#opponents that literally turn into statues and crumble

[saturnniidae]

'To Catch a Changeling' was the first episode where Jim actually kills someone (not counting goblins), and I've always wished there had been some kind of focus on the moral ramifications he experienced because of that.

Because there's no way he just went from being unable to kill a gnome, a creature considered a common pest, to killing a person with no afterthoughts other than: "oh man! I killed our only evidence of changelings in arcadia!"

Though I guess he could've just been doing a shit ton of compartmentalizing as well as justifying it to himself with the fact she was going to kill both him and Toby. But still, there's no way he didn't feel at least somewhat guilty.

[itsnothingbutluck]

“Don’t try to understand it, feel it,” Clémence Poésy’s physics whizz suggests, which proves sound advice, since the plot is quite literally the opposite of straightforward. As Washington investigates the provenance of inverted bullets – “relics of a future war”, Poésy calls them – he is drawn into a far-reaching conspiracy involving the Russian oligarch Andrei Sator (an enjoyably bloodcurdling Kenneth Branagh), a child of one of the Soviet ‘hidden cities’ of the Cold War era whose temporal meddlings could end up jackknifing reality itself.

The Nolan project that Tenet most closely resembles is his existential heist thriller Inception, from 2010. But while Inception’s nested-worlds premise could be explained in the abstract – and in fact was, for much of its opening hour – the mechanics of Tenet only really make sense when you’re watching them work, since to put them into words you’d probably have to invent a new tense first. In line with its palindromic title, the film’s action set-pieces fold neatly down the middle, with characters moving through them in both chronological directions. 

Nolan’s eye for spectacle is as hawklike as ever, but it’s the uncanny juxtaposition of backward and forward movement – as seen in, for instance, a fist fight between Washington and an inverted opponent – that proves to be Tenet’s defining effect.

This is hardly unexplored cinematic terrain: throughout his career, the great surrealist Jean Cocteau was a reverse-motion addict, while in his 1927 film October, Sergei Eisenstein offered the chilling vision of a toppled statue of the Tsar heaving itself back aloft as the counterrevolutionary forces went on the attack.

But Nolan’s films have always been less concerned with showing you new things than making you look at the world in new ways. As with Inception’s anti-gravity corridor walk – which was first pulled off by Douglas Fairbanks in 1919 – a silent-era technique is made to feel as fresh as the day it was first seen through feats of unparalleled imaginative force.

Plotting, choreographing and editing the thing must have been a living nightmare, yet watching it is often thrillingly intuitive. Tenet is stitched through with subliminal clues and ingenious shorthand, from reversed sound effects and music – Ludwig Göransson, rather than Hans Zimmer, wrote the shuddering, synth-driven score – to those supremely haunting masks, which indicate the wearer is operating in rewind, since normal air is toxic to inverted lungs.

Feeling your heart and brain race to keep up is a significant part of the fun here, and in that unique and unmistakable Nolan-esque way, there is a series of exhilarating mental snaps whenever the two temporal perspectives intermesh, like the teeth on opposite sides of a zip. As for the parts you won’t and can’t, appreciate first time around – well, rewatching is always an option. If Tenet does revive the British box office, as cinemas are praying it will, that will be down in no small part to the fact you have to see it at least three times to be sure you understood it.

Washington, you’ll be relieved to hear, is as adrift in all of this as we are. But at least he has a handful of allies, foremost among them Robert Pattinson’s Neil, a crumpled expat he meets in Mumbai, on a mission that involves a reverse bungee-jump up the flank of a crumbling high-rise. (Again, the tailoring is to die for: in one sequence, Pattinson’s subtly checked double-breasted jacket made me gasp in a way I’d more typically associate with the brachiosaur scene in Jurassic Park.)

Michael Caine, Nolan’s longtime talisman, plays a silvery MI6 spook in a single scene that’s by turns droll and poignant, while Elizabeth Debicki is the upper-crust English wife of Branagh’s oligarch, and an inspired 21st century spin on the Hitchcock blonde. 

The depth, subtlety and wit of Pattinson and Debicki’s performances only becomes fully apparent once you know where Tenet is going, or perhaps that should be where it’s been. Still confused? Don’t be. Or rather do be, and savour it. This is a film that will cause many to throw up their hands in bamboozlement – and many more, I hope, to clasp theirs in awe and delight...

[faunusrights]

if it’s a gentleman’s sport then why am i, ruby rose, so good at it? - snooker au

i straight up started writing this at like 11:45pm on my phone directly onto tumblr before i passed out for the night. is this garbage. yes. do i care. no. this is a part of the snooker au i’ve joked about before, which is a winter/ruby Sports Anime-Esque adventure into one of my favourite niche sports, up there with professional air hockey and rally. snooker is good! you should check it out! it’s like pool but more confusing, and you have to wear a waistcoat whilst you play it. i don’t make the rules, i merely enforce them.

///

“I never thought I’d say this,” Blake says out of nowhere, and their eyes are going sort of wide with the realisation, catching on the golden lights of the hall and glimmering a soft amber, “but I actually think I’m compelled by this horseshit.”

Weiss sighs so hard that it sounds more like a wheeze, but Ruby’s already overjoyed, turning towards Blake and Weiss with her cue held overhead, readying a cheer. “I knew it! I told you! Snooker is so good, right?”

Weiss had known coming to Patch’s single snooker hall to watch Ruby practise had been a bad idea for myriad reasons, the chief of which was that Ruby is almost certainly on a crash-course with Weiss’s older sister as she climbs the precarious ranks at an almost flippant pace, but the second was that the last thing she needs is for her datemate to find literally anything interesting in a sport about knocking balls together. Tragically, Weiss has always been somewhat adjacent to snooker given its status as the Gentleman’s Sport and its broad appeal in Atlas, and she’d hoped vaguely supporting her sister’s career whilst also strategically moving herself to Vale meant Weiss would never have to interact with it or any of its players again. Alas...

“It’s deceptively simple,” Blake muses aloud, and Yang tuts from where she’s stood at the opposite end of the snooker table, waiting for Ruby to take her turn.

“Yeah, and deceptively slow when your opponent needs to take five minutes to brag about it between shots. Chop chop, Ruby, we’re not hanging around here all day.”

Ruby pouts, making a show of rounding the table to eye up her angles. “But it’s so fun to talk about! It’s, like, ASMR the sport! And what with all the strategy and the thinking ahead, it’s like... it’s like... ball chess!”

Weiss facepalms. “Maidens have mercy.”

“I’m not wrong,” Ruby insists. “It’s exactly like chess. Ball chess.”

“It is a lot like chess,” Yang admits, and Weiss is glad she looks about as glum about it as Weiss feels. Blake, unfortunately, still looks horribly captivated. What a disaster.

“Ball chess,” Weiss repeats, and it hurts her to even say. “My sister would tie your spine in a knot for that one.”

Ruby snorts, but she finally leans over the table, eyeing up the distant black that Yang had missed. It’s a long pot — Yang had tried to get the cue ball to safety and had failed that endeavour, too, managing the distance but not the snooker — but Ruby doesn’t even hesitate before lining herself up, eyes focusing between her target and her goal before striking true, the cue ball sailing smooth down the table... before it catches the angle just so, the black knocked into the corner pocket with such ease she may as well have picked up the damn thing and dropped it in herself. The cue bounces off the foot cushion before rolling to a calculated stop for an angle on the next red, and Ruby nods appreciatively before turning back to Weiss with a grin, Yang quick to replace the black onto its spot at the bottom of the table.

“Yeah, but she’s gonna have to be nice to me. Way I see it, we’ll first meet in the hall during, like, semi-finals or whatever. Gotta have manners, Weiss.”

“She’ll obliterate you,” Weiss fires back, because she might not care for snooker but she’s Winter’s number one fan hell or high water, and that means tossing out the threats. “As soon as you miss, she’ll clear the table and wipe the floor with you.”

Yang makes a wriggly hand gesture at that. “I dunno. Your sister’s pretty fucking methodical, but I’ve yet to see anyone put Ruby in a position she can’t cheese her way out of. I don’t think you can actually, like, snooker her in a way that matters.”

“It’s trajectories,” Ruby cuts in as she lines up her next shot on the red — there’s only two remaining after this, and Yang’s score is lagging dangerously behind with Ruby’s determined focus to keep herself centred on the black. “Even then, you just have to get fancy with your curves. A snooker is just when your shot isn’t a hundred-percent chance, but I can do a lot with ninety.”

At that, she sinks the red, the cue ball puttering its way back around to give her another straight shot on the black to the opposite corner pocket. Yang’s already losing the will to live, it seems. Weiss can’t blame her. Blake, however, seems more interested than ever. “So, Winter’s methodical and you’re... what, spontaneous?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ruby answers, shaking her head. “It’s more like... since we’re calling this ball chess—“ (“No we’re not,” Weiss interjects to no avail) “—it’s more like Winter’s one of those chess players who knows all the strats, right? Like, uh, Queen’s Gambit or Fool’s Mate or whatever the shit they’re called. So long as every move goes to plan, she’s pretty much unstoppable. Me? I’m like one of those kids who gets a Rubik’s Cube and then completely ignores all the instructions. Like, I totally mess it up before I solve it anyway.”

“Which Ruby has done before,” Yang adds solemnly, and Ruby grins.

“Which I have done before! So, with Winter, as long as she doesn’t miss the pot or fuck up her safety, it’s her game. But I like the unexpected! I like being jammed into a new situation and figuring it out from there. It means I adapt a whole lot better then I fuck up and miss my shot, or the cue doesn’t end up where I planned.”

Blake nods, doing that thing where they sit up straight and cross their arms because they’re getting really quite engaged with the matter, and Weiss hasn’t yet found the inner strength to tell them it makes them look like a carbon copy of their father. “Polar opposites, then?”

“I guess,” Ruby shrugs. “Like, if you give her an inch she’ll take the mile, but if she screws up, she’s gonna have to work hard to put me somewhere I can’t crawl out of again.”

This is why Ruby’s nickname in these halls is The Escape Artist, and it’s the entire reason Weiss absolutely does not, in any capacity, want Ruby and Winter to play against each other. It’ll either be a match that’ll end in as few frames as physically possible, or a match that goes on until Weiss crumbles into fucking dust, and the odds are so 50/50 that she doesn’t like the look of either of them.

It would help if Ruby stopped being so fucking good at snooker, potting the black again with such ease that it’s like breathing at this point. Yang hisses between her teeth, and Ruby raises a brow as she stands up again.

“It’s ungentlemanly conduct to quit a game before you gotta do snookers,” Ruby points out, and Yang scowls.

“Ruby, I have done the maths, and there is not a chance in hell I’m winning now. The day I manage to get points off you missing is the day hell opens up and swallows me whole,” Yang says, though she doesn’t move to quit just yet, still holding onto her cue despite the knowledge it’s no good to her now. “Just clear the table so we can go and get lunch.”

“We could do that,” Ruby agrees. And then, she swings her head around to look at Weiss with an obnoxious grin. “Unless...”

“Ruby Rose,” Weiss snarls, “if you intentionally miss this final red just to keep this game on life support, I will end you.”

[moonyy-writes]

final decision ~ levi x erwin

word count: 1.2k

summary: levi is a criminal, erwin is the police chief...what could go wrong?

a/n: i literally love the whole “sarcastic criminal levi” thing,, also the hange & moblit detective duo😩🤚🏻yes please

Levi smirked as he found himself tied to a chair, this was all a part of his plan. He was an infamous criminal in Stohess, an overpopulated city that was run by gangs and violence. Not that the actual occupants cared, they were all rich know-it-alls who looked down on anyone who wasn’t of their social status. Levi had allowed himself to get caught, knowing it would be too easy to leave a trail, especially with detective Hange and her sidekick Moblit. They were always the ones assigned to find him, Levi finding it comical at how easily they fell for his tricks. 

Levi busied himself with loosening the binds on his wrists as he scanned the room for an exit. He was in a cell, the only light coming from a small rectangular window in the corner. 

The door slammed open and in walked Hange with Moblit on their tail. They were smirking, circling Levi with their hands clasped behind their back. Moblit stood in the corner, notepad and pencil ready to document everything.

Hange paused in front of him. “What are you playing at?”

Levi raised a brow, his smirk deepening. “Whatever do you mean?” 

They rolled their eyes, “oh don’t play dumb with me, Ackerman. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The inexcusable violence, wreaking havoc on the city. Why?”

“Just having some fun,” Levi shrugged. “It’s like a hobby more or less.”

Hange gaped at him for a moment. “A hobby.” 

Levi nodded, “yep, it’s exactly that.”

They threw their hands in the air, “violence is not a hobby, Levi!” 

“Depends on the way you look at it.” 

They groaned before running a hand over their face. “We can’t keep wasting our time on you, your tricks are getting old. We’re figuring out the patterns. In short, you’re slacking, Levi.” 

It was Levi’s turn to smirk, “who said I was slacking?” 

Their expression grew confused, mind turning and thinking of every possibility, trying to figure out the meaning behind Levi’s strange words. They thought they had it all figured out, but his reaction only made them rethink it. 

Before Hange could restate their solution, the alarms started echoing through the building. Bright red lights flashing throughout. 

“Shit,” they frantically looked to Moblit, who shoved the notepad in his pocket and ran to the door. They turned to Levi before exiting, finding him smirking in his chair with his hands untied and resting on his crossed legs. 

He glanced at his watchless wrist before tapping it. “Right on time.” 

“What did you do this time you bastard,” Hange growled. 

Levi shrugged, “just having some fun. You guys really should be more careful.” 

“What are you-” Before Hange could finish, both them and Moblit were knocked unconscious. 

“That was easy, far too easy.” Farlan chuckled, holding the door open  for Levi. 

He nodded. “Where’s Isabel?” 

“Um, good question.” Farlan glanced around a corner before gesturing with his gun for them to continue. “She ran off in some other direction, something about the police chief.” 

Levi’s relaxed expression dropped, “the police chief?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong? She’s handled more difficult opponents,” Farlan shrugged. 

“No. No, no, no. He’s different. He plans ahead, he knows when things are coming.” Levi glanced around frantically before breaking into a sprint in the opposite direction.

Farlan groaned and lowered his gun and ran after him. 

They came upon a big wooden door, slightly ajar. Levi held a finger to his lips and silently looked through it. He observed for a moment before slamming it open. 

Inside it appeared to be an office, a large wooden desk in the middle, the perimeter of the room lined with bookshelves. Except Isabel lay crumbled on the ground and a man sat at the desk, his feet casually resting on top. 

At the sound of the door opening, he took them off and leaned forward onto the desk with his fingers templed. “Ah, Levi. I had a feeling you’d show up.” His sapphire eyes twinkled with an unknown emotion as he smiled slyly.

 Levi raised his hands slightly as he slowly crept forward, Farlan stayed by the door but kept his hand on his gun. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Erwin, but leave them out of it.” Levi said cautiously. “Whatever you’re going to do is between me and you, not them.” 

Erwin hummed, his expression becoming thoughtful. “As you wish,” he flicked a finger at the door and two people came in and grabbed Farlan and picked up Isabel. 

“Hey!” Levi protested, “be careful with her.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be fine while we chat.” Erwin stood and strided to the door, shutting it quietly. He turned to Levi, his hands clasped behind his back as he narrowed his eyes at him, only slightly. That sly smile never left his face. “You managed to infiltrate my squad...in record timing too. I must congratulate you on that, quite impressive.” 

Levi rolled his eyes. “Get on with it old man.”

Erwin cleared his throat with a bemused smile before continuing. “We could use someone like you, intelligent, quick on their feet. You don’t see true talent like that anymore.” 

Levi snorted before crossing his arms and tapping his feet, this wasn’t his first rodeo with Erwin and his convincing ways. Although his good looks didn’t make it any easier. He made sure to avoid eye contact, his sparkling eyes would be just enough to convince Levi to do anything he wanted. 

Erwin moved around Levi and sat on the edge of his desk, “I know you don’t believe me. But it’s safer, you wouldn’t be risking your life constantly without reason.” 

“And working for you changes that?” Levi shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Erwin shrugged, his large shoulders pulling his button down tighter. Levi sucked in a quick breath and his eyes scanned the room, looking at anything but him. 

“Levi,” Erwin mumbled, suddenly closer than before. Levi turned his head to the side to avoid looking directly at him. Erwin placed his hand on his cheek gently and forced him to make eye contact. Their eyes met, softening grey on thoughtful blue. “I know you want to ensure their safety, believe me I know how that feels. Everyone here...I want to make sure they’re safe too. They’re family. Just like how Isabel and Farlan are to you.” 

Levi broke eye contact, choosing to look over Erwin’s shoulder at the wall. Erwin spoke again, his voice impossibly soft. “I just want to protect you.” 

Levi felt his warm breath fan across his face, his eyes fluttered closed and he unintentionally leaned closer. Their lips lightly brushed before Levi clenched his jaw and pulled away, speaking tightly. “I know we….we had a past. But that needs to stay in that time, we’ve both changed. I-I can’t be with someone, getting close to people is dangerous. I’m already close with Isabel and Farlan and that’s a mistake waiting to happen. You never know when someone is going to leave you, intentionally or not.” 

Erwin’s voice became pained, “Levi, I told you I wouldn’t leave you then and I won’t leave you now. Just please...please give this a chance. I want you to be safe-” 

Levi pulled himself from Erwin’s grasp, his eyes becoming cold and distant once more. “You don’t know what’s best for me, this is the life I’ve chosen and I can’t change it.” He walked to the door, pausing as his hand met the handle. “Goodbye, Erwin.” 

Erwin’s shoulders sagged as he knew that Levi made his decision, the final decision. And there was no going back on it.

have a good day <33

[deviant3lover]

Personal Headcanons for the Trio

On a rare spark of inspiration, I’ve decided to compile my list of headcanons for the Trio for you all to look at if you’re interested. :) 

I tried my best to make them rooted in canon so that they may be plausible while still allowing me to indulge. ;)

Putting this under Read More because boy, it is long.

Metal Bat/Badd

- From my asks to @atinychai​, Badd likes traditionally masculine things because it makes him feel empowered and keeps most people away. He shows almost all the traits: being into sports, working out, being fierce and intimidating… all except for being attracted to women. (Came as a real shock to him too: his team often found girls cute but Badd couldn’t help but notice that some guys were pretty hot and nobody pointed it out. Doubly so because he loves the thought of being married one day and none of the ladies appealed to him.)

- Very straightforward thinker, but unlike Genos, he isn’t completely tactless or over the top with it. His thought process focuses on what needs to be done, what is needed to do it, and to do it ASAP. Considerations are taken into account, such as what would happen if he doesn’t do it right or in a certain way. This is especially good for him since he’s a busy guy even by S-Class standards, but it does leave him vulnerable to not thinking through long term plans that well.

- The most empathetic and physically affectionate of the three. He keeps his tough look on him in public and in private, but he’s one of the first people to offer to hug it out if you’re breaking down. 

(Obviously where no one can see it: that’s embarrassing on you and would attract too much unwanted attention to him, so he makes sure there’s no one watching. If there is, he’ll clap you on the shoulder, look you in the eye, and offer some advice and encouragement.) 

Young boys and teenagers look up to him, and they usually feel better about crying into his shirt when Badd tells them how hard it was to stop himself from bursting into tears at his first loss in a match, or when he was trying to keep quiet for Zenko’s sake at her recital.

- Continuing on that note, he keeps a nice relationship with some of his sporty fans. Not anything too intensive, but he’ll keep track of the boys who come to him asking him what he was like on his baseball team, what to do if there’s infighting in their group, which ones are worried about their baseball matches and he gives them a proud congrats if they win, or a consolation + inspiration to do better next time if they lost.

- When he’s not blinded by anger, Badd’s surprisingly pretty adept at being a social expert. His experiences of being on the baseball team + hanging out with problem students like him has given Badd a pretty good perspective on both the popular kids and the hated, loner kids, as well as what they’re going through. As a result, he’s usually well received by them. Feels a little embarrassed and uncomfortable around smart kids though, especially when they explain something that sounds a little complicated to him.

- Back in his younger days prior to all the responsibilities piled on top of him, Badd was a pretty good leader for his baseball team. He checked in regularly with his team mates, their equipment, their training regimens, and their upcoming opponents. He helped some of his team mates with confidence issues, and made sure to keep in check with how they’re doing to prevent in-team fighting. All-star baseball team in their region for sure. :3

- In the future, I imagine that Badd might take up some boxing after taking a hint from all the times monsters knocked his bat out of his hands away from him. Lost his weapon? He’ll use his fists until he can get it back again, and he’ll use them well. Turns out loves the sport, but baseball will always have a special place in his heart.

- He empathizes easily with people experiencing stress; he goes through that daily with everything he has to take care of- but he’s more clueless with issues such as mental illness. Badd’s a little insensitive about it, sometimes suggesting things to take care of it which don’t work, but he’s trying his best to understand what someone is going through and knows enough to know that it isn’t something that can’t be solved by blowing off steam or cutting off some bad things in your life. Gets pissed off if someone dismisses it as ‘something that’s all in their head’ or ‘they’re crazy’ and will confront them. Forcing apologies out of the offender isn’t out of the question. Might want to stop him before he gets too pissed off.

- Like you’d expect, he’s a pretty big fan of sports, but in a more casual way. He likes hearing about his favorite athletes, training regimens, and certain meals/diets that helped stars to build up/maintain their strength and skill, but doesn’t obsessively get himself involved in the subject. On a more sentimental note, Badd finds some solace with famous athletes because they had to work hard to get where they needed to be, and on top of that, have to deal with the pressures that come with their popularity; whether they like it or not.

- Despite not having much time to cultivate attention to honing his skill and interest in cooking, he loves Gordon Ramsay. Seeing him rip entitled, spoiled people apart with words alone and gently encouraging + teaching kids has him placed high on Badd’s list of celebrities that he respects.

- Badd is a Closeted Romantic and a Family Man. Always found it touching where in some old action/thriller films, the male married lead thinks about his wife and kids back home and tells himself that he shouldn’t die, powering through the pain/adversity to get back to them. At some point it shifted to him liking some intense drama/action movie focusing on romance where the couple race against time to get to each other before it’s too late. The idea that someone you love and treat as an equal might actually be gone forever really gets him, and if done right, he’ll cry.

- Cannot, for the love of him, focus well on books. He’s literate, but he always wants to get to the most important stuff, often skimming over details that might be important later on. This is also evident in how he writes, explaining something simply and to the point, which makes him pretty good at teaching kids basic, simplified concepts, but not so good at constructing incredibly thought out and nuanced writing. Books and audio books just aren’t immersive to him. Consequently, English is one of his worst subjects in school, and he often has to rely on online notes and essay examples to help him out.

- Extending on that, I imagine him to be a kinaesthetic/visual learner. He was born with amazing dynamic vision after all. (Under ‘Fighting Style: Keen Perception.’)

- Loves American action movies, but they’ll have to be really well made for him to remember a specific one. If you asked him about his favorite action scenes, he’ll describe it, but more often than not, he won’t remember the movie’s name unless you gave him some clues.

- (Inspired by this fanfic.) His mother died in a monster attack just moments after giving birth to Zenko. Badd used to love and respect his father, but her death lead to him spiraling down to alcohol abuse and neglect due to his grief, leading to his broken pedestal status in his son’s eyes. Badd’s still bitter over it when he thinks about it, saying that his ‘old man nursed his bottle like it was his new kid’ instead of being there for him and Zenko. Caught between poor grades in school, a rough home life, and a baby sister he didn’t know how to take care of, Badd had to convince himself that he needed to be twice the man his father is, and ever was, to get through the worst of what life had to throw at him.

- No matter how hard he tries, he still loves his father, and wants to see him endeavor to become better again. But the combined grief of seeing him crumble and give up on himself, the bitterness over his dad failing to be there for him when he needed it the most, and the anger over how seemingly self-absorbed he was in with his booze and watching the static on the TV when Badd was struggling to cope, makes him force the thought of reconciling out of his mind. Badd forces himself to be outwardly angry over what happened to avoid the conflicted feelings he has over the man he used to see as his hero.

- That being said, if you know what his father used to mean to him, you’ll see subtle signs that while Badd can’t forgive, he had never forgotten him. His father was a big sports fan too, and taught him how to properly hit a baseball. If you knew what he taught and looked closely when Badd fights or does some swings, you’ll see that the tips and tricks that he taught his son has never left him.

- Wanted to get a dog because he thought they were cool, but realized he wouldn’t have enough time for it. Begrudgingly got a cat for him and Zenko after she picked one out. He expected it to be the widespread stereotype for cats: cold, mean, and ruins your stuff… and then he saw how lovable and sweet it was and fell in love. That cat is Tama.

- Hates horror films because some of them remind him of the fact that monsters can manifest for the stupidest reasons, anywhere, anytime. It gets him worked up and restless because anything can happen, and the fact that some monsters in the past had tried to target Zenko to lure him out doesn’t make him feel any better.

- When he’s sick/injured, he sleeps. A lot. A very heavy sleeper; expect snores and heavy eyelids. Seriously, this guy is practically stuck in either Stage 4 NREM or REM sleep until severe injuries heal quite a bit, and germs making him sick are killed off.

- Does not take kindly to anyone calling him weak or stupid. Despite getting angry easily, he’s very resilient (emotionally and mentally.) He knows from experience that if he can’t resolve it quickly, it’s best to put it on the backburner until the opportunity arrives where he can, and does his best to blow off steam in the meantime. He’s not that smart academically and he knows it, but it’s still a berserk button you should stay away from because while he’ll never admit it, it hurts him to know that despite forcing himself to attend school so that he can build a future for himself and Zenko outside of hero work, he’s still failing at getting the grades he needs.

- Expanding on that, he’s smart, but it’s more akin to Saitama’s words of wisdom than eloquent, polished reasoning and beliefs; straightforward and inspiring in a simple way that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

- Don’t let him play video games. Especially rage inducing ones like Cuphead. He will crush the controller and wonder why his character isn’t responding mid-game. The keys on the keyboard are smashed in. There are cracks on the area around the buttons. There’s a Wii remote sticking out of a wall after a frustrating defeat and the wrist strap wasn’t securely fastened.

Garou

- He likes athletic wear better than punk styles. They’re easier to put on and move in, whilst the leather from some punk clothes heats up too much/gets too stiff for his liking.

 - Hates being restrained. Sometimes, on a very, very rare occasion, it can be interpreted as him being scared of the idea since he lashes out pretty angrily at it. Garou had been held down and beaten up by bullies twice, pinned against a tree and choked by Genos before escaping his blast by the skin of his teeth, and then was implied to be chained up and tortured/punished for his insolence against the MA in their torture room. He’s strong enough to escape most bindings, but he will be on edge if he feels like he can’t get out of them. If you play your cards right, his attack patterns will lack their usual cunning and be more animalistic.

- He’ll eat almost any kind of food except for sweets. It’s too sugary for him, leads to a crash later on, isn’t sustainable, and it doesn’t offer much nutritional value to him either, so he steers clear of them if he can help it. The odd exception are energy drinks. The sugary taste isn’t something he exactly likes, but Garou loves the immediate rush that kicks in soon after drinking them; the slight burn on his tongue from carbonated drinks such as coca cola is a plus.

- Loves the thrill of the challenge of almost any sort. The excitement comes from giving it his all and not knowing for sure how things will turn out; if he won, that’s another trophy to him. If he lost, he relishes in a milestone he has to beat and loves the idea that there’s still room for improvement. Winning or losing too much tends to be boring for him, and he’ll abandon it if he sees no way to rectify it.

- When he’s sick or injured, he’s a restless sleeper; it’s hard for him to get the proper hours that he needs. He drifts in and out of sleeping and waking, usually sleeping a few hours at best before waking up for 10 minutes and falling back to sleep. Being attacked while vulnerable, in places with little means of defense or shelter is a pretty good plan for monsters/bigshots who want his head and he knows it. One of the places he can sleep more peacefully at is Bang’s Dojo, but he hasn’t been back there for some time now.

- Tsundere. Not necessarily the blushy ‘I-it’s not like I like you, b-baka!!’ sort of way, but he’s a more subdued tsundere. He’ll come off as mean spirited at times, but the most reliable way of knowing he loves and cares about his loved ones is when they’re being threatened; he’ll rough up the threat so they won’t get any funny ideas in the future.

- Is Russian-French, with some (suspected) Norwegian in there. Is generally a European mutt who takes a keen interest in Asian culture, especially those that developed sick martial arts and/or those who have interesting, complex histories; however, Garou isn’t as interested in wars and political intrigue as he is in weird, clever, and hilarious events and hijinks that sound too surreal to be true… like Zhao Yun's army being outnumbered by the enemy, retreating, and him choosing to make their fortress look empty so that his enemies get suspicious, thinking that it was an ambush and withdrawing... before launching an attack on them, killing off his enemy's army by inciting chaos. (E.g. Some of them got trampled, others fell into a river and drowned.) He won.

- Continuing off of that, he generally regards European history with distaste due to how... unkind, some of them are.

- (God, I love @the-goddessfighter​‘s headcanons for Garou’s parents, so honestly? I’m all for this being 100% canon. Murata or ONE, make it happen. In my eyes, this is as good as you possibly can get with Garou’s backstory.)

Check out her tumblr for her OC’s for Garou’s parents! (Although I do headcanon Toru as a more neglectful father who didn’t care much for Garou, if at all. He didn’t sugarcoat his words to him nor try to comfort his son.)

- Prefers black/white/grey/neutral colors for his clothes, if only to avoid people saying that the colors clash and that he looks like a fashion disaster.

- It’s an unconscious move on his part, and while he usually has impeccable control over his power, sometimes his fingers feel like they’re jabbing you when he’s distracted. Especially when he grabs or hugs you. Sometimes, there are some small bruises where they’ve dug in a little forcefully. When he’s feeling affectionate or sentimental and you’re his lover, he traces over your skin, and it’s a contrasting mix between the calloused, rough textures from the fingers, and smooth, fluid movements that slide like water. It’s a distinct Garou feature, and whether you love it or hate it depends on your tastes.

Genos/Demon Cyborg

- Doesn’t care too much about his popularity, but acknowledges the work that his fans put in when it comes to promoting his work and what little information he shares that others will pick up on. E.g. He doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s busy/with that bald guy, but otherwise is OK with signing a few autographs and shaking hands, he avoids certain obnoxious fangirls, he hates it when there’s a group and they crowd him, etc.

- Despite appreciating this info circulating so that some fans are more mindful about how they interact with him, he’s one of the hardest heroes to connect with due to how cold, closed off, busy, and/or socially awkward he may be. Not that many of his fans mind, as it feeds into the mysterious ‘Cyborg Prince’ fantasy that’s popular in his fan base.

- Thinks that Nice Guys/GirlsTM and people who use ‘I’m an Alpha, those betas/omegas can suck it’ are pathetic. At best. He thinks that they’re compensating for something instead of actually trying to improve themselves: for the latter, the added weight of using a disproved scientific theory makes him lose respect for them even more.

- He has a certain amount of fondness for fauna and flora. Prior to meeting Saitama, he’s had to travel long distances in search of the Mad Cyborg, and more often than not, company is fleeting, leaving him alone most of the time. Flowers by the side of the path, blue skies, the sound of chirping birds, or even some berries with rainwater droplets on them are familiar, nice sights that put him at ease. Some of his notebooks outside of taking notes on Saitama have hand drawn illustrations and notes on some plants he’s encountered, as well as their various uses.

- Conversely, barren cities will put him on high alert. Buildings act as great hiding spots, and Genos isn’t a stranger to being ambushed by monsters and criminals alike. (His eyes can be a great asset in these situations; scanning for threats and movements can give him a heads up on how dangerous the area is.)

- His sense of humor is pretty dark, if not outright sadistic at times; especially towards the people he hates. Otherwise, he likes making (mostly. Key word is mostly) harmless jabs and teases at those he loves because he finds it funny when the other person gets riled up/flustered. His tone and expressions don’t change (most of the time) when he makes them though, making it hard for others to know whether or not he’s joking until he clarifies on the matter.

- Hates those who spread misinformation about medicine, or demonizes scientists. He cares about keeping the public safe, and admires/respects science for everything it’s discovered for the sake of humanity: people such as those are a direct attack on both.

- Though on the outside he takes even the most inconsequential things seriously, to the point where he’s gullible and too honest to lie, he keeps his more solemn thoughts to himself and ingrains them at the back of his mind so that he’ll never forget them. His notebooks don’t hint at them even existing. The only way you’ll ever get to hear them is when you directly attack something he holds very dear to him (beliefs, values, aspirations) so that he may fiercely (and furiously) defend them. He berated Saitama for seemingly making a joke at his expense, but he was somewhat more lenient since he knew that Saitama wielded the power he needed. He won’t be nearly as nice if you’re not someone he likes or respects, so it’s a sure-fire way to get onto his blacklist.

- Is German-Japanese. German father, Japanese mother, though a lot of people mistake him for being fully German thanks to his looks. He understands some parts of the language, but isn’t fluent in speaking it. Japanese he’s fully fluent in, and English is getting to that point as well.

- He doesn’t usually use pet names if he gets a lover, but if he’s fallen in love hard, they get sort of ridiculous and a little cheesy. ‘My beloved’ and ‘darling’ are the most modest ones, but you’ll have to stop him from going after extremely specific and loving nicknames because they blur the line between being hilarious and embarrassing.

- Awesome at stake outs, and often keeps a first aid kit handy in his temporary bases (in the case of civilian injury) alongside a repair kit for himself. Genos is incredibly well prepared just from the equipment he has inside them, but unlike other matters (such as learning how to fold clothes efficiently and going taking it far too seriously), Genos shows pretty good judgment in how he sets them up. He doesn’t take more than what’s needed, and prepares some emergency supplies just in case there’s a new development and he needs to stay a bit longer. He’s learned from experience that taking too many things for them makes it harder for him to clear his tracks, and in return, the enemy (or enemies) that he’s been keeping an eye on might catch onto the fact that they’re being watched, making it harder for him to discover new information.

Shared Traits & Other Bits

- The no-brainer: you will get intimidated into fleeing if you mess with them. Things may get physical if you target their family/loved ones. Injuries vary depending on level of apologetic attitude, how much of a threat you pose, how far you’ve pushed things, etc. Best case scenario is that you flee the scene with no injuries, but scared out of your mind.

- Badd and Genos use the same nickname for their lover: ‘Darling.’ Although Badd will say it as ‘Darlin’’ instead. Other than that, their nicknames are fairly different, with Badd going for things such as ‘sweet cheeks,’ ‘babe,’ and ‘sweetheart.’

- Both Genos and Garou have the tendency to mess with people for their own amusement. Garou comes in the form of taunting and goading, whilst Genos likes to make underhanded comments and jokes that will infuriate you.

- Genos and Garou like books. Genos however, is more introverted and will share his knowledge more thoroughly when prompted by someone who needs it. Garou being Garou, you wouldn’t even know he was into reading until he offhandedly mentions a bit of knowledge from a book he read. Odds are you won’t have time to ask him if he knows how to do x because he would have already gotten up to do it before you can open your mouth. This occurrence is far more common in emergencies.

- Genos doesn’t take any visible joy in fighting. He sees monsters as a threat to society that must be eliminated quickly and effectively. Badd used to enjoy throwing himself into battles and coming out of them victorious, but thanks to time and HA’s obligations, he sees monsters as destructive assholes getting in his way and creating more work for him when he’d rather come home to catch up on other things on the forefront of his mind. Garou loves fighting, the challenge- but it has diminished by a notable amount after his webcomic arc as he’s reflecting on what he needs and wants to do now. Despite this, he usually keeps his eye out for any interesting challenges, if only to distract himself.

- Slightly digressing from the Trio: Zenko shares the burden of taking on responsibilities with Badd, though he doesn’t know they exist. She’s aware of the fact that her brother isn’t living a normal teenage life and is bothered by the fact that he can’t act like his own age most of the time, making her want to be headstrong, capable, and independent soon so he doesn’t have to worry about her. At the same time, she knows that there aren’t many heroes his age that he can get along with, so she tries to fill in that hole by spending time with him while finding heroes she likes, and hopefully her brother will like- the reason being is that hopefully, Badd will make friends with them, and she can meet her idol often! It’s part of the reason why she was so insistent in having him obtain AM’s signature.

- Genos can sing, but sometimes struggles with singing with enough emotion in his lyrics. Garou can sing pretty well, (and sings almost every Disney villain song like a champ) but he’d be resistant to others goading him into it. He’s pretty uncomfortable at the notion that he’d have to sing in front of people. Badd can… sing, but he’s best at singing the lullabies he sung to a baby Zenko- songs that get him into it can have him be really, really into it; to the point where it’s almost embarrassing to watch. He’s pretty good at rap/singing more sentimental pieces such as this:

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

What if Fionn was the Grand Saber

the justice we deserve... I literally have no idea what that would look like in canon but boy oh boy do I have IDEAS and COOL IMAGERY that I want to see regarding this

(read more because it turned out longer than expected WHOOPS lol)

Picture the final stage of the Camelot Lostbelt - the reverse side of Avalon, if you will. A crumbling tower surrounded by black flowers, each one draining mana from the air. Sherlock Holmes is long gone. Da Vinci and the rest of their crew, from the Shadow Border to the Wandering Sea, is far, far, far away. Beryl’s Assassin Servant has killed King Arthur, preventing them from destroying Beryl with a blast from Rhongominyad. Beryl has possession of Excalibur, the Holy Sword of the Planet, and intends to destroy it - the last remnants of the guardians who once protected this cursed land - and unleash his Lostbelt until it covers the world. The Phantasmal Tree is in full bloom, raining stardust. There will be no more gods, or faeries, and Galahad’s protection is as far away as it ever was.

Ritsuka’s power is fading, too. When they first came to Chaldea, they were considered a biological phenomenon - a human with no magic circuits that somehow produced enough mana to power a small city - and they’ve only gotten stronger with time. But it’s not enough. Not against this endless sea of curses, not against the embodiment of wickedness itself.

One by one, the Servants who assisted the remnants of Chaldea begin to fade away. Cu Chulainn, Queen Medb, Fergus and even Scathatch, the True Scathatch of Pan-Human History, who has finally met her end against an opponent she did not train, who she did not even anticipate. It has been a long and bitter war. The knights of the Round Table - first Lancelot, then Tristan, and brave Gareth, and Gawain, and Mordred, though the Traitorous Prince manages to send one last blast of signature red lightning through the skies. It does not reach it’s target, and Mordred slumps before disappearing. Finally, there was Sir Bedivere, winking out like a comet passing over the horizon.

Even if this place hadn’t been so evil, even if Assassin wasn’t so challenging as an opponent, it wouldn’t have mattered. Ritsuka can no longer support the Servants, can no longer cause them to manifest. It is hard to tell if they are dying, or if the flowers have swallowed their very Spiritual Origins, feeding the Phantasmal Tree.

Paracelsus and Jekyll are barely hanging on, trying to keep Assassin busy behind Mash’s cracked and broken barrier. The mold of Camelot is going to fall, and when it does, they will die.

There is one Servant, though, who does not stop fighting even for an instant.

The arc of Moralltach burns through the air. When it comes into contact with the black flowers, the hiss and fade away, filling the air with a burning stench. Diarmuid is nearly as fast as Assassin, and it’s clear that the enemy Servant is getting frustrated.They cannot keep Paracelsus’s spells at bay while simultaneously blocking each of Diarmuid’s attacks forever. Indeed, the dual-classing Servant has proved their greatest weapon in this Lostbelt. Closely attuned to the ancient gods and fey of this world, able to destroy any magic and even cut the threads of fate with his weapons. He even resisted the nega-genesis. Provided that he didn’t get too close to the Phantasmal Tree, Diarmuid seemed able to keep fighting indefinitely. At least, that seemed to be his intent.

Assassin must have realized it, too - and must have realized that Beryl was too busy playing around with the seals of Excalibur to be of any help - and that was why they changed tactics.

Ritsuka saw it unfold in an instant, and opened their mouth to shout a warning.

Assassin changed course. They were not heading for Jekyll, whose work with Diarmuid had given him an extra combative advantage - or for Paracelsus, who was drawing his sword and taking aim.

Instead, they went for the cracks in the Mold Camelot.

They were going to kill Mash.

She could block the blade - and destroy her barrier, leaving them vulnerable to the nega-gensis.

Or she could take the hit, and pray that she was strong enough to stand after Assassin was finished with her.

Time moves very slowly - Ritsuka feels like they are moving through molasses - and then, something happens that they didn’t expect.

Gae Dearg reappears; his Spiritual Origin flickers and shifts, contracts in response to the sudden change - Diarmuid has aimed for a killing blow while Assassin’s back was turned to him.

The red spear sinks into Assassin’s stomach, and then, it disappears -

An illusion! Ritsuka forces their legs to work, and breaks into a run.

Assassin’s blade sinks into his back, sliding cleanly between powerful shoulder blades. 

At once, Gae Buidhe stabs outward, slicing a clean line down Assassin’s torso as they leap to get away from the weapon. There’s a spray of blood, and then a scream of delirious laughter, and then the enemy Servant is gone, back to their Master to get healing before they come back to finish the job.

But even though Diarmuid ua Duibhne sinks to his knees, blood streaming into the bed of black flowers beneath him, he does not immediately fade away.

Ritsuka feels a bubble of panic rise like a scream in their throat as they come up to Mash, who is in tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry -”

“No,” says Diarmuid, levelly, putting a hand to the exit wound in his chest. “I managed to get a fair number of strikes in. No matter what power source they are drawing from, it cannot last forever. Nothing can. I think we have some time now, anyway. You must hold the barrier, Mash. It’s important for what comes next.”

Mash nods, even as tears streak down her cheeks. “I will! I won’t let go no matter what!”

“Good. Master?”

He looks up, clear-eyed and expectant. Tears prickle in Ritsuka’s eyes.

“You should have given me more of a warning,” they say, choked. “I needed more time.”

Diarmuid smiles, almost sheepishly. “Well, if I’m right about this -” a wet cough; blood bubbles up from his lips and Ritsuka feels cracks spreading in their resolve. “- which I am, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Everything will be fine.”

And even though everything is awful, he says this with such radiant confidence, that Ritsuka believes him.

Diarmuid holds out his hand, and Ritsuka hands him the hunting horn that they had collected from the Wild Hunt. Ritsuka comes close and helps Diarmuid stay upright, pressing their hand tight against the gaping wound, feeling the crackling energy within - Assassin’s poisonous mana - and with gritted teeth, begins running through a healing spell. Please, oh, please, let this work.

Diarmuid speaks in a language that Ritsuka does not know or recognize.

Then he lifts the horn to his lips, and -

All other sound disappears.

A single, clear note, pure as a hawk’s cry.

A breeze washes over them, and only then does Ritsuka realize how unbearably hot this flowerbed was - a greenhouse from hell - and even as the thought crosses their mind, the flowers wither and die. Mana is immediately restored to the area behind Mash’s shield, and immediately, the Earth begins to repair itself. Ritsuka feels it like a pulsing heartbeat, and thinks, Is this Avalon restoring itself? Or is it - the Counterforce?

No, that didn’t make sense. But - at the same time - they are summoning a guardian. The circumstances are extraordinary, and before it was cursed, this was indeed Avalon. So perhaps...

A hand comes down on Ritsuka’s shoulder, and they look up.

A familiar-looking man is standing there, even though there had been nothing here a second before, and there was no way for anyone to enter this place since Beryl had sealed the gateways. He is wearing a blue cape over simple, fur-lined armor. His hair is spun gold; he seems to be glowing faintly. He is at once divine, a giant, and perfectly normal, though he smells faintly of river-flowers and dark woods. His eyes are filled with fire, infinitely gentle and warm, and he carries a sword across his back that is not Excalibur - but -

“Please,” says Fionn MacCumhail. His voice is just as Ritsuka remembers, but at the same time, it seems to come from everywhere. It fills him with a sense of strength and peace, and Ritsuka thinks they might cry all over again, just from sheer relief. “May I?”

Stunned, Ritsuka steps back.

Diarmuid grumbles when Fionn takes a waterskin from his side and pours a measure into his hand.

“Took you long enough,” he says, as Fionn tips the water into his captain’s mouth.

At once, the wound on Diarmuid’s back closes, and Assassin’s poison disappears as if it had never existed. Ritsuka registers a surge of mana - that counts as a mana transfer? 

Diarmuid stands, and Fionn claps him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done well to protect these two,” says Fionn. “Now, please - I know it is difficult for you to avoid showing off - but please don’t get in my way.”

Diarmuid smiles thinly, amused. “No promises, my lord.”

“Dear shieldmaiden,” says Fionn, smiling down at Mash. “You have become an exemplary warrior! I see I was right to single you out back then! I have always had a keen eye for talent. Kindly lead the way for us?”

Mash stutters. “But the barrier -”

“It is no longer necessary. I am here now.”

He spoke simply, with no room for arguments. Ritsuka looks at Mash, whose mouth is stretched thing, whose lip is raw from biting into it.

“Mash, do as he says. We’ll take our cues from you -” Ritsuka pauses, blinking at Fionn, trying to get a better read on him and his new status. (A part of Ritsuka honestly hadn’t even believed Diarmuid when he proposed this plan - could summoning a Grand Servant truly be so simple as sounding a hunting horn?) “Saber.”

Fionn smiles. “Ah yes,” he says, with a chuckle, as if just remembering an obvious fact. “I still am a Servant, even like this.” He turns to Diarmuid, who is at attention. “Call for the others, will you? It is time for the Fianna to fulfill our responsibilities. Lady Mash, when I draw my sword - drop the barrier - we shall finish the battle now, without further delays.”

Diarmuid nods, and lifts the horn to his lips.

Fionn takes the sword from his back, and the battle begins again.

[imaginedanganronpa]

Can you please do headcanons with the DR1 cast as the Remnants of Despair? I was thinking of the V3 cast in the role of the TTH cast with Tsumugi as the Ultimate Despair and Maybe Rantaro as her Mukuro. While Kaede’s the Ultimate Hope with Ryoma, Shuichi, Kiibo, Miu and Himiko surviving with her.

I love Remnant of Despair AU’s, but I’m going to exclude Junko and Mukuro for obvious reasons. And as for the V3 Cast in the THH roles, I’m not going to write that right now since that isn’t the Request submitted but I guess I could in the future! I definitely think Tsumugi would be the Ultimate Despair, but I’m not as sure about Rantaro as her Mukuro lol. I think it’s an interesting concept nonetheless! 

Warnings for: Su*cide Mentions, as well as Spoilers for the DR3 Anime and Mentions of Violence/D*pression.

Danganronpa 1: Trigger Happy Havoc Cast As The Remnants of Despair!

Makoto Naegi

It’s hard to believe that Makoto would succumb to Despair very easily considering his status as the Ultimate Hope. He would be one of the more difficult individuals to break, especially with his affiliation to the Future Foundation.

But how Despair-inducing would it be to turn the Ultimate Hope into a servant for Despair? If anything, Makoto would be in a hostage situation where everything else started to feel bleak and meaningless, working as a similar Servant to the Warriors of Hope.

Rather than being a voluntary Servant, though, he would be forced into doing so, which would slowly break his spirit.

Junko would break him down and use him for her own personal gain. He would become a bargaining chip against the Future Foundation, and if they did anything to try to stop Junko and the other Remnants then she could easily bring harm to Makoto.

His broken down state of mind would also be used against his class - they would be shown how he has deteriorated and fallen victim to Despair, which would in turn bring his friends onto Junko’s side as well. 

He, similar to Chiaki, would be the main focus in the brainwashing video that brought them into Despair.

Kyoko Kirigiri

It would be quite difficult tosend Kyoko into Despair, and it takes much more than just brainwashing to causeher to switch sides. Junko would trick Kyoko into believing that Makoto wasmurdered and show her the falsified video of his supposed brutal ‘death,’ which woulddo the trick.

After being converted into a Remnant, Kyoko would head to Hope’s Peak Academyto murder her father, Jin Kirigiri, in an act of cold blood. If he was gone,then she would have no trouble destroying his beloved Academy in the process – shewould watch the other Remnants wreak havoc upon the city from atop thecrumbling, destroyed building that once was Hope’s Peak.

She would see herself as the judge, jury, and executor – Kyoko would be able tomurder innocent civilians and cover up their deaths so that they would never besolved! 

She wants children to feel the same Despair that she felt when she took her own father’s life and slaughter families before their very eyes, whichwould eventually lead children into working for the Warriors of Hope.

That, and Kyoko would starve herself until her body was nothing but a skinny husk. Ifshe was brainwashed as much as the others, she may even take Junko’s hands toreplace them with her own, scarred ones.

Byakuya Togami

Byakuya would be one of the mostmerciless Remnants of Despair, feeling his power growing within him and loving the new dominance he has gained since joining the side of Despair; he would become increasingly hostile and greedy.

Since he is the heir to a big company, he would easily be able to send peopleinto a deep depression and Despair by laundering money and sending them intomass debt. It would be just like the Great Depression in the 1930’s America allover again, causing people to commit suicide over their un-repayable debt.

He’d laugh as those around him crumble and watch the world fall into Despair as images of people everywhere jumping from the tops of buildings would circulate.

He would also offer up his parents as sacrifices to Junko - to both feel the Despair of killing them but to also inherit the company; Byakuya would be much more selfish after becoming a Remnant and he would be able to take full control of his family’s company so that his plan to send the country into debt would go smoothly.

And Byakuya would deepen his own Despair by doing something he’d never do in his right mind, and fall in love with Touko Fukawa.

Celestia Ludenberg

The first thing that Celestia woulddo is starve herself and change her entire wardrobe to replicate Junko’s aesthetic, even changing her clip-ins to reflect Junko’s hairstyle and wearing Monokuma pins in her hair.

She would likely revert back to calling herself Taeko as well.

Celestia would set up gambling rings that were rigged and impossible to win, causingpeople to gamble their lives away until they dropped from exhaustion,stealing their money and sending them into mass debt as she did so, similar to Byakuya’s method but in a much more direct way.

She would use Despair as a bargaining chip, sending even the most confident people into Despair. She would beg them to, “Keep playing, come on! You have nothing else to lose, Upupupu!” until her opponents lost everything they had, sending them into depression.

Celestia would laugh like a madman as she watched anyone who tried facing her crumble.

She would also force people to play Russian-Roulette, lying about how many bullets were in the chamber. Of course, they would all actually be loaded so playing her games was a death-wish, but she didn’t tell them that.

Leon Kuwata

Leon would become the face of Despair for athletes everywhere as he works them to death, literally; he ‘motivated’ his teammates to train until they dropped from exhaustion.

Those athletes who survived were brainwashed alongside him, becoming minions of Despair, and would then use their astounding physical abilities in the fight against the Future Foundation as well to slaughter civilians everywhere.

Since he wants to become a musician, he would create mediocre Despair-inducing music that would cause physical harm to whoever listened to it; he would attendSayaka’s concerts to further himself into Despair.

Leon destroys the baseball stadium where he played at, and stands among the rubble after he’s finished to overlook the city and watch the other Remnants spread Despair across the country.

Leon also spreads physical destruction, modifying his bat into a steel weapon, equipped with sharp blades at the top. He would recklessly vandalize the city, letting out loud, unsettling laughter as he did so.

And anyone who tried to stop him would get ruthlessly beaten to death in the process.

Aoi Asahina

Aoi would offer up her brother,Yuta, as a sacrifice to Junko and the Warriors of Hope; he was already a ‘Demon’ that they were hunting so she would just make their jobs easier.

And to feel the most Despair possible, Aoi would drown him. It’s ironic since both of them, especially her, are renowned swimmers - how Despair-inducing it is to be killed by the thing you love the most!

Aoi’s personality would completely change - she would no longer be the positive, optimistic girl that she once was. She would deprive herself of sweets to fuel her own madness and Despair, becoming much less emotional, and more serious.

She would fight alongside Genocider Syo and Sakura Oogami, using her own physical strength to fight the war against the Future Foundation. She would also completely turn against Makoto and laugh as she watched him serve the Warriors of Hope like a dog.

Aoi would be the main ‘motivational’ speaker for the Remnants, encouraging them to continue spreading Despair and develops a sick, sinister adoration for Despair and idolization of Junko.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

Kiyotaka would become asecond-in-command to Junko Enoshima, self-proclaiming himself as a Leader ofDespair.

He would march around the city with a hoard of Monokuma carrying him on apodium as he waves his hand with a sinister grin and shouts encouraging words about Despair tocitizens on the streets, encouraging them to follow his lead with words.

Kiyotaka would shout at citizens trying to fight back against Junko’s Despair-inducing tactics, using his morality to alter their own morals and values and successfully swaying them onto his side.

Kiyotaka’s voice is programmed into the Monokuma Drones’ systems so that they recognize him, and that way he is able to command them as they march through the streets. He would be the main ringleader in charge of the Monokuma infesting the city, pulling at their strings like puppets as they do everything he says.

Anyone who was not succumbing to Despair was seen as a filthy rule-breaker, and Kiyotaka would promptly order the Monokuma Drones to tear them limb from limb.

Remnant of Despair Kiyotaka is much more cruel and rude as well.

Touko Fukawa

Touko Fukawa would cease to exist andonly act upon her instincts as  Genocider Syo. She would never assist Komaru in a fight against the Warriors of Hope and Junko Enoshima, and would instead lash out against anyone who tried stopping them.

She would work as a tool for Byakuya and Kiyotaka as they order her around, getting off to their insults and harsh commands. She uses her scissors as weapons and superior killing-capabilities to fight the FutureFoundation.

Touko, or Genocider, would be like the ‘attack-dog’ of the Remnants. However, she would also blatantly try to murder Byakuya out of love, to only increase her own level of Despair, resulting in a horde of Monokuma restraining her.

Genocider would make plenty of comments about how Touko was her former self, and how she killed Touko and she’d never return. She was a ruthless killer who slaughtered tons of Future Foundation members.

Mondo Oowada

Mondo would terrorize the city onhis motorcycle, infecting the rest of his Biker Gang with Despair; also having leather-jacket wearing Biker Monokuma Drones join them and ride alongside them. 

He could easily persuade the rest of his Gang members onto the side of Despair and ruthlessly kill whoever opposed him. They would form a fleet of motorcycles that would ride through the city, bringing Despair wherever they went.

Together, they would vandalize and destroy the city, and kill anyone who triedstopping them. Mondo and his Gang would take delinquency to a whole new level, getting in physical fights and destroying property, leaving only destruction and rubble in their path.

He becomes even more physical and hostile than he was before. Mondo would also get Chihiro to reprogram his bike and attach weapons, like machine-guns or flamethrowers, onto them so he can gun down innocent bystanders out of the blue.

He would often speak poorly of his fallen brother Diaya, no longer feeling remorseful over his death and instead calling Diaya a pathetic coward.

Sayaka Maizono

Sayaka would first set an example for her supporters by starving herself until she was nothing but an empty husk, encouraging all of her fans to do the same and insisting that they mutilate their bodies to look more like Junko’s.

But she, similar to Ibuki and Hiyoko, would perform Despair-inducing concerts that were designed to brainwash her audience. A lot of her songs encouraged suicide, murder, or destruction; and at the end of her concerts, she would have successfully diminished any and all confidence or sanity that her fans had.

Sayaka performs something similar to a Siren Song, bringing Despair to whoever listened to it. She would also use the screens behind her on stage to play the brainwashing video that Chihiro creates as she performs.

After her shows, she would hold a Meet-and-Greet where she demanded that her fans murder their loved ones and/or take their own lives; her influence as an Idol could persuade them into doing anything.

And Sayaka would also lure people in with her beauty, similar to Mikan. She would target her male audience and mutilate or torture them just for fun once she finally got a hold of them.

Chihiro Fujisaki

Chihiro would be one of the firstpeople to succumb to Despair since his mindset is already weak and damaged, so he would likely be the easiest person in their Class to convert.

He would use his programming abilities to play the brainwashing video he created all overthe city, hacking into downtown’s technology and projecting the video onto the big screens looming over the streets of Japan. Chihiro could also send this signal through private businesses so that his video plays in the homes of innocent civilians everywhere, unexpectedly catching them off-guard.

It would be a video, similar to the first Motive, that shows your loved ones in peril but also depicts graphic images of violence that would instantaneously brainwash anyone who watched it into Despair and send them into violent and hostile outbursts.

Chihiro would also ditch the dress he previously wore and adjust his wardrobe to reflect that of Junko’s, wearing a similar style to hers.

He is also in charge of programming all of the Monokuma Drones, becoming the main person who creates and develops them.

Sakura Oogami

If anyone, other than Makoto, isable to resist Despair then it would be Sakura – her willpower is far superiorthan that of her classmates and it takes a lot more to send her into Despair.Once she is on Junko’s side, though, she proves to be a formidable ally.

Junko would use her status as a Traitor to diminish her self-esteem, and thenonce Sakura’s emotions were at the lowest of the low, she would be shown a video of herfamily’s beloved Dojo getting destroyed.

In an act of anger, Sakura would slaughter her boyfriend and offer him up as a sacrifice to Junko – once sherealized what she had done is when she would completely fall into Junko’s hands.

Sakura would become a warrior for the Remnants, fighting alongside Genocider Syo and Aoi Asahina against the Future Foundation, easily taking out anyone who stood in her way. 

She would also proudly boast about her status as a Remnant and try to provoke the members of the Future Foundation onto their side.

And if they didn’t listen, then Sakura would simply kill them with ease. Between Genocider’s mastery of blades and her brute strength, it was nearly impossible to fight against these women.

Yasuhiro Hagakure

Surprisingly, the Despair Yasuhiro feels causeshis prediction rates to increase in accuracy – but that was also part ofJunko’s motive for bringing him onto her side, and he fell for it withouthesitation.

Now, to fill others with Despair, Yasuhiro will still read their fortunes butpromise only negative things befalling his customers. He reads their fortunesthat are filled with Despair, misfortune, and heartache to send them spiralinginto depression; this makes them easier targets to either kill or bring onto the side of Despair.

Yasuhiro would be much more intelligent and calm as a Remnant, and less likelyto make hasty choices or comments. His new personality would be much more unnerving and sinister.

He would replace one of his eyes with Junko’s after her inevitable death,insisting that it helped him to ‘see’ into the future.

Yasuhiro would also murder his mother in a fit of blind rage and use her body as a sacrifice, selling her remains for profit.

Hifumi Yamada

Hifumi would also be easy to brainwash, and he’d ditch his ‘heroic’ persona for a more villainous one.

His Manga and Fanfiction would show depictionsof Despair and the characters he has created falling into it, causing hisviewers to model after them and succumb to Despair as well. 

He would likely kill off his most popular and loved characters by forcing them to commit suicide and he would write Junko as a character into his fiction, representing her as an idol that his viewers should look up to and strive to be like.

Hifumi already has a large audience that would immediately be switched onto theside of Despair – his younger audience would follow in the Warriors of Hope’sfootsteps, killing their parents and joining their army, while his older audience would start worshipping Junko Enoshima.

He could easily get his readers to do as he pleases – if he wanted to cause them to commit suicide, kill their loved ones, or destroy their home or city, he could do so with one publication.

- Mod Rantaro

[tsw-story]

Chapter 87 - Hell on Earth

Lucy knew that Anzu wasn't incorrect about her predicament. It had been ages since the need for her to handle a battle firsthand. She felt sluggish—rusty, down to her senses and joints—but she was worst of all bogged down with intense, confusing emotions. It didn't matter to her in that moment, or perhaps her mind was too scattered to worry, because she knew she had to stop her own sister there and then unless more people were to be hurt.

A fire burned in her eyes. More literally, up her hand. The fingers on her right began to glow like hot iron, with the heat warping the air around her skin. Like a wild animal, she lunged a quick step forwards before slamming down her hand, and from it came huge blade-like waves of fire that burned trails in the dirt behind them. Hellfire Claw!

Four in total came careening towards Anzu. Immediately, she brought up her hands like a cross before her chest, and she stood her ground like a statue in the sand. Her eyes flashed, and ice materialized rapidly in front of her to form a towering shield of frosted crystal. Two of the fiery blasts collided with and shook the barrier. Though it didn't break, it cracked, and steam shot off to cloud the area around them.

She was quick to retaliate. Anzu slammed her right palm down to the ground as the shield before her crumbled into chunks of ice. From her hand, a web of white lines trailed out to cover the entire area around them almost immediately. Frozen Maiden!

As she tensed her arms, the true power of the attack unleashed itself. Thin but tall spikes of solid ice began shooting up from the ground, like spikes of iron meant to impale her victim. They started slow, but the frequency and speed of the icicles increased. All Lucy could do was dodge, and was nearly skewered several times. Before she could be, her fire burned hot and bright, and with an aura of raging flames, she charged straight through two of the towering spikes and towards her opponent, leaving only shattered, sparkling crystals drifting down in her wake. Her hands were shaking, but she came to a halt to unleash an inferno of fire from the flat of her palm, like a sideways tornado of the hottest flames.

Anzu shielded her body from the painful burning, and managed to glide on ice she generated from her feet off to the right in order to dodge the bulk of the attack. But she was singed, and Lucy was wounded as well. Both were tired, yet the battle of ice and fire continued.

“Please. None of this is right,” Lucy managed to utter through deep, struggling gasps for air.

“You're right. None of this is right. That's why it needs to be changed. And I know that you know that too. So don't spit in my face while you go and do the exact same thing!”

From Anzu's hands, a spark of ice became a javelin-like shard of ice. It shot like a bullet towards her sister, but it was aimed rather high. She managed to duck beneath it by bringing herself low to the ground. However, that was the plan all along. Lucy glanced down to see her own feet frozen to the dirt. When her eyes turned back up, they widened in surprise as Anzu was skating towards her across frozen sand at an alarming speed.

“It isn't like that!” Lucy shouted.

“It's exactly like that!” Anzu dashed through the flames that burned like an aura around her foe, and dug her knee directly into her solar plexus. As the ice shattered, she brought Lucy down to slam into the ground, and she pinned her down with a hand to her neck.

Lucy didn't immediately try to fight back, but Anzu didn't immediately lop off her head. They both paused for an unexpected moment.

“I've been thinking about this meeting for a long time, Lucy.” The violet maiden stared daggers down at the woman pinned beneath her. There was a sudden, growing frustration in her face. “I visualized it many times. So why then, Lucy? Tell me this. Why, unlike all those times in my head, are you crying?”

Before she could respond, Anzu continued. “You're a hypocrite, Lucy. You and the others blame me for dabbling here. For trying new things. I'm trying to make a difference. Do you think I don't know about you and that TL guy? After all those years, you actually fell in love with a human. Something changed... Now, you keep dealing in human affairs, even though you shouldn't. I know you even gave Drodias to a a regular man. Not even a wizard! Yet you're here to stop me from doing the same. We both know this world has to change, Lucy. You're just too much of a coward to embrace who you are.”

Like she said, tears were pooling down Lucy's cheeks. But it wasn't because she felt insulted. She felt the harsh truth in what she heard. Though, above all else, there was something greater that was making her cry.

“You're right...” she muttered. “But I mostly mean about something you said earlier. You questioned why I'd even trust you. I'm crying, Anzu, because the truth of the matter is that I—“

It was hard for her to find the words.

“Stop babbling!”

Lucy continued. “I didn't trust you!”

She wasn't certain how to respond to what was just shouted into her face. It took her by surprise. Mostly, it was from the sheer emotion behind it, as if she was calling out in desperation. Never before did she see her sister so defeated, and it wasn't even from losing a fight. There was something more going on, but she had little time to think about it.

The sound of a door behind her—above in the sky—caused her head to turn. Her eyes started to widen. Not only was a mahogany door present in the air, but a cloaked silhouette appeared drifting down, blocked by the sunlight.

Before Anzu could mouth, “Your phone,” it was too late. She needed to react to the figure about to land on top of her, so she turned around, and raised her one palm upwards towards it. A gust of wind, enough to freeze a man solid, burst out in a cloud to engulf the figure entirely. However, when it dispersed, there was no frozen individual, but completely empty air.

A warm palm came close to her cheek. By the time she saw the man standing there, he had already unleashed an explosion of kinetic energy, causing her head to spin and her entire body to fly meters away from Lucy's. Push!

Eldrian stood there, garbed in blue as usual, standing over the mess that was Lucy. When she turned, she saw his hand being offered down to her, and she accepted the help to stand.

“That was the hardest thing I've had to do. Listen to all of that, the whole time, but stay where I was,” he said. “But we're here now. I'm sorry this didn't work out like you wanted.”

A strange, pained look twisted Anzu's face. There was a deep insult that cut deep, more than she had felt in a long time. With a wobble, she brought herself to a kneel, and stared in frustration at the wizard standing beside her sister.

She turned, and not far behind her was another man. He was surprisingly attractive—long brown hair, smooth skin, well-kept facial hair, a pair of silver earrings, and a toque. She lashed out with her hand, but he disappeared in an instant. Now, on the ground, was a tiny bird. It fluttered up to her chest, and shaped immediately into the form of a brown bear, which catapulted her yet again onto her back.

The animal became Daveon, and he stood there with a serious expression. Then, one by one, there was Deena, Renatta, Arlandria, and her other two sisters, Kali and Mara.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Anzu muttered. “You damn hypocrite.”

“Lucy is different—“ Eldrian started, but Lucy put her hand up to stop him.

She hung her head. “You're right. I do dabble more than I should. And maybe it's because of my own bias. But I don't attack cities, and hurt innocent people, Anzu. What you're doing is making an army. Is this the peaceful co-existence you seek?”

“And what's better?” Anzu asked. “Locking wizards away. Locking demons away. And I'd be surprised if they didn't even have elves locked away somewhere around here! This world is a mess.”

“We're done here, sis!” Mara called out. “You're not calling for help either. So please, just come with us. We can talk it out together, with father.”

“I don't need to call anybody... You're not the only one with allies. And mine are more terrifying than yours could ever be.”

Arlandria tried to gasp, but her mouth was immediately covered. Dark blue, nearly black, tendrils burst out from the ground beneath her abruptly, and wrapped around her arms, mouth, and throat. She squeezed them as much as she could, but they wouldn't budge.

“Arly!” Eldrian yelled. He hustled over to her, but at the same time, he saw from the corner of his eye Anzu suddenly gliding away on her back as a trail of ice formed in front of her.

“I've got her!” Renatta called out. Fast on her feet, she leapt into action, and spun one of her chakrams out towards Anzu as she continued to sprint.

All she saw was the sun's light glisten off a scythe before a wall of stone erupted up from beneath them, right after Anzu slid past it. The chakram ricocheted off the rock and flew straight back into her hand. “Oh no you don't!” Kicking off the ground, she flew through the air, and slammed both of her feet directly into the wall. A shock of force and fire radiated from the impact, and it first cracked and them crumbled down the middle.

However, nothing was on the other side beyond remnants of frozen sand.

Eldrian, consoling the now-free Arlandria, squinted back. “It was him again,” he whispered.

“She had a wizard in hiding this whole time. That's impressive,” Kali said. “I didn't even notice. But I guess I was too distracted by everything. I'm sorry.”

“It's nobody's fault,” Lucy said. “If it was anybody's, it would be mine anyhow.”

Mara hustled over and wrapped her arms around Lucy's torso for a tight embrace. “That's not true either. We heard everything over Eldrian's phone, and we don't believe a word of it! You're nothing like her.”

While Lucy was certainly bothered by the exchange, Eldrian was put deeply into thought. He considered all of Anzu's words, and no matter how much he fought, he couldn't help but feel strangely understanding towards them. But he shook that off, because he knew deep down, that her methods were wrong, no matter how interested he was in her intentions. He knew, however, that he would be thinking about it for quite some time.

“That's it then,” Lucy spoke dejectedly. “That was our one chance to convince her. Now she's out there with no way of us knowing where, with her own private army of demons she snuck out from our homeland, and if she has a wizard too, there's no telling who else is helping her.”

Eldrian made his way over, and he put a hand over her shoulder. “Don't worry. There's no way she'll do nothing. If you all make sure she doesn't keep getting reinforcements from your side, we'll be ready to jump the moment she makes a move here. No matter what kind of terror she unleashes on Earth, we'll all be there to stop it. Right, guys?”

There was no hesitation in their agreement, even Deena. They nodded.

“Oh, Kevin. You're just so brave and strong,” Kali cooed as she wrapped her arm around him, and pressed her cheek against his hair.

Kevin reacted with rosy cheeks. “You didn't put another shadow in me, did you?” he whispered nervously.

“All right. Mara. Kali. We're heading home. Though it might not go over well, we have no choice but to tell father what happened,” Lucy explained, pulling on Kali's arm as she walked. “Goodbye for now. Thank you for everything, everybody... I'll try to find a way to thank you properly in the future, but we have work to do. We'll keep in touch.”

They nodded, and with that, the three devil sisters departed down a fissure in the ground, as they usually do.

“Hey, uh. What do you guys exactly think of him?” Eldrian asked as they were left alone.

“Who?” asked Daveon.

“That creepy wizard guy we keep running into. The mass murderer. Somehow, he still hasn't been caught, probably because he's with Anzu. But there's something about him. He's not like any wizard I've encountered before. According to Poppet, I think he... burst out of the ground at a cemetery?”

“If you're that considered, we could look into the records of who was buried there,” Deena replied.

He pondered. “That could help us out. He's clearly bad news. I'll try to contact Poppet. Maybe she'll know more, since she's the one that accidentally woke him up. Or something like that.”

Around them, for a couple dozen meters in every direction, was nothing but destruction. There were holes in the dirt, frozen sand, scorched earth, and with the conflict ended, not a single noise to be heard. Yet nobody would ever know what happened that day in Saskatchewan. Thankfully for them, barely anybody lived there to begin with.

Night eventually came and everybody rested. At least, they tried to. Some could hardly fall asleep. Darkness stirred in the heart of Canada, and all the rest could do was wait for it to surface.

[vex-bittys]

Collars and Crowns: A Swapfell Story

A fic request for some Swapfell fluff with maybe a little bit of hurt/comfort. In a universe where no monster is to be trusted, is it any surprise that the Swapfell skeleton brothers share the same dark fear... autophobia?

Contains: language, some blood, feels

His Lord's missions for the Queen took him further and further from home for ever-increasing lengths of time. Mutt wondered if Sans merely used his lofty status in the Royal Guard to distance himself from his worthless brother. Sans had pried the Captaincy from Alphys’ unwilling claws; he'd achieved his lifelong ambition. Why would he ever bother to look back?

Maybe someday he wouldn't.

Maybe someday he'd forget his former life and everything associated with it.

Even Mutt.

Especially Mutt.

The thought haunted Mutt’s every waking moment, from each time Sans departed to his long- and longer- awaited returns.

Sans hated the wild goose chases and fruitless assignments that kept him away from his home in Snowdin. Their monarch, Queen Toriel, was equal parts shrewd and paranoid. Rumors flew when her husband, King Asgore, vanished. Most believed that Toriel had murdered him to protect her place on the throne. Others whispered that he had fled to the Ruins to escape the machinations of her suspicion. Since then, her delusions of treachery had found a new focus- the Captain of the Royal Guard. The Mad Queen designated complicated busywork to her personal Guard to deter imagined plots of regicide.

Sans ground his teeth in frustration. He’d been running an espionage mission for well over a week now and getting absolutely nowhere. His failure had nothing to do with lack of skill- there simply wasn’t any information to gather. Each assignment from the Queen turned into a ridiculous waste of his exceptional talents and valuable time, and resentment swelled in his soul. Make no mistake, he cherished his status as Captain. The title represented all of the hard work and struggles he’d endured to eke out a place at the top, but the position also had some glaring drawbacks- not least of all, its effect on his brother.

Time after time, after he finished chasing every red herring, interrogating every accused monster, and leaving not a single unhelpful stone unturned, he would report back to the Queen. She never criticized his efforts. She simply accepted the folders of disconnected and thoroughly pointless leads with a studious expression before dismissing him for a few days of rest. Sans would drag his exhausted body to his residence only to find his brother in a state of decrepitude that directly corresponded to the amount of time he’d been gone, ranging from wearing unwashed clothes to sleeping in a pile of empty liquor bottles, but Sans had never been away this long before.

He stumbled wearily through the front door only to find the house unusually cold and empty. Plans of scalding hot showers and fresh, clean clothes took a backseat to a crawling unease within him. He told himself that he shouldn’t worry. Mutt had probably just gone to Muffet’s, yet Sans couldn’t shake the undercurrent of anxiety tugging at him, telling him to find Mutt now. A proper Captain of the Royal Guard shouldn’t be running down the street in a panic just because his brother is out late, but the worry constricting Sans’ soul deepened with every hurried step he took. He nearly kicked Muffet’s door off the hinges when he arrived.

His eyelights raked the empty bar. No Mutt. No patrons at all in fact. Something was definitely wrong here.

“MUFFET!” the short skeleton monster snarled into the silence. A round lavender-hued face with five sparkling black eyes peered out from the kitchen area. “WHERE’S MY BROTHER?” Muffet’s purple complexion paled to nearly bone white, and rage bubbled up within Sans as his worst fears crowded his mind. Had Mutt grown tired of waiting for his always-absent brother? Had his inattentiveness caused him to lose the only monster he’d ever felt close to? Had Mutt… abandoned him?

“There was… an incident,” Muffet said evasively, obviously not wanting to incur the wrath of the Maleficent Sans, Captain of the Royal Guard, but Sans’ patience had long since dwindled away to nothing.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BROTHER?” Wooden tables exploded into splinters as bone attacks erupted from the floor. Sans’ eyelights blazed blue-violet as he stalked forward. Fuck subversion; he wanted Mutt’s location now!

Muffet attempted to duck back into the kitchen, but Sans used blue magic to grab her soul, dragging her through the doorway to stand under his baleful glare. “He got into a fight, and I kicked him out. I’m sure he’s just fine. Ahuhuhu.” Muffet forced a laugh. Sans grabbed her slim neck in his leather-gloved hand.

“WHERE DID HE GO? THINK CAREFULLY, MUFFET. I WON’T ASK AGAIN.” Bone attacks rained down onto the counter, narrowly missing Muffet’s thrashing arms.

“I told you I kicked him out! I don’t know where he went!”

“IT SURE WOULD BE A SHAME IF YOU HAD TO LEARN TO LIVE WITH JUST TWO ARMS LIKE THE REST OF US….”

“He picked a fight with Doggo! They followed him out! I didn’t see anything else I swear!”

The bone attacks vanished as Sans sprinted back out the door. If Mutt fought with Doggo, the other dogs of the Snowdin Guard had probably gotten involved. Mutt wasn’t a weak monster, but he couldn’t fight so many opponents, especially since he’d likely been drunk. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could Mutt do something so stupid without his brother there to take care of him?

Sans quickly scanned the snow outside the bar. There! Disturbed snow, the tracks of several monsters moving quickly, leading into the forest towards the river. The farther Sans ran into the trees, the more churned up the ground became. Crimson stained the snow, but thankfully, he saw no monster dust. Sans cursed his short legs for not carrying him faster.

With the trees blocking what little artificial light shown at this time of night,  Sans could no longer follow the trail. He began to scream his brother’s name hysterically, not caring who heard him or what they might think.

“MUTT? MUTT! ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!” Sans vowed to raze the forest to the ground if that’s what it took to find his brother when he stumbled over a shape half-buried in the snow. Sans dug frantically, flinging the powdery substance away from the prone figure with both hands. His frenzied efforts revealed what he’d both feared and expected- the unconscious form of his brother, but a body was better than dust. A body could be saved.

Sans lifted his brother’s limp form only to discover a disturbingly large patch of crimson snow underneath him. Mutt had clearly sustained severe injuries, but Sans couldn’t waste time assessing Mutt’s condition out here in the wilderness. He had to get his brother back to their house before the scent of blood, of weakness, attracted dust-thirsty monsters looking for an easy kill.

Sans struggled with the awkward burden of his brother’s lanky frame. It was impossible move quickly without jostling Mutt and potentially causing him more harm. Particles of dust floated free of Mutt’s skull. Sans chose to risk inflicting worse trauma to his brother; if he didn’t, he might not have a brother much longer. He could apologize to Mutt after he recovered.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING DIE!” Sans growled, dropping Mutt into a snowdrift to adjust his grip. With one hand around each of Mutt’s ankles, Sans sprinted to their house, dragging Mutt behind him and leaving a wide streak of bright, glistening blood and thick, heavy dust in his wake.

Sans couldn’t perform healing magic to literally save his own life, but if Mutt could survive the journey home, Sans kept healing supplies in his travel kit. Mutt just had to hold on. He had to. Sans didn’t even notice the tears overflowing his sockets and dripping onto the trampled ground of Snowdin’s main thoroughfare. His emotionless facade crumbled as he focused every iota of his being on saving Mutt’s life.

Sans had never been so happy to cross the threshold into the familiar surrounding of home. He quickly laid Mutt on the couch and emptied his supplies onto the floor, roughly shoving items aside until he found what he needed. Uncorking a small vial, Sans poured the concentrated healing magic straight down Mutt’s throat. For several nerve-wracking seconds, dust continued to rise from Mutt’s body, but finally, finally it subsided. Mutt would survive.

Sans carried his brother up the stairs and settled him into his own luxuriously appointed bed for observation. He needed to assess the extent of Mutt’s injuries and set any broken bones to make sure they would heal correctly. Despite his lack of healing magic, Sans had a vast knowledge of first aid. The life of a skeleton monster living in a kill or be killed universe demanded it.

Sans carefully removed each article of his brother’s clothing, disgusted by the state of them. They hadn’t been clean before Mutt bled on them, stains layered on top of stains across the wrinkled and torn fabric. Sans tossed them aside, deeming them unsalvageable. The one thing Sans didn’t touch, however, was Mutt’s collar. He would never dare to remove such an important symbol of their relationship.

As babybones, Sans and Papyrus had often scavenged in the dump.  Sorting through piles of discarded odds and ends provided them with clothing, books, and objects of value that could be traded for food. On most of their visits, Papyrus stood guard while Sans climbed the piles in search of treasure. On this particular occasion, something had caught the lanky skeleton’s eye. Papyrus retrieved his prize, holding it aloft for his brother’s scrutiny.

The expertly crafted leather collar was the same deep burnt orange as Papyrus’ magic, and it bristled with golden spikes that matched the tall skeleton’s replacement tooth. Despite being discarded at the dump, the collar appeared to be in excellent condition.

“How much do you think it’s worth?” Sans had asked, dazzled by the shiny metal.

“I’m not going to sell it. I’m going to wear it,” Papyrus proclaimed, fastening the accessory around his neck.

“You’re not a dog,” Sans laughed. The collar did look good on his big brother. It made Papyrus look intimidating, even more than usual.

“I am your loyal guard dog, Sans. I’ll always be here for you, to protect you, no matter what!” Papyrus playfully mimicked an obedient sit position and feigned a very doglike pant.

“You’re such a lovable mutt,” Sans had declared, hugging his older brother tightly. Papyrus never removed the collar after that day. The nickname “Mutt” had stuck, although it had evolved over the years from a term of endearment to a word uttered in bitter exasperation.

No matter how badly he neglected his health and appearance, Mutt never failed to maintain his beloved collar. He polished the gold spikes and cleaned the leather regularly with a special oil to keep it pliant. Sans knew that other monsters viewed Mutt’s collar and name as a token of disrespectful ownership, and the small skeleton began to wonder if his brother had also forgotten its true meaning.

Unchecked fury surged through Sans as he took inventory of the numerous injuries on his brother’s body- bruised and broken ribs, left arm radius and ulna horrifically twisted and splintered, widespread marrow-weeping lacerations, and a deep fracture in Mutt’s skull. Whoever had helped Doggo to do this would suffer well and truly before they dusted. There could be no mercy for such transgressions, and no force under the ground or above it would prevent him from his vengeance.

Sans bound Mutt’s broken bones. His brother would have more scars because of this. While he worked, Sans also noticed the distinct reek of hard liquor around Mutt’s face. His brother had been too drunk to fight, too drunk too flee, too drunk to crawl home. A realization chilled Sans to the proverbial bone. What if he hadn’t made it back in time? What if he didn’t make it back next time? He paced the floor in agitation, waiting for Mutt to awaken. It would be a long and agonizing wait.

Mutt’s wounds healed, but he remained catatonic. Sans stayed by his side, declining to answer his constantly-ringing phone. He ignored the letters of summons piling up in his mailbox. He ignored the messenger pounding on his door at all hours of the day and night. He could not, would not leave his brother’s side for any reason. He owed Papyrus that.

Sans couldn’t understand why his brother wouldn’t return to consciousness. He’d carefully dressed Mutt in comfortable pajamas, bundling him with plush blankets and fluffy pillows to keep him warm and comfortable. He’d managed to spoon soup into his brother’s mouth, and Mutt had swallowed it. He’d bathed Mutt with cool sponges to soothe the burn of his healing bones, but nothing would bring Mutt out of his coma. Sans begged, reasoned, and demanded that his brother come back to him, but nothing worked. Days passed. Sans refused to give up hope. He’d dust before he failed his brother again.

Choking down his pride, Sans even tried calling Undyne, the Royal Scientist, but the only answer she provided were her condolences that his brother was falling down. Sans hung up, not accepting the diagnosis. Letting the phone clatter to the floor, Sans crawled into his bed next to Mutt. He summoned his soul, which pulsed with a soothing rhythm, and placed it next to his brother’s ribcage.

“Please come back, Papyrus. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me alone. I need you,” Sans whispered the words like a prayer as tears dripped from his sockets onto Mutt’s unmoving bones. Sobbing, Sans pressed his tear-streaked face against his brother’s chest. “I need you. Please. Please wake up.” His small frame shook.

A large hand lifted from the bed to caress the side of Sans’ face, brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. A shaky voice called to him: “M’Lord?”

Sans had been taken aback the first time Mutt referred to him as his little Lord. He’d been young and full of wide-eyed wonder as he steered their adventures through the Underground under his older brother’s watchful eyelights. The affection in his brother’s gaze made him proud of the nickname, as proud as Mutt had become of his own moniker.

“You can’t call me Lord! We owe our fealty to the Crown,” Sans had scolded halfheartedly.

“You are more important to me than anything else, including the King and Queen. I swear my loyalty, my soul, my very life, only to you, my little Lord,” Mutt had responded somberly. Over time, seeing that Sans would remain short and might feel self-conscious about it, Mutt had dropped the diminutive.

Sans had never once doubted or corrected his vow.

In the space of a moment, Mutt’s arms and legs were wrapped tightly around his brother, clutching him in desperation and pressing their bodies together. “M’Lord. M’Lord. You came back. You came back!” Sans didn’t push Mutt away. Instead, he allowed himself to sink into the safety and comfort of his older brother’s embrace.

“Ridiculous Mutt,” Sans murmured into Mutt’s sternum, not bothering to hide the wetness on his cheekbones. Mutt wouldn’t judge him, especially not with his own joyous tears dripping onto his little Lord’s skull. “Of course I came back. I will always come back to you.” Sans rubbed Mutt’s skull, a reassurance to Mutt and a confirmation that this moment was, indeed, real. “Now tell me what happened.” Sans’ tone turned ice cold and dangerous.

Mutt nuzzled his brother’s hand, hesitant. The circumstances leading up to his ill-fated battle royale with the Snowdin dogs involved Sans being portrayed in a less than flattering light. Mutt would rather preserve his brother’s feelings than admit he’d nearly died defending his honor.

Though he couldn’t remember exactly how much liquor he’d consumed at Muffet’s that night, in addition to the bottle of fire whiskey he’d chugged before stumbling down the street to the Spider Queen’s establishment, it would be safe to say that Mutt was well and truly plastered before the Snowdin Guards had arrived. Their raucous banter had grated on his frayed nerves, ruining his latest wallow in self-pity. Sans had never been gone so long before. Maybe this would be the time he left for good.

Mutt began nursing his umpteenth drink, but as he tipped the glass, looking for answers at the bottom, he’d heard Doggo’s gruff voice vocalizing his brother’s name in a contemptuous tone.

“-still can’t believe that fucking runt, Sans, is Captain of the Royal Guard.” The other dogs laughed derisively.

“The Queen surrounds herself with weaklings so they won’t be a threat,” sneered another bitchy canine whose name Mutt never cared to ask. He only knew Doggo because they smoked together sometimes out behind the bar.

“I could break that little shit in half,” Doggo boasted ,”but that meager EXP wouldn’t be worth the effort. The only reason he’s still alive anyway is that he’s Toriel’s little fucking lapdog.”

“With his fucking mightier-than-thou attitude it won’t be long until someone dusts his pathetic ass though. Then Alphys can be Captain again.” The screech of a stool sliding across tile silenced the Guards’ wagging tongues. When Mutt turned around to face them, wisps of orange magic swirled around his glowing left eyelight.

“Keep talking shit about my brother, and I’ll tear your fucking jaw off.” Mutt managed to deliver the threat without a single slurred syllable, but Doggo didn’t back down with his pack of friends egging him on.

“So where’s your precious baby bro now, dumbass? He took off the second he got promoted and never looked back. Even trash like him wouldn’t want to associate with a piece of shit like you.” The other dogs didn’t even have time to laugh at the insult before Mutt’s fist smashed Doggo’s face, dislocating his jaw and sending him crashing across the table.

The sounds of scuffling and broken glass attracted Muffet’s attention, and she kicked the entire rowdy group out of the bar to carry on their fight in the privacy of the Snowdin forest. Thanks to his inebriated state, Mutt hadn’t fared well after landing the first blow, but despite their vicious smalltalk, none of them dared to dust the Maleficent Sans’ loyal Mutt.

“I got really hammered. I don’t remember.” Mutt avoided his brother’s eyes, knowing Sans could see right through the lie. The smaller skeleton didn’t address the deception at all. That business could be left for another day.

Sans snapped back into his lordly persona in an instant, shoving Mutt roughly away from him. “DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID?” Mutt flinched as Sans spat the question at him, but he didn’t get the chance to respond before Sans continued. “DO YOU THINK I HAVEN’T NOTICED YOU BACKSLIDING? DO YOU THINK I DON’T CARE?”

Mutt couldn’t answer because deep in his soul, he did think that perhaps Sans had moved on with his life and didn’t need his worthless, helpless mutt of a brother anymore. Sans read the silence and the accusation written all over Mutt’s face. The words Mutt had spoken earlier replayed in his head: You came back.

“YOU REALLY THOUGHT I’D SNEAK BACK TO LIVE IN THE CAPITOL WITHOUT YOU?” but it wasn’t a question, and they both knew it.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, m’Lord. Without you, I have nothing. Without you, I am nothing. It’s not a life I want to live, but I won’t hold you back. You have power, prestige, money… You don’t need me anymore.” Mutt stared off into the past, or possibly into some bleak and lonely future that only existed inside his mind.

Mutt’s words tore at Sans’ soul. Things had only been this bad once before, the other time that Mutt had almost fallen down and been lost to Sans forever.

The skeleton brothers were living in an apartment in the Capitol that Mutt worked several sentry jobs just to afford. Sans had been walking home after the artificial lights had faded into deep shadows, carrying some groceries for a surprise home-cooked meal for his hard-working brother. He never saw his assailant; the attack happened too quickly. All he accurately recalled was a piercing, burning pain in his face and gurgling screams as his mouth filled with blood.

The wound to his skull had been severe, leaving him with three deep, permanent furrows over his left socket. He’d nearly died, and Mutt, overreacting to the danger to his brother, had unleashed a flurry of monster dust as thick as a Snowdin blizzard right there on the narrow street. Completely out of control with grief and rage, Mutt rampaged and fought until an elite team of Royal Guards, led by Alphys herself, subdued him.

They’d relocated to Snowdin so that Sans could heal, but even as the younger skeleton regained his strength, he could see his brother struggling. Mutt believed he had failed to protect Sans, and the scar across his Lord’s face stood as a constant reminder that his younger brother could’ve been killed in an instant. The smoking had started, a nasty habit to calm Mutt’s nerves that never really worked. Next Mutt had taken to drinking, and gambling and fighting soon followed. Mutt ran his life into the ground, self-destructing in what he saw as a fitting punishment for his shortcomings.

The more Mutt slacked off and neglected himself, the more the responsibilities of their lives weighed on him. The simple task of sentry duty overwhelmed him, and Sans feared his brother couldn’t last much longer under such pressure, burdened with the nagging, endless fear of inadequacy. In the end, Sans had shouldered the mantle of leadership for both of them. He’d joined the Royal Guard to alleviate their monetary problems, and he’d set up a rigorous schedule for Mutt’s day that most certainly did not include drinking, smoking, or other vices.

And it had worked.

Things had been fine for awhile, but Sans’ ambitions wouldn’t let him settle for a lowly position in the Royal Guard. He’d challenged Captain Alphys and won, achieving a title he’d long dreamed of and a secure future, or so he thought, for himself and his brother. That’s when the missions had started, and the self-destructive behaviors had returned in force in Sans’ absence. This, his brother trembling beside him on his bed with self-deprecating, suicidal thoughts swirling through his mind, was the culmination of his achievement, and it sickened him.

“MONEY? PRESTIGE? POWER? THOSE THINGS ARE WORTHLESS!” Sans spat angrily. “I TOOK THIS JOB TO PROVIDE FOR YOU, TO EASE THE STRESS OF TAKING CARE OF ME. I TOOK IT TO SAVE YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE THE ONE FUCKING THING IN THIS MISERABLE LIFE THAT MATTERS TO ME!” Sans’ shouting almost masked the loud thump coming from downstairs, and Sans hissed at the interruption. How dare someone knock on his fucking door while he spoke to his brother?

Sans grabbed the front of Mutt’s pajamas and shook him. “WHAT GOOD ARE MONEY, PRESTIGE, AND POWER TO ME WITHOUT YOU? YOU STUPID, STUPID IDIOT!”

“The Captaincy,” Mutt sputtered. “Your duty-”

The Captaincy. That fucking title had done this… no. Sans had allowed this to happen. He hadn’t paid attention, hadn’t been attuned to Mutt’s needs, and because of his negligence, he’d almost lost Mutt for good. Never again. It would never happen again; Sans swore it upon his very soul.

“Sans,” growled a voice from the doorway to Sans’ bedroom- Alphys! The thumping sound had been the ex-Captain letting herself forcibly into his home. “The Queen sent orders that were not be ignored. You have an assignment, and you are to leave at once or risk being found guilty of treason.” Alphys grinned at the idea of the arrogant skeleton being taken down a notch.

Risk treason, or risk his brother’s life? Sans returned the grin with a malicious sneer of his own.

“FUCK. THE. CROWN.”

Alphys’ mouth dropped open in momentary shock. “You can’t be serious! You are Captain of the Royal Guard, your position dictates-”

“I DON’T WANT THE FUCKING POSITION. CONSIDER THIS MY RESIGNATION.” Sans ripped the delta rune from his uniform and impaled it into the floor with a bone attack. Alphys narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

“You’re vacating the position?”

“TAKE IT, ALPHYS. MAKE UP SOME STORY FOR THE QUEEN. I DON’T CARE. A MONSTER CAN ONLY SWEAR HIMSELF TO ONE ALLEGIANCE. I’VE CHOSEN MINE.” Sans reached over and patted Mutt’s skull affectionately. “My lovable Mutt,” he mouthed silently before returning his focus to the hulking lizard warrior.

“JUST REMEMBER THAT THIS CONVERSATION DOESN’T LEAVE THIS HOUSE, OR MY LOYAL GUARD DOG HERE WILL HUNT YOU DOWN LIKE THE HOUNDS OF HELL. YOU’VE SEEN WHAT HE CAN DO, ALPHYS.”

Mutt glared, and Alphys gulped, tasting the thick choking dust from that fateful day. She did not want either of these skeletons as an enemy. “Of course.”

“NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. MY BROTHER REQUIRES REST!” Sans slammed the door on Alphys’ retreating form.

“I’m not tired, m’Lord…”

“GET IN THE BED.”

Mutt obeyed, holding up the blanket so that Sans could nestle against him. His younger brother fell asleep almost immediately, finally giving in to the exhaustion that had plagued him since he’d arrived back in Snowdin and, finding his brother half-dead, been unable to seek the solace of slumber.

“Sleep well, little Lord,” Mutt murmured contentedly, pressing a chaste kiss to his baby brother’s forehead.

INDEX

[zloyodessit]

Radical refugees in Kremlin's service across Europe and worldwide

The Russian Federation, just like the Soviet Union, has been exploiting the factor of refugees and immigrants to deploy their assets in the West.

Yesterday, October 29, in a calm French resort of Nice, a terrible violent act was committed, on religious grounds. Also, literally two weeks prior to this shocking incident, a similar one took place in the suburbs of Paris.

Few noticed a nuance that both killings in France took place amid of a large-scale information campaign by Russian propaganda media claiming in Nagorno-Karabakh, Azerbaijani Muslims are killing Christian Armenians, destroying their shrines and churches.

In fact, the slayings in France, committed by Muslims, came precisely at the time when Russian propaganda really needed a religious context in covering the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. At the same time, it shouldn't be forgotten that France is a latent supporter of Armenia and an open geopolitical foe of Turkey.

Also, an important aspect in this series of terrible murders was that the first one was committed by a Russia-born young man, who had moved to France along with his parents back in 2008.

Yesterday, in my piece titled "Nice Massacre: Familiar Templates and New Prospects," I raised a point that many found unfamiliar and some – even absurd. It was about Russian intelligence agencies having set up a network of sleeper terrorist cells across Europe, from among the Soviet and Russian immigrants.

Some outraged opponents appealed that an 18-year-old youngster couldn't have been recruited by Russian spooks and become a blind instrument in their hands after the relevant psychological manipulation, since he had left Russia at the age of 6, and, therefore, my critics claimed, the version crumbles like a house of cards ... Alas, their claim once again proves the fact that, despite a fairly large bulk of open source data available, many continue to wander in the darkness of delusions.

So let's clarify the situation with how the USSR, and then Russia, has for decades been forming their human asset network, recruiting people around the globe thanks to a number of loyal "refugees".

The Western community has always been more vulnerable than the Soviet system in relation to the arriving refugees and victims of totalitarian regimes. Hypertrophied humanism, one of the basic values of democratic societies, has become precisely their major loophole, through thousands of Russian agents have been sent to Europe and the United States.

During the Soviet era, it was mainly the intelligentsia, scientists, artists, and simply dissenters who were fleeing from the regime, while in the modern Russia period, in addition to the wave of emigrants fleeing from poverty, there were also refugees from hot spots – primarily from Chechnya.

Along with the thousands of Chechens fleeing the war, Europe was flooded by many of those who represented an instrument of influence, be it organizers or performers within various agent networks or cells.

When the Chechen wars ended, more and more "opposition figures" fleeing from the persecution of Kadyrov's regime started surfacing in the West, armed with the corresponding legend of a "persecuted liberal", or "exchange students".

The most striking example of "student" spies is Maria Butina, who had been living in the United States on a student visa and studied at the American University, where Anton Fedyashin, a Russian émigré, taught. It turned out, however, his family has generations-long history of work for Soviet intelligence.

As for the refugees, it's impossible not to recall Chechnya's Akhmed Chatayev who received refugee status in Austria in 2003 before becoming one of the main recruiters of ISIS militants and directly organizing a terrorist attack at Istanbul Airport in June 2016.

And here I would like to note a very important point. In the international composition of ISIS, the group of Russians was the second largest. Moreover, ISIS fighters leaving Dagestan for Syria obtained medical insurance papers at the Dagestan Compulsory Medical Insurance Fund. At the same time, insurance, benefits, free medicines, and other benefits were paid through this Fund, that is, from the Russian budget.

And here we come directly to the question of how a young man who had left Russia at the age of 6 could become an element in a terrorist mission.

In fact, the agents sent from Russia are not meat to become cannon fodder. They bear the burden of organizational issues. They create cells, oversee them, distribute funding and recruit other people, including that very cannon fodder type.

Chechen enclaves in Europe, like many others, have not fully assimilated into European society, to say the least – they live as if inside their own deserted island. Their social circle, subculture and influence, including worldview, stay mainly within their enclaves. And it does not matter at what age the future terrorist killer left Russia, or whether they were even born outside of Russia. What's important is that they live in an environment where their recruitment and preparation are much simplified.

I will further explain by the example of another type of Russian recruitment – through sports clubs.

Not so long ago, Germany's Bild published excerpts from the book "Putin's Secret War" by Boris Reitschuster, a German journalist and recognized expert on Russian influence in Germany and Europe in general. The piece said that the Kremlin's elite military spec-ops agents have long been deployed in EU countries and are trigger-happy to execute any order by Moscow.

Raitschuster, who has thoroughly studied the topic of fight clubs set up across Europe, noted that the overwhelming majority of members of the popular Russian network Sistema, including those founded by Russian emigrants, while being just ordinary enthusiasts, are being actively exploited by Russian intelligence to recruit agents from the most radical strata. According to him, there are 250 to 300 militants under Russian intel control in Germany alone.

Similar clubs operate throughout Europe, so the emergence in various peaceful rallies of a number of physically fit, young men who are seen acting in a coordinated manner makes me wonder about the true goal they perceive.

So both religious fanatics, certain ethnic groups, and radicalized youths who are in the sphere of influence of the same intelligence agency, do their job exactly when their puppeteers tell them to. That's actually the purpose of their work.

https://medium.com/@zloyodessit2.0/radical-refugees-in-kremlins-service-across-europe-and-worldwide-6c6c9534722d

[88y53]

Batman v. Superman: World’s Finest — What I Would’ve Done

It’s safe to say whatever plan Z*ck S*yder had in mind for the DCEU isn’t going to happen. How we got to this point is really a matter of opinion, but if you ask me, it all comes down to Batman v Superman. 

I really don’t care what people have to say in defense of it because I’ve read the essays, I’ve listened to the podcasts, I’ve talked to fans — I’ve heard it all. None of that changes the fact that general audiences rejected this movie. Flatly rejected it. You can argue that this rejection was indicative of the audience being too stupid, spoiled, obstinate, brainwashed by Marvel, whatever — that doesn’t change anything.

So, how could this reaction have been avoided? I’m glad you asked, Nobody.

Before Chris Terrio was brought on board, David S. Goyer wrote a script for what seemed to be a pretty by-the-numbers World’s Finest movie — Superman and Batman teaming up and parting on good terms. 

Basically. I took that outline, cut out a lot of bits that made the film an Idiot Plot (see here: “https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/IdiotPlot/DCExtendedUniverse”), and came up with this:

[If you read to the end I try to give a fair and balanced view on the original film and I why I felt the way I did, if that’s any incentive]

-----------

The film opens with Batman chasing down the Joker, accompanied by a solemn narration from the hero. Finally catching up, Batman just starts pummeling Joker without holding anything back, and wrapping his hands around the clown’s throat. The scene ends before anything definitive happens.

The next scene starts with a little girl trapped under rubble and rebar, weeping and choking out a cry for help through the dust and darkness, but no one can hear her. Suddenly the rubble starts shifting, and she braces herself to be crushed and entombed where no one will ever find her, only for the concrete to lift away as Superman reaches for her. Haloed by a beam of light, he smiles and simply says, “it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Handing her off to the firefighters, we see that this is still in the aftermath of the Black Zero event, and Superman is using his x-ray vision and super-hearing to find any survivors in the ruins of Metropolis.

One of these survivors is a man who was horribly mangled by debris. His name is John Corben, ex-special forces turned private security officer. [I’m eliminating the Nirobe scene because it makes the plot over-complicated and is just kind of dumb: so, the CIA sends in a secret agent but can’t invest in better tracking equipment, like phones? Specially designed bullets (that can easily be traced back to the owners because they were part of a government contract) can punch through meat and bone but gets stuck in a reporter’s journal? The bodies are burned in such a way that it gets rid of bullet holes in autopsies? Superman can push a man through a wall at the speed of a bullet without the man being obliterated by the violently sudden inertia? The aerial footage from government drones weren’t consulted to prove if Superman did indeed kill those people? And when the single witness that badmouths Sups changes her heart, the senator doesn’t put her into protective custody?]

Jumping forward, we see an older Bruce Wayne attending a retirement party for Commissioner Gordon. They chat for a bit, making veiled references to Batman and the Joker "still" being in a coma. Bruce, however, is fixated on "the alien," arguing that he has trouble trusting someone so powerful who nonetheless had to resort to murder to beat his opponent. [If I’m going to be completely honest, I don’t really have a problem with how Batman was presented in the film, so that doesn’t really need to change. My main problem is his callous indifference to the wanton slaughter of the random criminals in his way: Batman is allowed to play fast and loose with his One Rule (the branding I don’t mind, for example), but his arc relies on him coming that close to becoming no different from the evil he fights, but if he kills people before that moment, then the arc is ruined. There’s a big difference between callous indifference to someone’s survival and safety, and machine-gunning an SUV full of people and bulldozing the wreckage. He’s just a deluded murderer that literally brands criminals so they can potentially get stabbed in jail (it’s a good thing they showed him branding white thugs; it would be pretty hard for people to claim he has some kind of moral high-ground if he was branding people of color).]

At the Daily Planet, Perry White addresses his writing staff - consisting of Ron Troupe (political editor), Lois Lane (field reporter), Cat Grant (fashion columnist), Steve Lombard (sports editor), trainee Jenny Jurwich, and new photographer, Jimmy Olsen (played by Jesse Eisenberg) — he’s handing out jobs, when he notices that Clark Kent isn’t here . . . until Lois reminds him that he’s busy doing a fluff-piece.

That “fluff-piece" is actually delivering giant shipping containers of food and water to an African country (ala Peace on Earth). During this, talk-show host Jack Ryder (played by Stephen Colbert), is doing a point-counterpoint with G. Gordon Godfrey (who is basically Alex Jones meets Tucker Carlson) where they argue about Superman’s agenda and his presence in the world (and maybe taking a few calls from regular people, like Bibbo Bibbowski). It’s here we are treated to a montage of the various heroic acts Superman’s performed over the past two years, and we see a 99% formed Superman: he’s saving people as often as he can and he does it with a smile (even his harshest critics don’t have much of a leg to stand on). He already resolved his issues over being a public figure in the previous movie, so continuing the arc is just redundant. As we shall see later, there is, however, one thing still holding him back.)

Weighing in on the talk-show discussion is tech entrepreneur, Lex Luthor of LuthorCorp (Elon Musk meets young Donald Trump played by, lets say, Mark Strong) who actually supports Superman. 

However, after the interview is over, Lex is confronted by his father, Lionel (played by Bryan Cranston), who viciously ridicules him for being such a “media-whore.” As the two talk, we get more information on Lex’s situation — years before the Black Zero event, Metropolis was in a state of bankruptcy; it was a slowly crumbling hellhole, no better than Gotham . . . until Lex was sent to the Metropolis branch of the company as a punishment from his father. Lex retaliated by using his business acumen to create jobs and new industries, which single handedly revived the city. So, after Zod’s failed invasion, LuthorCorp started shifting funds towards Metropolis’ reconstruction. But because Superman personally stopped the invasion and helped rebuild the city (including taking the kryptonian spaceship and hiding it on the moon [because it never made sense to me why Superman would just allow an alien ship — which, by all rights, belongs to him — to be studied by the government in the middle of a major American city. He also took Zod’s body, so no one could dissect him]), he received pretty much all the credit and became “Metropolis’ favorite (if controversial) son." So Lex hates him for stealing his thunder, even if he publicly supports him.

Meanwhile, John Corben has Wallace Keefe’s arc from the original movie and graffitis the Superman statue, because he blames him for his disfigurement.

Clark has dinner with Lois, and the topic of Superman’s reputation comes up; the general public may have largely embraced him, but he still has very loud detractors (like Godfrey), and she’s worried how this negativity is affecting him. Clark reassures her that he isn’t bothered by the controversy, because it was more-or-less his fault that Zod invaded in the first place, “I understand why they're angry with me,” he says. “But they don't who I am and their anger doesn't change my opinion about myself. I know who I am.”

Later that night, Clark has a nightmare about Zod and we now see the only thing still holding him back from being the archetypal Superman is his guilt and PTSD over having to take a life to save the day — a violent act he considers to be his greatest failure, a brutality he can’t cleanse from his mind. [I think it’s best if the “isolation arc” wasn’t included in this movie, because it was pretty much resolved by the end of MoS. We have a more pressing issue for Sups to worry about — He literally murdered someone. You can argue if he was justified or not, but that doesn’t change the fact that the only way Superman could defeat Zod was by stooping to his level and losing where it counted. And Superman knows this. That’s gotta leave some lingering trauma.] 

Corben is bailed out of jail and given a ride in a limo driven by Mercy Graves, and delivered (not to the villain we are expecting — Lex, but — ) to Lionel who tells him that he want to help Corben “stand for something."

Elsewhere, Bruce is on his “White Portuguese" hunt [which includes a Batmobile chase, but no one dies, or if they do, it’s not Batman’s fault], and he has his confrontation with Superman, but it plays out differently: rather than threatening Batman, Superman tries to appeal to his humanity, pointing out that he used to be the "caped crusader" before he became the "dark knight." Batman, however, doesn’t care what he has to say, and asks Superman if he "bleeds."

Later that night, Bruce has a dream about his last run-in with the Joker; his hands still wrapped around his neck, pressing harder and harder, while a small voice tells him, "You’re letting him win." Bruce wakes from his dream before anything more definitive happens.

The next day, Lois and Jimmy attend a charity gala hosted by the Luthors (who appear with Lionel’s assistant, Mercy Graves, and Lex’s bodyguard, Otis Graves), where they celebrate the recent joint venture between LuthorCorp and Wayne Enterprises on cybernetic prosthetics. Here we see that Lex has a brilliant way with people that his father sorely lacks, and the latter is clearly envious of.

Lex actually starts hitting on Lois until Clark appears, and we get to witness the first interaction between Lex Luthor and Clark Kent. Lois continues with her questioning, asking what compelled Luthor to pour so much funding into this program; Lex explains that many people lost limbs during Black Zero, and the program is meant to address that.  While there, Clark has a run-in with Bruce, and the interaction basically breaks down as it does in the movie.

Thoroughly rattled, Superman then flies over Metropolis to clear his head and lands on an inconsequential building, where he actually meets Bibbo Bibbobowski — a big fan of Sups. Superman expresses lingering guilt over Zod’s death leading up to a “Hitman” monologue about his inability to save everyone. [https://m.imgur.com/gallery/w7BCA] Bibbo tries to change his mind, but Superman remains conflicted on the subject.

From Batman’s hunt for the White Portuguese, Alfred learns the truth about Bruce’s plans for the Kryptonite. He gives Bruce an ultimatum: either Bruce destroys the Kryptonite, or Alfred will quit. Bruce is committed to this crusade, so Alfred leaves in disappointment. After the fight, Bruce looks longingly at a Robin suit, and we get closure on the Joker flashback — Joker beat Jason Todd to death and crippled Barbara Gordon (Death in the Family meets The Killing Joke), Batman caught him and nearly strangled him to death, only stopping when Alfred yelled at him through the radio that he was "letting [Joker] win." 

Cut to Lionel talking to Corben privately; we get a little more insight into why he is so disdainful towards his son. When Lex was born, Lionel expected nothing but perfection from him, and for the most part, Lex delivered. In his youth, Lex excelled at everything, and was constantly held up as the pinnacle of human excellence. However, everything changed the day his mother died in a car accident Lex inadvertently caused, and the stress of it made his hair fall out. From that point on, Lionel saw Lex as less than dirt and “failure.” So, Lionel has begun looking for other avenues to achieve “perfection.” With his story over, we find out that Corban is being prepped for an operation involving something called “Metal-10.”

Now completely alone, Bruce throws himself into stealing and building a battle suit using the Wayne/LuthorCorp designed cybernetic prosthetics, a sonic gun, and a single bullet made out of Kryptonite.

Now in the third act, Lois is kidnapped by Jimmy who is then revealed to be Sebastian Mallory, and has been spying on Lois and Clark this whole time and figured out the latter’s secret identity. Clark then receives a high-frequency message to meet Lionel at the top of LuthorCorp tower. 

The plot then plays out basically how it did in the real movie, with Lionel threatening to kill Lois if Clark doesn't kill Batman first, and Luthor’s high-frequency howl will keep Sups from finding her if he tries to use his super-hearing. 

Superman goes and basically begs Batman to help him, but there’s one problem; Batman’s helmet is fully covered and completely soundproof, to protect his ears from the sonic gun. [See? Superman has been trying to offer the olive branch to Bats this whole time and is constantly shot down. So when his multiple attempts at appealing to Batman’s better nature fail, that’s when Clark snaps.]

Meanwhile, Luthor is watching the whole fight through small drones. Also watching are Luthor’s goons, who are taking bets on who’ll win. Lois, seeing the fight, manages to break free and escape on her own using the skills she picked up as a military-brat. [If there’s one thing I resent most about the S*yder films, it’s how much they neutered Lois Lane. She’s the daughter of a military general for crying out loud and yet she acts so passive and demure it makes me want to spit. It’s tantamount to making Scout Finch act like Sansa Stark. It’s against everything about her character. So I decided to change that and give a variation on the “warehouse scene” to Lois.]

The fight continues until Superman manages to get Batman into a head-lock, which then triggers a flashback to Zod’s death. This moment of hesitation allows Bats to get the upper-hand, but in the struggle, Batman’s helmet is cracked open. He makes the same grand speech as he does in the film as he loads the kryptonite bullet into the gun and aims it at Superman’s heart … only for the latter to say:

“You’re … letting … him … win.” 

[The death of Batman’s parents was a seminal moment in Bruce Wayne’s life, but it would realistically be a well-healed wound at this point. However the death of Jason and the crippling of Barbara are more recent and fresh traumas that (even in the books) actually did drive him to be an even darker vigilante.]

So we get a slight variation on “why’d you say that name!” to just “why’d you say that!” Only for Lois to chime in by commandeering one of Luthor’s drones and using the built-in speaker to talk through it and explain the situation. Then Batman has his moment of horror as he realizes how close he came to becoming what he hates, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Then…

Metallo bursts in. 

Luthor’s Plan B in case something like this happened, complete with a solid kryptonite power-core and a body made of Metal-10 -- an alloy made from titanium and recovered kryptonian metal.

They fight, Superman tries to reason with Corban but he doesn’t listen, and Batman’s armor allows him to stay in the game for as long as he can (but he’ll eventually have to abandon it and rely on Alfred - whom Bruce calls - for help)

Eventually the two heroes work together and immobilize him. 

With Corban at their mercy, the heroes begin to work out a deal with him that will ensure he help them trace all of this back to Lionel … only for Corban’s robot body to self-destruct, which they both conclude was Luthor’s doing.

At dawn, Superman and Batman exchange pleasantries, and Clark offers one final olive branch -- the kryptonite bullet, which he entrusts to Bruce. This gesture rocks Batman to his core and he admits he was wrong about Superman, and that he is a “good man,” which gives Clark the reassurance he needed to move on from Zod’s death.

Cut to a few months later, and we see Lex being remote-interviewed by Jack Ryder, and we learn that during the time-skip, Lionel died of a heart attack. Lex makes some token soundbytes about his “loss,” and - in light of the scandalous rumors surrounding his father and his connection to Lois Lane (even though nothing could be conclusively proven) - has taken the opportunity to “rebrand” the company from LuthorCorp to LexCorp, as a sign of “good faith” and “change.” Ryder also makes an off-handed reference to Lex taking an interest in politics.

After the interview, Lex watches a video on his computer which shows security footage of his last conversation with his father: Lionel is unconcerned with the charges Lois is throwing at him, because he now has something that literally everybody in the world will pay through the nose to get … Superman’s genetic code. SInce Zod’s body was gone, Lionel set up the whole fight just so Superman would spill some blood, which Luthor picked up using one of his drones (he was hoping Superman would die so he could be dissected). Lionel then goes on and on about the potential applications of kryptonian genetics (including something called “Project: B2-R-0”) and how they’ll someday be able to splice them into the human genome, so that “everyone can be Superman.”

Lex chews on those words for a moment … and then offers his father a celebratory glass of brandy, which Lionel - too excited by his own prospects - readily drinks, but Lex doesn’t.

As Lionel starts coughing and keeling over, Lex apologizes and wished it “wouldn’t come to this,” but that “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”

And the recording ends… and Lex sees Superman in the reflection on his computer monitor, floating outside his window.

Confidently, Lex delete the footage and speaks to Superman directly. Going off on this big monologue about he’s the best, he’s “figured out” Superman’s little scheme, how when the “war is over,” the people of the world will finally acknowledge that “Lex Luthor was right.”

Superman wordlessly flies down to Luthor’s level, and simply says, “I’ll pray for you, Lex. Every day.” And flies off. Lex is left with an intense anger at his enemy’s nobility, he has now fully embraced his narcissism and even if he has to prove it to the whole world, he won’t stop until everyone recognizes that he alone is the best.

The final scene is Clark traveling to the arctic, and digging up Zod’s corpse. Finally, after this whole time, Superman has the strength to face his worst mistake and put it to rest. Clark takes Zod’s body, builds him a coffin, and gives the old soldier a proper “burial at space” into the sun.

He’s come to terms with who he is and what he is, and the film closes on him orbiting Earth - using his super-senses to see and hear millions of experiences that we could only dream of (babies being born, people celebrating, animals frolicking, monks peacefully meditating, etc.) - in full grip of the Overview Effect, smiling a perfectly contented smile at this strange little blue rock that he loves, with all his heart. (kind of like here: https://comicsalliance.com/originals-garth-ennis-dialogue-hitman-303-war-comics-creator-owned)

He’s finally the super-man.

-----------

So, if you managed to make it this far, it’s worth noting that a movie like this was never in the cards.  

When Man of Steel was being made, it came off the heels of the very underwhelming Superman Returns and the epic Dark Knight Trilogy (so a more action-packed remake was a no-brainer from a marketing perspective) and the abject failure that was Green Lantern (which was supposed to be DC’s platform for a cinematic universe). So, when WB gave Z*ck S*yder the reins they weren’t interested in making a cinematic universe. It’s only natural that they’d fall back on their strong suits and try to recreate the Dark Knight Trilogy, only with Superman this time. They wanted Chris Nolan to helm it, but he never wanted to be known as the “Superhero Director,” so he hand-picked S*yder for the job (WB agreed because they trusted Nolan and they wanted that sweet, sweet, auteur creativity that worked so well before, despite the fact that the DK series was more or less a fluke). However, when MoS proved to be a moderate success (and because there’s no such thing as bad publicity) the executives got ambitious and pushed for a franchise, but Snyder was always more interested in telling his own story, with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and that just couldn’t happen in a cinematic universe designed to go on for as long as it keeps making money. So they naively tried to have their cake and eat it too. Whereas in the real world, one doesn’t try to mix chocolate-chip ice-cream, lasagna, and chimichangas into one dish, unless you’re aiming for a disappointing afternoon and a lot of wasted effort (even then, there will always be that one person who’ll love it for reasons completely unique to them).

This is all to say that I think the “Snyderverse” was more or less destined to fail, because it tried to be too many things and wasn’t any of them. 

I once read something on a Reddit post that I think is applicable to this whole situation: “Unfortunately, some writers try to shoot for crafting a Memento before they’ve mastered St. Peter and the Dragon.”

But more importantly, I’ve recently had a breakthrough in my ponderings about it that I think finally, finally, finally explains why people like me couldn’t like it …

The film wasn’t meant for people like me.

Anticlimactic, I know.

You can argue movie critic payoffs, stubborn audiences that demanded different things, the fact that the studio didn’t release the full film (I don’t think that would’ve helped), the over saturation of Marvel-style films, but in the end Z*ck Sn*der is a cult filmmaker, best suited for more low-risk niche properties. The only film he made that ever received mainstream success was 300, arguably for the wrong reasons.

The only crime you can really hold against this movie was that it failed to connect with enough people. It’s kind of sad in a way.

Without him, the DCEU seems to be moving in the direction of Adaptation Distillation, and I think that’s for the best.

[evolutionsvoid]

Ver'Rahl constantly balances on the brink of madness. His failed soul transfer has led to dozens of voices in his head, filling his thoughts with mournful cries, wails, laments and voices that insult and belittle him. Despite his great power as a necromancer, he cannot be rid of them, as they are embedded in his own soul. To add to this state of insanity, he has to deal with unruly undead, failed experiments, a backstabbing minion and an order of freaks that somehow thwart his best laid plans. Needless to say, his fortress is not the place to be after a defeat, as his rage is unleashed and he destroys anything in front of him during his mindless rampage. But one of the biggest things that constantly annoys him and brings him misery is the fact that he has created a lethal abomination of insane power, and has no idea how he did it.

It all started when Ver'Rahl assaulted a nearby village and captured the survivors for experiments in his fortress. The news of his actions reached The Knights of the Wrong Table, who infiltrated his fortress and freed the trapped villagers. His undead put up a valiant fight, but the order won the day and escaped his walls. Ver'Rahl watched from atop his spiked walls and became enraged at his loss. As the prisoners got to safety, the order finished off the pursuing undead and looked to Ver'Rahl, who could do nothing but hurl necrotic blasts and obscenities. Feeling confident in their victory, Vikus shouted out to the furious necromancer, telling him that an army of undead could never defeat the justice of a knight. Already angered in defeat and drowning in the screaming voices in his head, Vikus' remark was the final small push that plummeted him into madness. Ver'Rahl flew into a blind rage and called forth every ounce of energy in his being. In the boiling stew of chaos within his mind, one goal emerged: Make a knight. In languages unknown to him, and with spells he didn't even know existed, Ver'Rahl twisted and shaped the many defeated dead that lay before his fortress. Lightening and fire blasted the corpse-infused earth, as he hurled everything he had into this one insane maelstrom. The earth and flesh rose up, mimicking his movements and forming into a humanoid shape. The tempest of dark energy embedded itself into the form and brought forth twisted life. With a final pulse, the mangled form hardened into rock and became still. The exertion of this madness disintegrated Ver'Rahl's skull head and caused him to collapse. General Nekrosis carried the unconscious necromancer to safety, as the order stared at the immense statue before them. The rock cracked and crumbled, revealing the abomination that lay inside. Tearing off its stony skin, Darkest Knight emerged into the mortal world. The order wasted no time in attacking the monstrosity, but the previous battle had tired them, and this being had just been freshly risen. Its long limbs swept the order away, its strength toppling even Golem Knight. The monster was fast and fierce, and it wasn't long before the order was forced to retreat from the abomination, lest it harm the villagers. Darkest Knight did not pursue the fleeing enemy, it only turned away and scaled the fortress walls, searching for its master. Ever since its bizarre conception, Darkest Knight has fought on Ver'Rahl's side. The massive creature is Ver'Rahl's greatest siege weapon and is always called upon when he seeks to topple a castle or fortress. Attitude - There is not much to say about Darkest Knight's personality, as he is a rage-filled beast that just seeks to destroy. It smashes and devours without pause and obeys Ver'Rahl's orders without question. It enjoys destroying structures and buildings, and bounds through shattered cities with reckless abandon. To many, Darkest Knight is another mindless undead monstrosity that seeks to devour life. A few though, like Ver'Rahl and Nekrosis, have noticed some odd moments with the creature. Strange occurrences that last only a few seconds, and leave even the necromancer questioning what he just saw. To them, there is the wonder if Darkest Knight is smarter than they believe. He obeys commands without question, but bizarre incidents have left them wondering if there is a hidden intelligence within that screaming, muscled mass. Relations - Ver'Rahl is the only real being Darkest Knight has a relation with. Darkest Knight is loyal to its master and will abandon its battle to protect him if he falls. It follows his orders and commands without question or hesitancy, and is so reliable to Ver'Rahl, that he has used Darkest Knight in ambushes, sieges and even has used himself as bait so that Darkest Knight can attack. Outside of battle, Darkest Knight will just ahng around the fortress, waiting for orders from his master. If Ver'Rahl is outside, he will often follow him around. At these times, Ver'Rahl treats Darkest Knight like a pet. He has even been seen feeding Darkest Knight remnants of things that he has vomited up during tantrums. Strange otherworldly substances that Darkest Knight enjoys eating like dog biscuits. With this amazing creation, Ver'Rahl is always on a quest to try and replicate the spells that birthed Darkest Knight. But the things that happen during his insane bouts are lost in the whirlpool of chaos, and most of the knowledge only emerges during these tantrums. Much like the experiments for smarter, stronger Undead, these attempts have led to failures and seething piles of flesh. At times, the image of Darkest Knight is frustrating to Ver'Rahl, as it is a reminder of one of his greatest achievements he cannot even replicate. Besides these few occasions, Ver'Rahl views Darkest Knight as his greatest weapon, and only unleashes it during missions of great importance and need. Darkest Knight is rarely sent out on its own, most of the time Ver'Rahl is there to give commands and oversee the operation. Darkest Knight has also aided Ver'Rahl in times of madness. In some instances, when Ver'Rahl falls to insanity, he may summon creatures from another realm that he cannot control. If these beings turn against Ver'Rahl, he will work to destroy them so that they do not harm his master. At times, that means working alongside the Knights of the Wrong Table so that this new alien being does not wipe them all out. Despite being completely obedient and loyal, there is something unsettling about it, even to its creator. There was an incident with the Darkest Knight that only Ver'Rahl and Nekrosis know about. One time after a loss, Ver'Rahl was on his usual tantrum, shooting bolts of energy and breaking furniture. During this anger, Ver'Rahl lashed out at Darkest Knight, hitting him with a blast of magic. This attack was not dangerous or destructive, with the shot leaving just a burn mark on its skin. The retaliation by Darkest Knight was brief but intense, leaving Ver'Rahl beaten and bruised, but with no major damage. The brutal attack though, made a clear message to Ver'Rahl: Don't do that again. This attack has left the two disturbed by the idea that there may be something else to Darkest Knight that they don't know. His obedience to orders and this attack on his own master has Ver'Rahl wondering how much Darkest Knight is under control, and how much is Darkest Knight just following along with it. Subordinates - None Abilities - Darkest Knight combines agility, power and ferocity to make an undead powerhouse. Its long limbs allow it to sprint, swing, climb and leap with surprising speed. Castle walls are either climbed or hurdled over. Fleeing enemies are outrun and slaughtered. Spears, rocks and magic spells are dodged with ease, as it contorts its body to avoid damaging attacks. Arrows aren't even dodged, as they uselessly embed themselves into its flesh. Its strength allows it to smash through most structures and take down heavy hitting enemies. Catapults and huts are seized and flung by it. Iron gates are battered down and trampled. Combining this strength with its speed turns Darkest Knight into a battering ram, plowing through the battlefield. Its claws and spikes are used to tear through prey. Its long arms can sweep large areas and spring into devastating punches. Its mouth can stretch open to engulf man-sized prey, and its rows of teeth impales all caught inside. As an undead, Darkest Knight can take a high amount of punishment before being out of the fight. Wounds and cuts don't phase it, and even the most brutal injuries are shrugged off or ignored. In one case, Alvea broke its jaw with a pillar, and Darkest Knight still fought with the same ferocity. The only way to kill Darkest Knight is to dismember it or turn its body to ash. The monstrosity has to literally be beaten to a pulp before it succumbs to death. But though it seems to be a mindless beast, Darkest Knight knows when to retreat. After receiving too many wounds, Darkest Knight will flee the battle and return to the fortress. In the safety of the base, it will form a fleshy cocoon around its body, and use it to heal its wounds. The length of time it is in the cocoon depends on the number and severity of the wounds it received. With its arms and jaws broken, body covered in slashes and embedded with dozens of arrows, Darkest Knight has emerged from its cocoon weeks later looking good as new. Tools - Darkest Knight's greatest tools are his own limbs and impossible strength. The only real times he uses tools is when he grabs chunks of buildings or towers to smash opponents with. Slinging boulders and rubble is a common strategy of his, usually taking out siege weapons that are pestering him. Weaknesses - Darkest Knight's sheer size makes him an easy target to hit, allowing siege weapons to be used against him. Though Darkest Knught feels very little pain, this can be a problem. Attacks from behind or the side can be ignored to the point where a foe can cause lots of bodily damage before Darkest Knight realizes the threat. Magic is effective against him, as he has no armor or runes to protect against spells. His ignorance to pain and damage can cause him to charge right into devastating spells, forgetting the importance of dodging during his blind fury.