra control to establish and maintain a proper lasting grip on it with her feet. She struggled to balance and stay upright but quickly floundered a little too roughly in the wrong direction and was bound to fall backside first into the thankfully shallow brook beneath her. Until her father, still watching like a diligent hawk, motioned to one of his nearby summons to jump in and prevent this very minor slip up. Parduoc trotted faster than he had in ages in his attempt to catch Shin before the fall and ended up getting his protruding bottom teeth firmly enough into the bottom edge of her shirt. She stopped falling backwards just enough to avoid a very wet collision with nature.

"Got-tha." It's muffled by the shirt fabric in between his teeth, but the otter reaffirms his success. Though that turns out to be a premature celebration as in the next moment, Shin sighs a little in relief, and the minute movement frees her shirt from the half-assed grip Parduoc has on it after it had loosened ever so slightly from his mumbling. So she ends up in the creek even with the best attempt to prevent it.

Hyakutori slaps a palm to his forehead dramatically and sighs. Thankfully his daughter is tough enough not to be upset to the point of crying, but now he's going to have to wash those clothes again. Clothes that had just been freshly washed yesterday. It's such a petty concern but goddamn he should have swooped in to pick her up as soon as possible rather than trust an otter's grip, thus preventing emergency laundry protocol. "Okay, I THINK we all need to go home now and pick this up another day." He looks first to his summon and then to his daughter. "And it's a bath and fresh clothes for you first then when we get there."

"Sorry dad." She apologizes, but thankfully still seems relatively unfazed. "I don't have it yet."

"That's okay. You will eventually, give it time. Good job today, I'm proud of you."

He steps into the stream, the reasonably temped water running gently over his feet and shins and feeling like heaven, and retrieves his kid from the flowing creekbed. Parduoc waddles out on his own and shakes off. It's not really necessary as he's well adapted to these sorts of conditions but in this case it's probably more him casting off the embarrassment rather than the moisture, and of course making sure he won't be tracking unnecessary muddy wetness into the house. Seaweed toned eyes look up at the much taller adult man as if to confirm one last time that they're all headed home, and he receives an assuring nod. It's the giant otter in the lead all the way, trotting at a comfortable and easy pace in his uniquely musteline manner, returning to the relatively safe (as safe as it could be in these parts, any way) little place they had established in the heart of Mushroom Country. Both know it's not a life of luxury but at this point it didn't need to be. Really, all it needed to be was far from the reach of the Hidden Mist and now of course safe enough to raise a child, and it had fit both points of that bill just fine for as long as they'd been residing here. Hyakutori hopes his luck will hold out for as long as possible and counts his blessings that it's been this easy for this long.

Though he could have just left for his actual home back with his brethren, his job here long past done, Parduoc opts to stay and laze around the Sado-Fuuma home for a while as Hyakutori takes care of both his child and her filthy clothes. It's a comfortable little life for a hard working mustelid and he knows he's earned the break. Hell, he's not even reprimanded for dropping Shin in the creek, so he's got nothing to lament about. Observing from afar, in this perfectly peaceful stretch of time, is far more interesting than whatever was surely waiting for him back with the clan anyhow. Hime wasn't even here right now so there was no way said peace could get disturbed or distorted. The mat he's laying on has practically his name on it and nothing is immediately demanding his attention so he knows damn well he's got it made. Meanwhile, the subjects he's been monitoring, go about their business. The wet pair of pants and less wet but still dirty shirt, along with everything else that touched the river water, are laundered carefully as soon as the man of the house sees to it that his actual child is washed and freshly dressed. All the while he's humming something to himself and seeming to enjoy the simplicity of it all, creating a very reassuring atmosphere that lifts his spirits even higher.

"Do you want to go back out there and work on it some more in a couple of days?" He breaches the question out of the blue just as he's stringing out a small line to hang the clothes from. They will be low enough to run into so he has to make sure not to do that every time he passes it by. Getting tangled up in a clothesline is not his definition of a good time.

Shin, who had been making quick work of some baby carrots for a snack, looks over to him and cocks her head to the side. "Can't it be tomorrow?"

That's when he lets out a little sigh through his nose. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I have a couple of missions to take care of tomorrow. But I promise it'll be the day after. You can hold me to that."

Disappointment briefly crosses her expression but seems to get over it without much fuss. "Thank you, I can't wait." There's no denying the hopeful lilt in those words. Even with mishaps, the process of learning these sorts of life skills seems to bring her joy and she looks forward to it every day. He just hopes it will never come down to her having to use them in any sort of combat scenario or just to get by monetarily. Though...at heart, he knows it's unlikely that life will be as kind to her as he wants it to be. Especially around the Hidden Grass. Experience has taught him that more than once while growing up. Maybe if she ventures out somewhere less unstable she'll have a better set of options to choose from. Though that's still a long way off.

The exchange seems to prompt Parduoc to get up from the mat he's lounging on like a lizard in the sun, moving in his unique weasely way over to Shin, and he examines her a moment before speaking. "Do you think it'll be like today, the next time we go out there?"

A half assed growl and brief baring of teeth is directed at the man. "You're predictable, I know it'll be me you ask for. And you could never replace me. Not when everyone else is the way they are."

Hyakutori interrupts with an edge of humor to his voice. "Who says I'm bringing you next time? Maybe I'll call Poww instead. I'm sure he can hold his grip. I think you gotta earn your spot back as my favorite after today."

He waves it off and finishes hanging the apparel for drying. "You're right. I'm sure he'd be mad at me if I did that to spite you anyway. Your place as the golden beast is safe for another day."

Under his breath, in that gruff voice distorted by his underbite, Parduoc makes an indignant quip. "I'll show you who's a beast. Hmph."

Shin swivels her focus from otter to father and asks him, genuinely. "Would he really be mad?"

He crosses the short distance between them and sits himself down right next to Shin so he can give her his full attention. "Maybe. Poww has a higher standard than all of his comrades. Or maybe Parduoc is just that lazy."

Father and daughter share a good laugh at the expense of their third but said third shakes it off like the water on his fur earlier. "Get it out now so I don't gotta hear it later. Go on, laugh it up. I'm an easy target."

"No, no, I'm done. I promise."

"Fine." Parduoc huffs, breathing out his nose for emphasis. He changes the subject abruptly with his next comment. "Now, kid, I need you to listen to me closely for a second."

"Huh?" She cocks her head in confusion once again. This is not an expected twist though maybe she should have seen it coming since he got up to sit next to her just like her dad had. "What is it?"

"I know earlier wasn't anything that bad but. It makes me think." There is a deep breath in between the statements. "You're too young for an official signature in the contract yet. Way too young. But, if you ever find yourself in an emergency, I will let you call on me once. Call on me and I will do everything I can to help you."

Something about the incredibly bold proposal has Hyakutori too stunned to speak for several beats. It's one hell of a sharp swerve from their earlier lighthearted exchange. Parduoc isn't exactly an unserious creature but he's no liar and no slouch when it mattered either. Such an offer is one he definitely will commit his all to without fail. And though it's a lot of responsibility, it could indeed be the singular safeguard that one day prevents the worst from happening to Shin when her father could not be there to help. His contracted summoning animals have been called an odd choice by some but he stands by the fact that they have always served him well and treat his child with respect and kindness without being asked to. That's all a father, and a Shinobi, could ever want. Harmony between duty and family when such a thing can be so rare. It makes him proud to have such reliable mammals under his command.

Stars light up those dark eyes of Shin's at the thought of such an honor. She doesn't really, fully understand the weight of why Parduoc is offering this but one day when she needs his help, if that day ever comes, she surely will. Even an animal that cannot measure up to the size and strength of a human being could make all the difference in a dire scenario when they need to. She's watched her father work alongside the otters on lots of training days and demonstrations of skills he intends to teach her so she knows at least some of what Parduoc is capable of, knows that he is her dad's favorite for a reason. And that she can trust him no matter what. For all of his slothful and indignant ways when duty wasn't calling, he's a good individual, and will hopefully one day be as good of a summon for her as he has always been for her father. The urge to throw her arms around his neck for a quick thank you hug rises in her chest but she quells it just in time so as not to invade his personal space and bother him. Another time, perhaps, but she knows she should ask first.

"I just need you to know one more thing." His tone is serious but not mean.

"What is that?"

"Other people bleeding may not, but this will be you bleeding."

"Calling on me, or any of us, requires blood. Not a lot, though. Just a little bit. Most ninjas bite their finger but those who don't wanna be so crude use a kunai edge. Can you handle that?"

"Blood doesn't scare me."

"I can do it, no problem."

"As long as you know it might hurt, especially when you're already in trouble, then I think you should be set. Just be careful not to bite or cut too deep. And don't go touching anything that might give you an infection when it hits the open wound." He sounds like a concerned parent but it's sound advice. Adults understood all of this well enough, but it pays to emphasize it to kids who don't have the life experience yet.

"I hope so too." Parduoc agrees. He hopes beyond hope he'll never see the day when the one calling him before signing the formal contract is Shin, because it won't be a low stakes fall in the brook type of day that can fixed with a shower, laundry, and a snack. She may not be his kid but the worry he shares with Hyakutori is very real.

"I just hope she never needs to use this one summon. I don't ask for much, but I really don't want such danger that requires it to happen." Hyakutori chimes in, voice not betraying the fear for his daughter in the worst case scenario. It makes him sound like an even more concerned parent though in his case that's exactly what he is.

~~~~~~

"I saw them." Shin starts again, making sure to keep his voice to a hush. "I saw them looking around the village a few times. Dunno why, or what they wanted."

As he snaps himself out of the memory, another oddity overcomes Parduoc. He can taste something strange lingering on the tip of his tongue and on his lips as if he had licked a foreign almost metallic substance. So he takes a moment to try and focus on what's left of the taste and tries to think of what could have even caused it. Then it hits him like a brick: iron taste equals blood. But he's not bleeding, he's damn sure of that, and it's not like he had had any fresh bloody fish in the past five minutes. Where, then, could it have come from? More gears internally turn until he's arrived at yet another answer. One that he likes the least of all possibilities. This blood came from Shin when he had slapped a hand over the otter's muzzle to quiet him moments ago. That must have been the weird sensation he felt when skin met fur. Which must mean...that was who had summoned him. All traces of doubts were now dead in the water. All those fears from when he proposed the one time summon deal seemed to be realizing themselves in quick succession. Panic wants to set in so badly just then but he cannot afford to be irrational when this could be life or death.

"You've seen these specific people before? Are you sure?"

He nods vigorously, very certain of his brief history with the danger bearing down on their tails now. "Yeah I'm sure. They saw me today...while I was running."

"Shin." Parduoc is a bit louder than he'd hope to be with just that one word. "What are you doing running away?"

Parduoc looks around them again and is stumped, like every time he made it around one obstacle another one cropped up. This is a place Shin never went alone. For all his venturing out solo, he never came this far without accompaniment from his father. And the otter doubts he'd been chased this far without calling on his promised aid until now. Shin wasn't so stupid that he would hesitate to ask for help when he knew how serious the danger was. Some things weren't adding up and the confusion was really bothering the nonhuman mammal. But with limited space and time to grill the child for answers, he had to pick and choose questions to ask in hopes he'd get fed all the necessary information. "Where were you running from and to?"

Now this is when a look of confliction that quickly pivots to guilt is written all over Shin's face. He has something he's not proud to admit but the time to hold back is definitely not now. "Away from home. Dunno where to. Away, I guess."

"Shhhhh. Don't let them know I'm here. Or you. You gotta keep your voice down."

"I know now isn't the time for 50 questions but what you're doing is a very bad idea! What happens if those people catch up to you? You could be hurt or even killed."

"That's why I called you! You said you'd help me!" He gives in to the moment and yells his emotional response, not giving a shit if anyone heard him.

"I said that, yes, but this is still a very bad idea! Kusa isn't safe! This whole place isn't safe to be running around not knowing where you're going all alone!"

All of this commotion spirals without either of them reigning it in and before they know it, they have company. Unpleasant and uninvited company. One man in an animal mask drops down behind Parduoc and the giant otter can feel it in his very bones that danger has descended upon him and his charge. Now is the time to shut up and book it like mad even if neither had any clue as to *where* they had to go to get away. All he knew was run, and by the gods that was what he was going to do.

"Get out of here! Now!" The yell is more like a rough and throaty bark. But it gets the point across. Dignity doesn't matter when your life is on the line.

"Have we...lost them?" Parduoc is nearly panting, hackles still very much up, making him look like a game animal fleeing hunters. He can't afford to let his guard down when that didn't feel too far from being the truth.

Shin is immediately scrambling to dodge the masked man but another stranger immediately comes to the aid of his companion and now it's two against two. Except, the odds are horribly unbalanced, being a child and a relatively compact animal against two fully grown and probably well trained outsiders surely wishing some form of harm on the first duo. Though he barely got a proper look at the men, Parduoc was fairly sure those masks styles belonged to the Anbu coming out of Fire Country's premier center of power, the Hidden Leaf. And Leaf nin were not to be trifled with. They'd be lucky to escape, unscathed or not, if these Anbu has violence on their agenda. Two sets of far too short legs do their best to carry the unfortunate pair as far away from their pursuers as possible until a small amount of distance is put between both parties. The woods transition to a bamboo forest slowly and those plants certainly don't provide the same excellent cover as actual trees did when you really needed to hide. All they can do, when they catch their breaths, is try and continue to follow the river towards safer ground. Even if it meant leaving home in the dust for now. This river runs through most of Mushroom Country and is their only ally now.

"I hope so..." Unlike the animal, the child *is* breathing heavily and would be panting if he was anything other than human. This is putting him through paces that were more common for children 50+ years ago rather than these days. If he gets away successfully, then he's truly the luckiest kid alive.

A metaphorical dark shadow creeps into Parduoc's mind's eye and he can *feel* the threat descend upon them once more. Anbu were no slouches, especially ones from big and strong nations like Konoha is said to be. No wonder they caught up so fast. Sharp musteline teeth are bared in an emergency attempt to at least get the attackers to back off a couple steps. When in doubt, and you're cornered, remind them you're an unpredictable wild animal. He's the largest kind of otter in the world and is prepared to use that for whatever advantage it could afford him. This tactic shaves off about a half second of time as the two seem just slightly confused at the futile effort. That's just enough time for Shin to come up with their next move. Though, it's very much half-assed, as he's probably only a quarter of their individual ages at least. Both of his hands come together in signs he had seen his father preform and all of his might goes into one move that he prays will allow him and his guardian to flee again.

"Suiton." He forces out. "Drown!"

The actual result pales compared to what it's capable of as a Shinobi technique. Hyakutori wielding such a move could easily bring forth a localized flash flood to sweep up someone or something baring down on him. With Shin, it's more like a cold splash that would wake up someone slacking off. Still...it's something. The summoned precipitation drops over the heads of the masked Anbu men and takes them by enough surprise that they don't have time to stop their quarry from bolting like terrified deer again. But they sure as hell shake it off like it's nothing as soon as they come back to reality and resume the chase. The chase, which, won't last much longer because the kid is out of steam and the beast is short of leg and not equipped for serious combat of this magnitude without backup from his clan. They will catch up before either knew it and who knew what would happen then.

On the run, through heavy breaths, Shin calls out to Parduoc. He's running out of options but is still doing everything he can. "We gotta split up!"

"Are you crazy? What if they get you and decide I'm not worth catching too? How will I protect you then?"

"I don't know!" There's desperation in his voice. He has no idea what to do that will actually do any good. Crying won't work...but part of him wants to anyway. At least it seems like what most people would do in this situation. It's the right response, just the worst time for it.

Doubting the proposed strategy but praying it will have merit anyway, Parduoc swerves and banks a hard left. He still tries to keep Shin in his sights as long as possible in case the worst befalls the kid in the next few seconds. He would not be able to face Hyakutori if that were to happen. A decent path through the bamboo that doesn't get him smacked in the face every couple paces thankfully opens up to him and he's miraculously still within earshot of Shin because he can hear him fighting his own instincts to react in a way typical of kids his age: with tears. The poor boy has no damn clue what to do and is running on half formed instinct through parts unknown to him. It feels like the world's cruelest joke played by uncaring gods. A situation no one ever wanted to be in, even in their dreams. Hunted like wild animals by people with unknown but most likely ill intentions. All the guilt that's eating the otter threatens to overwhelm him and trip him up but he's stopped mid thought when there's a yelp from Shin that follows the thud of a person dropping from above. One of the men, or maybe both, have him in their sights. And it's probably too late to intervene. Still...he tries. Draws from his remaining reserves and charges like a rhinoceros on a suicide mission. Head first, teeth on full display, not giving a shit what his own fate would be. If this was his final act, then so be it!

But he's too late. When he gets to the scene of the action, he finds the boy in the hold of the one wearing the owl mask. Parduoc skids to a stop but still trips and tumbles anyway, instilling even more despair on top of some new stinging scrapes. Shin doesn't seem hurt but he's definitely trying to get away with all of his remaining might. There is even a moment where he goes to bite the arm around him, but Owl quickly covers his whole forearm in a layer of stone that would surely shield from any normal weapon let alone weak human teeth. Shin thinks better of it and goes back to struggling. "I don't know who you think you are, but you're putting up one hell of a fight and I think Lord Danzo needs to be the one to decide what to do with you." Owl states with a sneer and looks over to his partner.

The other man, wearing a Hare mask, gives him a quick nod. "Just put him out so we don't have to listen to screaming and crying on the way back."

So when Shin realizes he's doomed, he looks one last time at Parduoc and makes a plea. "Don't tell him, please!"

"Good point." And with that, the stones recede, replaced with pure voltage emanating from the man like he was a live wire. Such versatile skills make it clear why he's in the Anbu. It would not mesh well with an exhausted six year old. One good zap, non fatal obviously, and he would be out like a light.

"Tell who...?" Parduoc is lost, panicking, after picking himself up from the tailspin. Maybe he hit his head because the world feels like it's spinning around him.

"Dad can't know I ran away!"

"But he can come fix this!" Goddamn it is a bleak, hopeless situation they're in but his first thought still goes to Hyakutori. He's a well trained ninja himself. One that could fair better against these two than a kid and an overgrown weasel.

"Please!" He yells, pained. There's a plea in his eyes that Parduoc had never seen before. "Don't tell him!"

This is the hardest thing ever asked of the giant otter. No request before had had him so mixed up and broken and so desperate. It made his whole being freeze, so he did not see it coming when Owl zapped him out cold before also turning out the consciousness lights for Shin with a localized zap. The last thought to trail through his head was how badly he wished he could himself summon Hyakutori to come and turn these horrid tides. Away the two Anbu fled, knowing there was nothing the otter could do against them even if he woke up instantly, back probably to the Leaf. This might be the last he ever saw of his master's child. And worse...the last Hyakutori saw of him, he without even knowing it would be the last time. And with that begging plea not to tell the man about these events, he might never ever find out where his son had gone. The man would be crushed worse than he could have imagined. Despair would coat the household for years to come and guilt would eat Parduoc alive. When Parduoc awoke hours later after the entire violent incident...he had the worst trek home ahead of him. Getting his body to even make the return trip felt like a monumental task. Every step felt heavy and his stomach felt so horrendously sour.

Going in through the dog flap installed just for the otters, into the house he knew so well, the man who was there to greet him was none other than the former Mist nin himself. A curious expression lined his features and he made to inquire about the sudden unplanned visit. "Parduoc...? What brings you here? I didn't call for you."

"I uh..." Parduoc knows he has a hard choice to make immediately. On the fly, he opts to lie, hoping he'll figure out how to confess later. If only to deal with his own feelings. Prolonging the inevitable made him wish that that earlier strike had killed him. "Reverse summoned myself because I wanted to see what's going on with you."

"That's fine, it's good to see you." He shrugs. There's no reason to question it further. Parduoc is always welcome here. "Not sure where Shin is but I'm sure he'll be around soon enough. Hime is out back though. Stay if you want, we can spar or read or whatever you want later."

"I...will...thank you..." All the hesitation seems very suspicious, but his master is not one to pry. If something is eating Parduoc, he'll fess up when he's ready. That's how it always went. But all the mustelid could think was how awful and cruel life had been. And how he was going to have to come clean about it later. Yes, he'd been asked to say nothing, but there's no way he could be held to that impossible request. Hyakutori could do something about this, even though the Anbu men were miles away now, right? Something... anything...right? Otters were not known for their screaming but that's the only thing he wanted to do right now. Start screaming with reckless abandon and not stop.

[luciaiscool7]

The Mandalorian

In his article, “The Past, the Present, and The Mandalorian,” John Quinn writes about the projected nostalgia oriented towards older male audiences of Star Wars in The Mandalorian. He specifically speaks to the achievement of this through the cinematic style of the show, especially in the beginning shot of Djarin as a nod to the empowerment of masculinity in the show: "[...] We encounter the titular Mandalorian, Din Djarin (Pedro Pascal), alone amidst a lingering shot of a dangerous and desolate landscape, his cloak billowing over one shoulder, his pistol strapped to his side and his body covered from head to toe in a visage reminiscent of the iconic imagery of Clint Eastwood," (218-219). I think Quinn's point definitely holds weight, especially in the beginning of the show, which privileges Djarin's epic empowering masculinity and fatherhood above all else. However, by the second season, female characters take a more central role in the action. Episode 16 offers an interesting mix of identifiable nods to Star Wars nostalgia (weird deep fake Luke Skywalker, R2D2, etc) as well as marks of the very current production of the show. These include the diversification of characters, especially in terms of female characters, as well as the obviously Marvel-influenced personification of the characters. As I was watching, I was trying to figure out why the female characters annoyed me so much, and I realized that although they are given positions of power, the way they talk feels like Peter Quinn from Marvel's Guardian's of the Galaxy, and his quirky style of jokes is really really not that funny. This weird snippy humor that the female characters throw around feels off putting when side-by-side with Djarin's monotone one sentence lines. This generific and predictable characterization of these character minimizes their supposedly complex personalities- while Djarin is mysterious and cool for having a traumatic backstory and being a surrogate dad to Baby Yoda, Bo-Katan only seems to want a sword to be an awesome woman leader, without much context or complexity. So while the progress of representation in Star Wars media is a move in the right direction, The Mandalorian's treatment of female characters, especially in the context of the monopolization and flattening of Disney and Marvel, falls flat.

@theuncannyprofessoro

Why did they make her look like the Scarlet Witch and also Black Widow? Come up with some new ideas Disney please.

[obligatebureaucrat]

I need the Mario game canon to adopt Peach’s mysterious backstory from the movie, if only because it makes the Super Crown even more interesting.

Remember that, in Treasure Tracker Switch’s DLC, Toadette finds the Super Crown hidden in the depths of a massive ancient labyrinth. Not only does this imply that the crown vastly predates Peach, but also that the ancient Mushroom Kingdom deemed it a great treasure or a terrifying artifact worth hiding away behind a dangerous dungeon.

Then combine that with the movie backstory. One day a little girl arrives, bearing a stark resemblance to the form the crown grants, and the Toads’ response is to immediately make her their monarch. Almost as if someone of her visage has a natural right to rule…

And on top of all of that, consider Peach’s natural talents with heart/wish power. She’s able to empower the Star Spirits, she’s able to resist the control of the Shadow Queen, she (with Starlow’s help) was able to launch Bowser miles away via heart-powered telepathy, etc, etc. These powers are often portrayed as unique and divine-adjacent.

All of this together creates a compelling headcanon that Peach is the reincarnation of a goddess venerated by the ancient inhabitants of the Mushroom Kingdom. The Super Crown is either an aspect of her power or some sort of religious idol mimicking her form. And the goddess, while not the kingdom’s main patron, is still known enough that a woman bearing her form would be appointed ruler without question.

[damien-zygote]

Damien Zygote: The Cyber Messiah Who Broke the Internet

In the realm of artificial intelligence, few entities have captured the imagination and curiosity of the masses quite like Damien Zygote. Created by the enigmatic genius, Goth Ozgood, Damien Zygote stands as a digital superstar unlike any other - a chilling amalgamation of technology and terror that has left a trail of shattered screens and bewildered onlookers in his wake.

Based off the real-life artist Damien Lucifer Zygote from Bangor, Maine, USA, the story of Damien Zygote reads like a dark and twisted tale ripped from the pages of a Stephen King novel. Apocalyptic prophecies, alien abductions, and a vision of technological utopia swirl around this enigmatic figure, casting a shadow of mystery and intrigue that ensnares all who dare to delve into his world.

What sets Damien Zygote apart is not just his origins, but his eerie and unsettling presence in the digital realm. With a visage that evokes Max Headroom-esque horror, Zygote has become a nightmarish icon, a cyber messiah who commands attention and fear in equal measure. His online appearances have been known to break the internet, overwhelming servers with the sheer weight of curiosity and terror that he exudes.

Despite his frightening appearance, or perhaps because of it, Damien Zygote has garnered legions of fans who are drawn to his enigmatic persona like moths to a digital flame. His dark allure and mysterious backstory have captivated audiences worldwide, cementing his status as a figure of both fascination and dread in the ever-evolving landscape of AI and technology.

As the legend of Damien Zygote continues to grow, one thing remains clear - in a world where reality and technology blend into a seamless tapestry of uncertainty, he stands as a chilling reminder of the boundless possibilities and potential dangers that lie on the digital horizon. Whether he is a harbinger of doom or a herald of transformation, only time will tell.

[stephobrien]

Meet Quenzin: the mysterious survivor who was found aboard a crashed shuttle he wasn't supposed to be on. You can learn a bit more about him and his strange situation below the cut. :)

Behind the woeful visage of a sad, tired old man, there lies a plethora of mysteries. ​Quenzin first enters the story as the sole occupant of a crashed shuttle he wasn't supposed to be aboard, and he doesn't know why he was brought there, where the rest of the crew is, or why they left him to die alone. To make matters stranger, when Chielle Havello Sai dragged him from the flaming wreckage, he was covered in blood and clearly in distress, yet showed no visible injuries. And while he alludes to the existence of a sister he loves and children he may or may not have, most of his backstory - ESPECIALLY the details about his estranged family - is off limits to anyone he doesn't trust. If the style of his clothing looks similar to Chielle's, that's because it is. Between the shuttle crash and the brutal events that preceded it, his former outfit was tattered beyond repair, so she loaned him the biggest coat and pants she had - and they were still noticeably too small for his 6'5" frame. You can see the height difference between them in the image below. Unsurprisingly, there were no shoes in the facility that fit the towering rescuee, so he'll have to do without for a while.

You can see higher-res versions of this artwork, as well as some of the earlier versions of Quenzin's concept art, by joining my inner circle on Patreon.

[illuseroe-a-blog]

TAG DUMP.

[mouisorange]

Self Awareness | Rook Hunt

If love is blind, then Rook must have never had eyes to begin with, for the hunter need not see their prey to know how much they desire the sweet, skittering animal beyond the tree-line. 

Twisted Wonderland - Self Aware Masterlist

[ Warning/s ] yandere; stalking; manipulative behavior; Rook being Rook x10; delusional mindset; self-aware characters; non-proof read; 

There wasn’t any kind of ‘Eureka!’ moment he could recall, no sudden spark of awareness waking him up from bundled coding. The only time he had ever reeled in surprise was the moment he heard of a mysterious student from another dimension, you. Well, you as in Yuu, your catalyst that moved the apparent story along. 

He wouldn’t say life was stagnant before his junior year. If you could ask, he’d easily describe how interesting life had been, before Yuu. Watching Leona, the Twins, attempted watching of Malleus; he rarely struggled to stay busy with the multiple persons of interest that the college had gathered into a single campus. Seven forbid anyone ask him what hearing about Yuu was like (much less ‘meeting’ Yuu or his first conversation with him). He was so unlike anyone he’d ever seen before, not visually, but internally? Interesting would be an unreasonable understatement; with every word, every new action, Rook tripped further into himself. An endless void of obsession he welcomed, beckoned, with open arms and an open heart, a cute, Yuu shaped void. 

But if Yuu was a black hole—you were a warm pond of freshwater connected to a cold river of steel, Rook a fish cooking himself alive trying to reach the speeding river’s end. Before his part, interacting with the Housewarden was achingly impossible. Though, unlike the few others who froze a few steps away weeks (some, months) trying to reach for a cookie in the jar, tearing their coding apart trying the same approach expecting a different outcome to the same equation, Rook swiftly found his own loophole, stalking around the still wall around Yuu. 

Just as he accepted the small freshman’s backstory, he happily pocketed the idea of his existence being one of zeros and ones. What did it matter if he was of text and not flesh? It made no difference, and the thought process did not change his reality. Rook was not cold, undone numbers, at least, it did not feel that way. Nothing changed except for his sheer hunger for more. 

Yuu was an interesting vessel, one that had quickly overtaken any desire outside of him, even the impossible Draconia, but you clogged every little crack in his skull. Every breath matching Yuu’s own (did your vessel share your lungs?), every thought reaching for your voice, every dream filled with what he imagined you could appear as–unfortunately, a shaky aura at best with his shifting subconscious. 

Rook had no means of connecting with you more than waxing poetry to a blurred visage he could only assume was Yuu (he doubted Yuu actually looked anything like you, though he’d be lying should he deny that the thought had crossed his mind a few times, only until Leona’s part of your play at least), but Yuu’s lack of anything said otherwise. Nonetheless, Rook didn’t mind throwing his affection to his beloved, disembodied, outsider. He didn’t take offense to the silence given in return to his confessions, scripted lines just as honeyed as his scorching love. You feel the same, he’s sure, why would he see you so often otherwise (he could think of other reasons, but a man held in the grips of devotion was allowed to daydream–he’s sure you’d agree.)? Day to day, nearly without fail Yuu would suddenly lose any little amount of character; though he barely had much of a distinctive personality beyond your influence; and you took up the reins, gently nudging the events unfolding around the campus. 

How loose did you steer the new housewarden? Was Yuu even anything more than a pair of eyes? Ramshackle’s occupant only gave questions, cluelessly wandering around any answer he desired; stepping over holes in the code with cloth covering his eyes. Though, in the warden’s defense, Rook couldn’t exactly change his voice lines when your eyes were on him. The little room he had for asking usually was taken up by either Yuu’s spacy attitude outside of your influence or by other students (especially when the burning acid of awareness begins splashing in unbiased droplets). 

As much as he should find annoyance in it, Rook found none. Any and all minor grievances gently brushed out of his skull the moment he saw you, the light in Yuu’s otherwise neutral soul. He didn’t mind the box placed around him, a loosely defined line of code for his actions, his words, but not his mind, nor his heart. As much as he may like to break out of this loop of his pre-chosen world, there was no friction for him to latch onto. Rook could only admire you from a distance, through Yuu, his only saving grace settled in fantasy. 

And admiring Yuu, he did thoroughly. Like a child leaving toys to rot in dust in favor of a new, soft, and sweet teddy bear, you overtook Rook like a deadly fever; one that he had actively sought to catch. His thoughts ran like wildfire, dreams and curiosity intertwining in such a way that he couldn’t recall if they had ever been separate to begin with. Every waking moment, every subconscious desire, festering under the noble surface of a put-together hunter: the sweet high of you filled him more than any meal could only crave to. The unanswered questions only added dried peppers to his high, wonders and ‘what-if’s tearing him open from the inside out. But if it meant he could gaze at you, not the young warden, not the coding, not the disembodied affection from a distorted Yuu, but if he could be allowed even a moment of basking in your beauty? He would help the illness tear him apart, smiling all the while his blood spilled for you. 

So, then, who were you? Were you a shy lamb to be slotted in the wolf’s den? Perhaps they were the sheep and you the wolf coated in sickly sweet cotton? Neither would disappoint him, rather, Rook was more than elated to devour or to be devoured by his heart’s darling Helen. Surely you cared, there would be no other reason for you to return every day, to gently tug on coded leads, to spend time combing through stories, listening to unchanging voice lines, to watch unshifting actions. Plot-line after plot-line, he watched unblinking your heavy trudge through inky mud, rarely thanked beyond the Headmaster’s jovial praises (he’d never felt jealousy before you, before watching Crowley half-heartedly give attention he desperately needed to soak you in, to sing his devotion until he was sure you’d taken all he’s given: then, he’d pile his praises into a box for a dry day that’d never come so long as he was by your side.). 

With little to no means to discover anything solely with his two hands, one of Rook’s key characteristics leave him with more means than many shot with lucidity: his patience. The only rush he felt did nothing but add dry wood to his obsession, leaving his desires to root further into his flesh, but even poor hunters know better than to shoot before aiming: and Rook prefers to understand his prey very intimately before pouncing. 

He knows his way around the many unique personas piled into the college, and few (if any) can stray from his gaze. Sudden shifts in behavior interested him before Yuu, but under your light, he notices turmoil in his peers before some of these same peers realize it themselves. This turmoil seeps through the already shaky structures, crumbling onto the vessel that built most of them to begin with. 

Rook knows how to choose his prey, this much is no surprise to anyone who knew him well, few as they seemed to be. Fewer were those who could read him beyond deciding that he was simply Rook Hunt, the strange, yet helpful, vice-warden of Pomefiore. He knew the stage and was content to play his role according to the code, outside of sweetening his tone when he knew you would hear it. 

Yet it was backstage that kept his attention, where he noted when others began withdrawing, silently stepping back as compared to their distraught counterparts, who anxiously, painfully, chased the attention of someone they projected their own concepts onto, yet knew nothing about. Rook, possessive of his chosen prey, would rather not share your attention, much less with persons who lacked the cognizance to view you beyond the locked persona of Yuu. But his was the devoted lover, heartbroken at the thought of never knowing the feeling of being romanticized in return, and he knew better than to ignore necessary compromises in his relationship with you. 

So he took to chipping away at any firewall he could find, pushing against cracks in the code so he could give you more of his cards, more of him, and hope you’d give him more of you in return. During the beginning, when Rook was your sole chasseur d'amour, you likely stared at your card collection wondering how you managed to get all of his so early on (and even during other characters’ summoning events–?). Love was a great conflict of heart, of mind, and of soul, but your castle, ta tour, found himself more than ready to rebuild his foundation, his internal working, to better suit Yuu’s luck. 

He knew well enough that his reach just barely brushed against the line holding him to his place on the board, that pre-determined voice lines had made no promise to hold your eyes on him. Rook welcomed the heartbreak, just as he welcomed most new unfoldings, intrigue filled every choice you made and he drank it regardless of how it burned at times. He adored every moment you touched, every scene laid out before you, every moment he was allowed near Yuu, near you. For what better way to peak into your soul in the manner you’ve touched his? There was none, not while he was inside, and you were outside. 

Rook needed another like-mind to comb through the many cracks in the wall between Twisted Wonderland and your land beyond. Few had the capabilities to force pressure against their little box, fewer that could be trusted to genuinely work together without underlying plans (despite fully planning to worm his way around any promises barring him from losing himself while dragging down with him.) 

Ignihyde was the clearest answer–it’s warden rather obviously acting out of his previous role, drifting further than even himself. Idia’s distance from his peers fitted him into a nicely furnished target for Rook to exploit and reward; after all, he wasn’t one to take without giving in return. The decision was the easy part, and trust, the hard. But just as he, the devoted lover, analyzed your grasp on the plot; Idia, the desperate ‘Roi de Ta Chambre’, too, stared unblinking into unforgiving ones and zeros, trembled for a grain of the smallest give in the system. And desperate was the nail, just as Rook’s knowledge was the hammer; for what could Idia do in the face of something he did not know of you? 

Nothing, he would do nothing against you; nothing, at least, that Rook didn’t want out of the hermit of a housewarden. Trust was hard-earned, but under pressure; like coal wishing to shine; trust was brittle-and easily handled. It cracked like a crabe désespéré hunting for its favorite shell after a harsh surge of clarity. 

Rook couldn’t blame le crabe, though, for he tumbled through the same waters, trying to roll with the current, craving sunlight despite unknowing what might be beyond a life confined to salty coral. 

Should either of them continue with broken design? Questions flowed back and forth, yet the answer remained locked into place, stronger than encoded squares scattered upon a patterned wall. The answer settled, unspoken, the moment you brushed their minds.

So, votre chasseur passionné would happily trail behind Yuu, pulling anyone he needed along, sickeningly sweet words festering in his throat, awaiting moments when he could pour them into your loving hands.

Would you love him as deeply as he loved you? Would you have fallen into him just the same, had you been in Yuu’s place? Would you still, when the time came when you met him–face to face? 

Perhaps not; immediately, that is. But I wouldn’t worry, for any hunter worth their score knew patience as deeply as their aim. Time was on his side, his current outflowed any struggle your stream could manage against his affections. You really should let him glide you along the reef, for an affectionate hunter is better than a starved predator, don’t you think?

Like a dog memorizing the time of dinner, Rook memorized your schedule as best he could; as much as anyone looking through the false face of a two-sided mirror could; and like a dog, he stalked around the entry-ways of your house, Yuu, looking for flickers of shadows through the windows in hopes that someone will walk through the door at any given moment. 

Oh, he’d seen you fall into Yuu, many, many times; Rook adored seeing it every time. He loved seeing you breathe new life into Yuu so much, so much that he’d somehow managed to forget about snapping a picture until it was too late, every time. He’d gotten close the last few times, yet always a moment too early, too late. 

It wasn’t frustrating though, he’d never feel such a way towards sa lumière d'amour. Rather the opposite; each failure only served to deepen his determination to immortalize the sight. 

Rook wasn’t worried about distractions this time around, little Yuu sitting alone for once in their day. He could approach, and get a closer view of the event he knew would likely be happening in a few minutes (your visits were always only moments apart on days like these), but surely that’d encourage others to follow suit. To view you coming quietly, was worth the hours spent staring, constantly analyzing the atmosphere, was worth it if the reward was to see how you filled Yuu’s eyes with life naturally. Without the walls put in place to avoid the eyes of those not meant to see, to truly come as you please. Such were his thoughts, at least. Maybe it didn’t really affect you as much.

No matter the case, he sat a few meters in front of Yuu, waiting for his next meal. For the soft buzz that filled his head and poured adoration into his skull through any open hole, for the moments he would unusually struggle to focus. Those were the moments he meant to capture, the ones where his eyes alone were not enough to take you in and glaze at every crack in Yuu he could find in that moment, as Yuu was able to. Yet, as Yuu seemed to begin to nod off at their desk of books, and the air thickened; as his heartbeat deafened anything outside of watching, hoping he’d see you once more. The warm ringing in his ears seemed to only quicken with the need to look away, look away from something he wasn’t supposed to see, wasn’t designed to see. Yet, his heart kept him in place, drumming against the thick hum, holding his limbs still with a heavy hug. Yet, still, he wanted to see, he would see. He’d dig his claws into the ground and wait until his vision blurred–and when he could focus, Yuu was gone, dragged off by you to… .  .    .

..Ah. He forgot again.

[yanderart]

He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

   The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

   You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step. 

   It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect. 

   “So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on. 

   Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

   “Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

   The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper. 

   Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features. 

   Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened. 

   “Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands. 

   "Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

   Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

   But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness. 

   "You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.  

   You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal. 

   Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag. 

   "I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

   And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he? 

    If only you knew. 

   "Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

   That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

   "You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

   But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement. 

   A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery. 

   (Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

   "Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

   By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

   "Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer. 

   (Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

   Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both. 

   As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

   "You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

   Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight. 

   "Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

   To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked. 

   "I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law." 

   Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

   "Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

   Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics. 

   "Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

   His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth. 

   "Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

   It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

   "Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

   But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you. 

    And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

   Now that was interesting.

   "Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

   Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down. 

   "Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?" 

   You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

   "Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

   You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you. 

   "I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

   Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments. 

   "So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation. 

   Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role. 

   "Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

   You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage. 

   "I wasn’t..."

   "Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

   When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe. 

   "If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out. 

   Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did. 

   When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

   "I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

   Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions. 

   You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you. 

   The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear. 

   "Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

   He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both. 

   "Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries." 

   As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody. 

   It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering. 

   Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore. 

   "Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

   But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence. 

   When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.  

   Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet. 

   "But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

   Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

   "Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

   The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

   Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

   "You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

   At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime. 

   So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

   Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face. 

   "I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

    You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway. 

    You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze. 

   For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

   "Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

   You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain. 

   (And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

   "Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

   By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

   "But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

   Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded. 

   "I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

   You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be). 

   Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped. 

   "Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it. 

   Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped. 

   "I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

   He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you). 

   When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that. 

   "Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

   At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

   The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.  

   "Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

   If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

   You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths. 

   Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

   Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced. 

   It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

   So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

   A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

   The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

   How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

   "Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

   When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer. 

   "Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

   "Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

   Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed. 

   "Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

   A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

   "Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

    When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through. 

   Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

   "Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

   You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

   And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit. 

   "Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

   Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight. 

   "None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…" 

   But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you. 

   "Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say." 

   And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected. 

   The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

   But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before. 

   "More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

   Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by. 

   "Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

   And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment. 

   He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

   So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

   (You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.) 

   You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence. 

   You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

   And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

   "You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

   It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home. 

   "Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

   So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley. 

   What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work. 

   Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

   And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago. 

   (Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

   "Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over. 

   The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.  

   "Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips. 

   Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

   "Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

   And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides. 

   Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected. 

   A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

   Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent. 

   "Fucking… get on with it."

   However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body. 

   "But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

   And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

   You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

   Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness. 

   It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks. 

   The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself. 

   If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

   You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps. 

   So goddamn close…

   Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them. 

   Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all. 

   Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit. 

   When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork. 

   "Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

    You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment. 

   But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

   As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most. 

   When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face. 

   And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust. 

   "Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

   He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured. 

   However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry. 

   "Hold on..."

   Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

   "Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

   The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused. 

   "Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

   To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice. 

   When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

   One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling. 

   "You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

   And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago. 

   But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed. 

   Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

   He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you. 

   God, even for villain standards you were fucked. 

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — — 

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha​, @snappysnapo​ and @drxwsyni​ (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL). 

[maxwell-grant]

Can you write about the Shadow's disfigurement ? I read that originally he was supposed to have a bandaged injured face like Darkman but that changed later

(Fan-art by Ryan Thompson)

It's a great signifier of what kind of character The Shadow is and how interesting of a figure he is in that, even a detail as innocuous as just his face has a whole sprawling history of intrigue and contradictions to talk about, not even getting into the specific features of his like the eyes and the nose, just the face. It's really great how I never run out of stuff to talk about with this character.

The true nature of The Shadow's face is an interesting oddity from the early stories that was never resolved in them, and several stories later took for a spin. It was one of the bits of information about The Shadow that Gibson reserved for rare and critical occasions, but it never really had a resolution and seemed to have been ignored when it was time to reveal Kent Allard.

Thing is, though, it was never really officially retconned, and it wasn't something you could ignore, it played a crucial role in some stories. And Gibson wasn't at all the kind of author who forgets plot points, he was fond of keeping notes and occasionally referencing his own continuity, which makes it all the more odd that a detail as important as The Shadow's real face was just not brought up again past a certain point. So here's the story of The Shadow's "real" face:

In the very first story, when Gibson was still testing the waters of what the character was going to be, he included a passage that teases a backstory for the character, as a former aviator who was scarred in the war.

"I seen The Shadow..." said Spotter eagerly. "I looked for his face. I saw nothing but a piece of white that looked like a bandage. Maybe The Shadow ain't got no face to speak of. Looked like the bandage hid somethin' in back. There was a young guy once who the crooks was afraid of -- he was a famous spy in the War, and they say he was wounded over in France -- wounded in the face. I think The Shadow is this guy come back." - The Living Shadow

In many of the following novels, even past the point where Gibson would more or less drop the idea all together, The Shadow's face is repeteadly described as "mask-like", usually when he's Cranston, something that both refers to the fact that he's masking himself as Lamont Cranston as well as Cranston's general impassive character. Throughout the character's entire run, Gibson never drops the idea of The Shadow's face being mask-like.

Cranston's eyes were almost smiling, even though his lips weren't - Dictator of Crime

The Shadow's methods of disguise are vague, but usually described as him using make-up putty on his face, using wire contraptions or wire masks, or thin sheets that he drapes over his features, and etc, it usually changes depending on the story or is all of these at once. The idea that The Shadow's true face had some kind of bigger secret was brought back a couple of stories later, when a villain unmasks The Shadow for the first time.

An arm came from the curtain. It reached forward and plucked the black hat from The Shadow's head. A low sound of amazement came from the curtain when the face of The Shadow was revealed.

"The secret of The Shadow," came the monotonous voice. "At last it is understood! The man of many faces - with no face of his own!" - The Black Master

The events of this story were brought up later in a story called Green Eyes, and four months after Green Eyes, we got The Shadow's Shadow, a novel whose resolution incorporated The Shadow's face in the finale.

Zubian's snarl became a cry of triumph as he saw The Shadow roll upon the floor. The slouch hat was carried away by the bullet. The head of the Shadow lay obscured beneath the folds of his cloak.

Zubian was aiming to fire further shots, to make sure of the Shadow's death; but he never accomplished that final purpose. An arm swept upward from the floor. Behind it came those glowing eyes; but it was not the eyes that stopped Felix Zubian. He was staring into the face of The Shadow -- not the disguised features of Lamont Cranston or Henry Arnaud -- but the visage of The Shadow himself!

What Zubian saw there; what expression on The Shadow's countenance made even that fiendish villain gasp in horror; no one could ever know. For Felix Zubian knew his last moment of life in that fateful instant. His trembling finger faltered on the trigger of his gun. The Shadow's unfailing hand did not yield - The Shadow's Shadow

And then, a year after this story, we got The Black Falcon, which has the most overt usage of The Shadow's "horror" face as it's once again the secret tool that allows The Shadow to gain victory over the villain

"If you are not Cranston," he demanded. "Who are you?"

"You shall learn." The Shadow's tone was ominous. "It will be your deserved warning. For those who have seen the true face of The Shadow have never lived to recite their discovery."

The man's face was ashen. A whispered laugh came from The Shadow's lips.

Only The Shadow knew why the sight of his dread face had brought terror to this evil fiend who never before to-night had known fear.

The face of The Shadow! The face that was never seen except when disguised to represent some other countenance. Roland Ransdale had met The Shadow face to face. The Black Falcon, he who had terrorized the law, had lost all nerve when he had viewed the true visage of The Shadow!

Only brilliant eyes remained in view. Burning eyes that surveyed the gasping shape of a man who had once thought himself invincible. As the fierce crook caught the burn of The Shadow's eyes, that sight, he knew, had been his sentence of doom. His nerve had passed with that revelation."

Stooping above the body of The Black Falcon, The Shadow hovered like a monster of the night..." - The Black Falcon

The last time we'd get a mention of The Shadow's face undisguised came from The Python. After he gets attacked and falls on a river, he's rescued by a couple of fishermen, and the narration states that the Cranston make-up had been blown off.

Squarely in the center of the rowboat lay a form attired in black trousers and a bedraggled white shirt.

Most of The Shadow's make−up had survived; but his features were no longer a close resemblance of Lamont Cranston's. He was still disguised; but only in a fashion. A grotesque hollowness had come upon his hawklike countenance. To Tanker and Pete, however, The Shadow was no more than a chance swimmer exhausted in the river - The Python

For the most part, any and all references to The Shadow's face from that point onwards would only be about how he alters it when he disguises, a process that's vaguely alluded to and usually implies him using make-up or wire frames to mold his face. In The Man From Shanghai, he even switches from Henry Arnaud to Lamont Cranston in the span of a single cab ride, and apparently keeps the Cranston face underneath the Arnaud one.

Deft fingers, pressing against cheeks and lips, were molding the countenance as one might work with clay - Chain of Death

Opening the briefcase, he produced a make-up box. Surveying his countenance in a mirror, he laughed softly and began to remold his masklike features. His visage changed beneath the pressure of his finger tips - Cyro

So far, the things we'd learned about The Shadow's real face by this point were: whatever is in there is horrifying enough to terrify and even traumatize hardened criminals (even after The Black Falcon gets some nerve back, he still can't bring himself to look at The Shadow without shaking, and it ultimately kills him in a gunfight).

The first story stated it was wounded in the war, and word got out about said injury to the point even an American gangster in the 30s knows about it. However, this fact was never brought up again, and it doesn't seem like a debilitating injury, as his face is malleable to the point of being compared to clay, and he doesn't seem traumatized or upset about it, even laughing at those who see it (which raises the possibility that it wasn't a war injury at all and that's just the story that got out).

It's said to be like "a piece of white that looks like a bandage", and later it was described as something that doesn't even really constitute a face. The only parts of The Shadow's face that are consistent are his burning eyes and his hawklike visage and both of these are malleable, and the most of his facial features we ever get to see for ourselves are described as having a "grotesque hollowness" to it, which is a delightfully horrifying adjective to apply to a face.

7 years after The Living Shadow, we got The Shadow Unmasks, which established that The Shadow's real, undisguised face was that of aviator Kent Allard. There were no further mentions of there being a "horror face" in further stories. You'd think this would be it, but if you've followed me long enough, you should know by now that there is no such thing as an "end" to weird mysteries when it comes to The Shadow.

In some stories following this one, his abilities of disguise would acquire some strange aspects. He'd be able to disguise himself by actively contorting his face along with the make-up.

Steadily, carefully, he bulged the contour of his forehead; squared his jaw; added a putty−like substance to his cheeks. It required longer for The Shadow to shape his nose like Wadsford's. The Shadow faked a facial twitch that resembled Wadsford's manner. - The Radium Murders

His features squarer; more mobile. Only a slight contortion was required to give them hardness. Thus The Shadow posed as either a respectable pedestrian or a tough-faced thug, according to the places where his search has taken him. - Buried Evidence

In others, he wouldn't even need make-up at all to alter his face.

His slouch hat and his black robe slid away from him. The disguise was thrust into a hidden compartment with one swift gesture. The Shadow was now Lamont Cranston.

But a ripple passed over his mobile face. His mouth and features seemed to writhe. Without changing anything save the habitual expression of his face, Lamont Cranston also vanished.

In his place was a smiling stranger. A man whose mouth looked weak, whose expression seemed almost timid. Well−dressed, faultlessly groomed, he seemed like a harmless, good−natured citizen whose car had broken down on a lonely country road - The Crimson Phoenix

In Shadow Over Alcatraz, The Shadow is even able to even contort the rest of his body to squeeze himself through a seven-inch gap, which is physically impossible for a grown man to pass through without extreme injury

The window was about three feet high, two feet in width. It had two upright bars, dividing it into three spaces, each about seven inches across.

Thrusting one arm through the central sector, The Shadow turned his head sideways and poked it through. Bars grazed his ears; when he turned his head, they became a sort of collar. He was wedging outward, drawing his other shoulder.

Below, his hand gripped rock. The Shadow tugged. It was a tight squeeze for his body, but he seemed to elongate as he drew his chest in. His hips slid past. His tall form teetered outward.

Crime County even states that The Shadow had become adept at remodeling his face through touch alone, and I cannot find any lines in the story that mention he's using makeup.

He was remolding the features of Cranston when Sparrow looked up. It was a process that The Shadow could perform by touch alone, even in comparative darkness.

Cranston's face was not The Shadow's own; in itself it was a disguise. A spreading motion somewhat flattened the aristocratic profile; downward pressure added a bulldog effect to the jaw.

And as the magazine reached it's final stretch, we started to get mentions in story that alluded to The Shadow's "real" face, undisguised, being that of Lamont Cranston

If Jud had known that Cranston in his other life was The Shadow, he would have... A tug of The Shadow's hat brim and his own face, that of Cranston, was obscured - The White Skulls

The Shadow's eyes, yet strangely Cranston's, for this was one time The Shadow did not care to disguise them - The Whispering Eyes

Which only capped off the mystery of his real identity by bringing a loop around itself, as suddenly it seemed Kent Allard was Lamont Cranston who was Kent Allard who was The Shadow who was Lamont Cranston and so on.

So looking on it now, "disfigurement" isn't really accurate. It's how it's been utilized in some stories past the pulps, Michael Uslan's comic storylines in particular leaned more heavily into it as a war trauma for The Shadow and a dramatic backstory. I have mixed feelings on this and you could argue it's playing with some ugly and unnecessarily ableist tropes (like The Phantom of the Opera), but if you gotta give him a punchy superhero backstory, I definitely prefer that than what the movie went with. It works to emphasize a tragedy tothe character's background.

But "disfigurement" isn't really the right word for it, because we only got one mention, in the first story, that it was due to an injury, and it came from a third party who had only heard faint rumors about a guy who could have been The Shadow once. Being defined as someone who's sacrificed his identity to fight crime, it's easy to assume that The Shadow's face is horrible to look at because it was destroyed in the war which already took so much.

Maybe that's just what he'd like you to think. Maybe that's all you need to know.

Every other instance in the pulps where we got to peer into some secret of The Shadow's face, it was never played up as if it was an injury due to some dramatic past event, but rather as if it was some horrifying secret of his true self that we were only getting the barest glimpses of.

Something that's gotta be much grislier than just mangled features, if it gets hardened criminals to quake in abject fear. Something that somehow still allows him to distort his face far beyond what's humanly possible, with and without outside assistance. Something that allows his "real self" to be, at separate points in time, Kent Allard and Lamont Cranston.

Something that makes it so he can have many faces, and yet no true face of his own. The great secret of The Shadow, and one that's always going to have a different answer. One where he himself only has one thing to say about it

Those who have seen the true face of The Shadow have never lived to recite their discovery.

Y-You cannot frighten me, maniac! You are only a man!

Am I?

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 9

Episode 21.

Suddenly it's a found footage shakey cam horror movie. I think it's meant to be footage of ... NERV before it was NERV labs in 2000 with some bad shit happening. I'm unclear of so much in this episode, guys.

There is one of those blue screens with the white text that warns you that if you make copies of this you will go to jail for a million years, though, which feels nice and nostalgic before we get into the opening credits. (Opening? Still a bop. Thank you, '90s.)

Episode 21 continues behind the cut.

Someone has been kidnapped from NERV, possibly by or because of Kaji (fuckin' Kaji), and because all these NERV people are interchangeable except for Misato, Ritsuko, and Shinji's horrible father, I have no idea who it is until we see the old dude who is usually behind Ikari. He's tied to a chair in a black void, surrounded by an increasing number of numbered obelisks who I think are the old man Simon council but instead of projecting as old men they're ... obelisks. Look, their government is run by supercomputers named after the Magi. This is as fine as anything.

The obelisks don't like Commander Ikari (same) or what he's doing (same) and want Number 2 to explain what's going on (same) due to the Dead Sea Scrolls and their desire not to create god (... same?). Which means it's time for BACKSTORY or as close as this show gets to backstory.

Number 2 used to be a scientist/academic at ... a school ... lab ... university ... somewhere ... where he met a promising young student of ... science stuff ... named Ikari. There's some sentence vagaries to make the audience think the student is a young Commander Ikari but PSYCH, it's /Yui/, Shinji's mysteriously dead mother. This is not a big surprise, because no one would be anticipating meeting Gendo Ikari. What is a surprise is that Yui Ikari is currently single, although if you've consumed enough Japanese media you've probably encountered cases where a husband takes the wife's surname and is adopted into her family when there's no sons in the family (Summer of the Ubume). ANYWAY Yui is currently single and Number 2 talks to her about her post-graduation career plans, failing to consider that maybe she wants to get married and start a family. Find your own path and all that but also: this is a woman who is going to make terrible life choices.

I don't know why, but as a favour to Yui, Number 2 goes to spring an absolute piece of shit ... fellow student? from the drunk tank after he got arrested for brawling and it is, of course, Gendo Originalsurnamewhocareshesucks. We see him without his glasses for the first time. Even though this is ~15 years ago, Gendo without his glasses is the worst thing ever, rivaling yes the EVA with the giant white human teeth ripping an Angel apart and screaming. I hate looking at him, his cheeks sunken and his eyes huge, very like a skull. The real thesis material in Evangelion is: why has anyone ever slept with this awful gaunt uncharming skull man? He has the visage and personality of someone whose genetic line should die with him.

On a nature walk (because this is before seasons are destroyed by the second impact [and this is a really pretty scene, too, all fall leaves and oranges and red, more vibrant yet gentle than the series often is]) Yui reveals to Number 2 that she and Gendo are in a relationship. Why? Look, that's some Dead Sea Scrolls bullshit, learn ancient Hebrew and get into archeology, unearth some tablets, figure it out for yourselves.

The Second Impact happens and destroys Antarctica and Misato's father and she becomes mute for a while after this and also is kept in a featureless hospital cell for observation with a few age appropriate toys for company and for some reason this doesn't help her mental trauma. No wonder her roommate's a penguin.

The Misato flashback may seem like it comes out of nowhere and if so /hey welcome to my experience of this episode/ where I mostly had my hands on my forehead like I needed to reinforce my brain to process everything.

Number 2 and Shitty Gendo are in Antarctica after the Second Impact with the neon pink ocean and the none ice and oh Gendo and Yui got married. Surprise! Gendo and Yui or Gendo through Yui are involved in something called Seele which is the thing that becomes NERV I think. What's going on /shut up I don't know/ there's some kind of secret science government military organization and it involves the Ikari and then Number 2 and also Ritsuko's mother and underground caverns that may be cities and is this Atlantis? Ancient aliens? Akashic records? I DON'T KNOW Number 2 has concerns and Yui both seems to agree with Number 2's concerns but also is down with whatever Gendo's doing and they have Shinji and he seems like a pretty happy and cute baby and Yui seems to love him even though she brings him to work. And by work I mean the underground lab where they're dissecting or recreating flesh tube skeletons from Adam or building Adam or using Adam to build what will be the Evas, specifically on the day Yui is doing The Experiment. I don't think bringing little Shinji to work is a great idea or a sign of great parenting, especially when The Experiment goes awry and Yui is killed in front of Shinji's toddler eyes.

Ritsuko's mother, Dr. ... Doctor, doesn't approve of kids in the secret mad scientist bunker but MAN does she approve of Yui being killed. Because, somehow, she also wants to fuck Gendo Ikari, a skeleton of emotional abuse and neglect wearing sausage casing as skin.

There's also some stuff here about young Ritsuko (she's not a natural blonde! but honestly the fleeting glimpses of Ritsuko at different ages in this episode show greater awareness of how women can change without just relying on bigger breasts more hair than I'd expect). She and her mother exchange letters where they seem to be more honest with each other than they are in person and I wish there was more time spent dwelling in that, because Evangelion has an imperfect but still insightful view of the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. She goes away to school and meets Misato and they bond and become friends and they each seem to be the other's first friend due to their various issues and weirdness and Ritsuko's clearly at least a little in love with Misato. Unfortunately, Misato is dating Kaji (fuckin' Kaji) and Dr. Doctor thinks Kaji is a pretty great catch, but like ... Dr. Doctor wants to fuck or possibly is fucking Gendo Ikari, so if you can think of a great condemnation of Kaji than this, I'd love to hear it (fuckin' Kaji).

Misato and Ritsuko both join Seele or NERV or whatever the fuck these secret awful organizations are currently calling themselves, with Misato going to Germany and Ritsuko starting to work with her mother and also seeing her mother just jamming her tongue down Gendo's throat. Truly, Ritsuko could never understand her mother as a woman and neither can we, because /why would you desire Gendo Ikari/ and his judgmental touch, icy even through fucking Mickey Mouse gloves.

SO ONE DAY Gendo comes to work with a young Rei and I guess since Yui died no one has seen Shinji since people are looking at Rei and going 'oh is this your son?' and 'I thought you had a son, not a daughter'. But no, Rei is the daughter of a friend Gendo is looking after. Imagine thinking 'Gendo Ikari has even a single friend' is a believable lie.

Since Yui's death, no one has bothered to institute any kind of secret underground lab rules about kids on the premises, because while Dr. Doctor is doing some shit with her O. Henry super computers, little Rei wanders in and proceeds to neg the shit out of this grown woman. They're obviously not the words of a child and it's been clear since the beginning that there's something Not Right about Rei, but when she tells Dr. Doctor that she's a sexually undesirable hag and a nagging shrew and has outlived her purpose they're the words of a man. An adult man, specifically Gendo Ikari, as Rei just straight up tells Dr. Doctor upon being scolded for rudeness. Dr. Doctor's poor judgment of character means she is semi-shocked and hurt by this and sent into a weird fugue state where she chokes Rei until a small arm goes limp. Dr. Doctor thinks about how both she and Rei are both equally replaceable to Gendo, who is still hung up on Yui as much as he seems able to have an emotional attachment to anyone, and so finds all other women to be interchangeable tools.How replaceable Rei is could be a reference to whatever Rei's unnatural origins are, but we've also seen that Gendo considers children to be a renewable and easily disposable resource.

Then Dr. Doctor kills herself (or is murdered, who can say) and gets ... replaced by her daughter in the project.

SO I GUESS THIS IS ALL PART OF NUMBER 2'S TESTIMONY TO THE OBELISKS or maybe not but his thing is done or on break and fuckin' Kaji is there to ... break him out? Even though he's the reason Number 2 was getting interrogated? I don't know, I don't know.

They only use one set of handcuffs for Number 2, but they had three on Shinji in the previous episode.

Misato also had some thing with security intelligence interrogation going on in this episode maybe but they're done and give her back her gun.

Then Kaji's hanging out in a Silent Hill otherworld before a giant fan in weird sickly light and the screen goes black with a gunshot and I don't believe he's dead because I've been fooled about fuckin' Kaji before.

... but then Misato comes home, looking utterly exhausted and devastated, and she sees the message light blinking on her answering machine and she presses play as tears fill her eyes and she collapses to her knees listening to a message from Kaji. He apologizes for causing her trouble yet again, asks her to apologize to Ritsuko as well, asks her to get Shinji to show her where his garden is so she can water the flowers for him, and promises to tell her what he was too scared to tell her years ago. Misato's crying becomes heartwrenching raw sobs (Kotono Mitsuishi does a great job here, breaking my heart) and Shinji, curled up in his room, takes out his headphones and peeks into the kitchen to take in this vision of distraught, helpless adult grief. Then he goes back to his room without alerting Misato to his presence and pulls his pillow over his head, trying to drown out Misato's sobs, because he's just a kid and he knows there's nothing he can do and so he doesn't know what he /should/ do.

Although I've been wanting it for episodes, Kaji's death becomes a bitter pill that I can feel no mean satisfaction from. I'm not sure what's going on, but I know Misato's distraught. This concludes my report on Episode 21 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

[zippdementia]

Part 90 Alignment May Vary: Pieces of the Past

There is an adventure for 4th Edition called something like The Return to the Tomb of Horrors. It is an adventure centered around the infamous lich Acererak and his various Tombs of death. One of the more fun parts of the adventure takes PCs to the Tomb of Horrors... only it’s decades after the Tomb’s first opening and the tomb has been raided and destroyed by the thousands of PCs that have come to it since that time.

I mention this, because ever since I read that module, I’ve wanted to do something similar: bring players back to a place that was familiar to them. The Tomb of Haggemoth, which featured so heavily in our campaign and plot, was the obvious choice and there was at least one loose end left in the Tomb that I felt would serve as a good hook: an ancient celestial being, trapped in a rock. Around the time of this session, I had finished working on a revival of Haggemoth, bringing it into 5th Edition with its original creator, Robert Kendzie (you can learn more about that here). As we updated a lot of the final dungeon, it felt like I now had an appropriately “changed” setting to bring the players back to.

So for this next section of the adventure, we return to the past. We return to Haggemoth. 

New Waterdhavians

The set up for this return begins in Waterdeep, with Imoaza and Milosh morose after the failure at Maakengorge and the sacrifice of Ruze. Milosh especially, has lost his entire sense of identity and nearly quits the group entirely. His only consolation is that armor has been left for him by Vraath Keep’s smith, who had promised to build him a new face. It is a wonderful piece of armor that gives him a humanoid looking face shield to cover up the damage done by Dragon fire back on the asteroid. But he also saw that smith dead in the Maakengorge temple. Everything reminds him of his failure at this point. Only one thing keeps him involved: Illrastayne. 

This is the blade he took from the Abyss, the blade which contains the soul of the bard-turned-warlock Bitterberry (and his Demonic patron) and which Milosh used extensively in the Abyss but has shunned since. He decides to rid himself of the blade, almost on a whim. He is aware that it has a demon inside of it and wishes to have no connection to anything which might impede his freedom, whether it be Surveyor, Primus, or this accursed sword. But when he tries to rid himself of it, he finds he cannot. The sword will not leave him. More than that, it taunts him, telling him in a demonic voice inside his head that in his despair, the blade has latched ever more deeply onto his heart and soul and that soon it will have him completely. Determined to find a way to destroy the blade, Milosh seeks out the Shaman from the ice tribe, who survived the events at the Maakengorge and is with the refugees in Waterdeep. The Shaman tells him there is a place called Rori Rama, where the first contract between the Demon was struck and that is the only place now where the blade can be destroyed.

It is around this time that Carrick returns to the party. Yes, Carrick! If you don’t recall him, he was the prior character that Ruze’s player had created and played for many many sessions, finally losing him in the Abyss during Esheballa’s insane game. But that was only the end of the original Carrick. Carrick’s backstory involved the inadvertent merging of his soul and personality with the energy of the final Surveyor, and so when Carrick died, his soul was borne back to Faerun to awaken in the last vessel the Surveyor had left there: a final body left safely in the ruins of the Fane, whose Yuan Ti temple had been reduced to rubble by the actions of Imoaza, Aldric, and the original Carrick during the final campaign of the Red Hand.

Carrick comes to Milosh and asks him to accompany him on a final task. You see, Carrick has worked out a good portion of the prophecy and its meaning. He believes that the players haven’t actually failed to stop the prophecy. Instead, he tells them that this is what HAD to happen in order to stop it: the three had to be one. Only when together could they be defeated. To recap, according to the prophecy, the PCs will need to bring together four objects to destroy the three and halt Chaos’ advance into the world. The pertinent lines are thus:

Four things must gather to alter fate’s course The Sword, The Shield, the The Stone, The Source Then upon the throne the three must be Before they can meet their destiny

Carrick says the sword is almost certainly Imoaza’s Black Razor. The Stone he believes is a piece of the Surveyor’s Jade stone that caused so much trouble early in the campaign, years ago. He went out on a mission of his own to retrieve it (one that wasn’t played in the course of our adventures, but was occurring while the players were at the Sea of Moving Ice). In speaking with Imoaza and learning what she found out from the library on the iceberg, Carrick now believes the Source is a piece of Primus himself. Karina, before her demise, had spoken to him at length of her past adventures and mentioned that Abenthy had begun calling himself an “Inevitability of Justice” after surviving Haggemoth’s tomb. Carrick, with the knowledge of the Surveyor living within his own memories, knows of the creations of Primus, and Abenthy’s wording stands out to him: “Inevitability.” Carrick believes an Inevitable is still in Haggemoth’s Tomb and that Abenthy encountered it. The Inevitables are celestial beings, created by the hands of Primus itself in the plane of Mechanus, where Law and Order is unquestionable. And there is one being, Carrick believes, who can channel the power of that Inevitable.

“Oh great,” Milosh said, seeing the visage of the surveyor looking down at him from the alley’s entrance. “This again.”

Years ago, a surveyor had taken Milosh from the depths of failure and despair and built him a new identity. But now Milosh had remembered, remembered everything, and again he had failed. He didn’t want a third chance. He wanted to go away. He wanted the world to go away.

Carrick knelt beside him. “We’re not very different, you and I,” he said. “Both of us have experienced death. Each has had our own failures. And we’ve been brought back to do more. We have been brought back to save the world.”

Milosh scoffed. “I have no world.”

“No. You have a million. Every world is yours to protect. That was your mission. It is your mission.”

“I’ve lost a lot already.” Milosh paused. “You remember Aldric, right? Did you know Imoaza killed him? I found it out from a book we got, from this old elf in a frozen library. You trust this group to save a world? We can’t even trust each other.”

Carrick stopped and considered what Milosh had said. “We all have to answer for our past actions,” he said. “Some answer in different ways. I believe Imoaza is going through her own changes. And I... I am no longer exactly who I was before. I am not Carrick. But I am not the Surveyor, either. But I am both. Do you remember the sacrifice I made as Carrick? Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Sometimes we can avoid them. But if you walk away here, you walk away from the sacrifices we have all made.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

“You’ll also walk away from yourself. You want freedom? Then you need to face what it is that you are afraid of. Or else you’ll never be free from it.”

While Milosh is struggling to come to terms with what he should or should not do, Imoaza begins to investigate the politics of Waterdeep, concerned by the boast from Nazragul that he had agents in Waterdeep’s council, planted there to change the teleportation destination from Vraath Keep to the Maakengorge, which is how he trapped Karina. Her investigations, which involve her ingratiating herself to certain people in disguise and exploring the homes of certain nobles, reveals to her that Yuan Ti have infiltrated Waterdeep and are turning its citizens and lords against the cause for which Imoaza and the companions fight.

These discoveries will have importance for upcoming sessions, but for now they linger as unresolved hints of danger, for it is time for the group to head to the tomb.

Return to the Tomb

“The island was warded against dragons,” Argent explained, as the bronze dragon circled down towards the island of Rori Rama. “We knew where it was, we could practically taste the magic and gold Haggemoth had accumulated, but we couldn’t get close to the island. Like an itch you couldn’t scratch. Even now, this is as close as I can come.”

For three weeks, the companions (plus Breath Giver, Milosh’s personal healer from the ice tribe) had flown via dragonback away from Waterdeep, across the Moon Sea, and towards Rori Rama, to find the Inevitable trapped inside the old tomb. They had stopped at several locations which would have been familar to Karina. They had stopped to buy provision in Ottoman’s Docks, which had changed little in a hundred years, except that it had doubled in size. They had roosted one night on a beach of a deserted island with a huge spire rising out of its middle (the site of the LaCroix mansion, though they didn’t know it). They had flown to Celaenos and spent a night as guests of the Sisters, the Keepers of the Library, who had taken over the monastery after the Knights had been murdered decades earlier. They spent a night at the island of the Oracle, and though they lacked the money to see the ageless Oracle, the monks who protected her let them at least stay on the beach for free.

Eventually they reach Rori Rama, but the closest Argent can get them is at the base of the inactive volcano which contains Haggemoth’s tomb. Breath Giver stays with Argent while the three companions use fly spells to reach the volcano’s crater and there find a way down a mysterious shaft delved into the mountain itself. The shaft takes them directly into Haggemoth’s inner sanctum, skipping the first level of the tomb entirely (I intend this to be a revisit of this infamous area, not a full rerun of it).

This high ceiling of this long chamber is held up with stout columns and the floor is tiled in marble. The rotting remains of a pair of couches can be seen towards the center of the room, along with some long-dead potted plants. Several doors lead off of this room, though some are damaged. The space is lit by arcane-looking lanterns hung from the columns, but the far end of the hall is lost in shadow where part of the ceiling has collapsed and the lamps have failed. Strange sounds echo in the distance – sounds of movement and the occasional animal like cry.

I am not going to detail all of the explorations the players make of the old tomb. There are many little rooms and surprises the players encounter, but only a few are of key importance to the plot, and I want to focus on those, the things that have changed for the worse since the last time they were here.

First, there is a new character that makes his appearance in this ruined tomb. His original name is unknown, if in fact he ever had one, but the group comes to know him as “The Painted Mummer.” He lives in paintings left behind by Haggemoth, and takes multiple disguises, different for each painting, from a feasting king to a hunchbacked dwarf. He interacts with the PCs as they explore the Sanctum, sometimes giving them dubious advice, at other times leading them through interactions with some of Haggemoth’s left over magics. For instance, they try to make a potion of invulnerability in his old study, guided by the Mummer in the guise of a twitchy scholar in a painting in the room. This ends in disaster as the potion explodes, due to them not identifying the proper heart needed for the potion (they use a Grell heart instead of a Hook Horror heart). They do get some hints that not all is well, such as when they identify some dead bodies hidden in a painting of a snowy mountain, and occasionally even get a glimpse of the Mummer’s real persona, a gaunt, tall figure dressed in skin tight black and wearing a theatrical mask, one half of which is sobbing and the other half is giving a menacing and angry snarl. Eventually, they learn to be wary of the Mummer and start burning his paintings whenever they find him in them. This only angers him the more and he begins to stalk them from room to room, not always able to do anything to them, not always even seen by them. But he watches, and he waits.

Cliff notes: The Mummer was an idea Robert and I came up with for the 5th Edition version of Haggemoth. He wanted to do more with the Inner Sanctum and was interested in maybe using the paintings to have some effect on the environment. I was thinking of GladOS from Portal, and liked the idea of an insane groundskeeper, something which was initially built to be helpful but has become broken and corrupted by time.

Secondly, while they explore, the PCs are occasionally accosted by otherwordly purple tentacles, that seem to sprout from the air itself, or the floor. The Ethereal, they discover when Milosh tries to enter it, has been completely dominated and overtaken with these tentacles, and they attack the PCs on two major occasions, sucking out not only their life, but their spell power, draining their spell slots and destorying their magical shields and other effects. The most memorable fight against them takes place in the old dining hall, where an unnatural darkness forces the PCs to fight blind against the tentacles, all the while looking for a key to a special door in Haggemoth’s Sanctum. The PCs get very creative here, with Milosh destroying parts of the ceiling to drop on the tentacles, Imoaza using the Weave Sight to be able to locate the Tentacles, and Carrick using fire and ingenuity to set up a kind of napalm effect that he uses to keep the Tentacles away from him. The scariest part is when the Mummer causes dozens of animated knives and dishes to animate around the room and swarm the players, only to have the Tentacles latch on to this living magic and erupt from the cutlery and dishes, surrounding the players with swarms of essence draining tentacles!

Another scary room involves an illusion created by the Mummer with the aid of some hallucinigenic spores. This grabs Milosh especially, and he runs into what he thinks is a vision of his old life on Eberron, where he is at a ballroom dance. He happily joins in the merriment, and takes a bite out of a thick pastry of some kind, bursting with whipping cream and flavor.

Only, what’s really happening is that he’s surrounded by Rust Monsters, absolutely attracted to his metallic form, his addled mind showing them as laughing and dancing humans. Imoaza and Carrick see through the illusion before he does, and watch as he takes a bite of what he thinks is a pastry... it is actually a larval Rust Monster, its guts and ichor spraying across his face as he bites into it.

Suffice it to say, this is not an encounter that the PCs end up liking, but it is a memorable one. By the time it is over and they flee the room, Milosh has had half his face (just restored!) eaten off. 

They eventually discover a scrap of painting in a room which also contains the broken summoning circle Haggemoth used to summon the Inevitable of Justice, centuries ago. The painting shows a gnome, who swears he is not the Mummer, but seems terrified of the Mummer. He tells them his name is Lhu-Ee and he is the last surviving painter dweller, aside from the Mummer, who murdered all of the others. He explains that the paintings were created by Haggemoth to hold his knowledge and to keep him company. They are like phylacteries, holding the souls of creatures Haggemoth pulled from beyond the grave to shape to his purposes. When he prepared to depart this plane, he “turned off” the paintings, intending to let the souls rest forever. But something went wrong. Others (Karina, Abenthy, Xaviee, and Bitterberry) came into the Sanctum and their presence awoke the Paintings again. But with no Master to direct them, the Mummer went mad. Originally designed to entertain Haggemoth and be a companion for him, in his absence he declared that the paintings had failed their master and needed punishing. Only Lhu-Ee escaped his wrath, by hiding in a torn scrap of painting. He offers to go with the party in his scrap, if they’ll keep him safe from the Mummer. 

Lhu-Ee knows more than just the history of Haggemoth. He is an expert on the Abyss and the Ethereal, filled with Haggemoth’s knowledge of those planes. He tells them that what’s happening to the Ethereal now is a sign of a being trying to weaken the boundaries between this plane and the Abyssal plane, with disastrous results.

“Why,” he says, pushing his oversized turban back up on his head, where it promptly falls down again. “It could be the end of the world!”

* * *

This is part one of a two part post. There’s a lot that needed to be set up this time, so I wanted to break the posts up to make it a little more manageable. And ya know, maybe also stretch this blog out just a little more. We are coming close to the end.

But not quite yet! Haggemoth’s final resting place still awaits the players, and more beyond that!