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bwat5-blog · 1 month ago

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Caitlyn & Violet: A Deeper Look

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

Recently I reached out to the community asking for some requests on angles/ideas/topics and so on that anyone would be interested in my analysis on. A few of you amazing folks responded for which I am extremely grateful. @phoenixlionme asked me to delve into a few points I have never discussed at all, regarding Caitlyn Kiramman, and the way she connects to Vi's heritage and past.

Caitlyn as a bridge between cities

Caitlyn's similarities to Vi's loved ones

Caitlyn compared to the leaders of Zaun (for Clarity @phoenixlionme phrased it as people Sevika has followed, this is just an easier way for me to approach it in my head)

So! to that end, I will be digging into these ideas and expanding my own insight into this wonderful character. As I am so fond of saying, good stories matter. And the continued exploration and discussion of this story and it's characters will help it live on. Thank you.

Caitlyn As The Bridge Between Cities:

When the story begins, Caitlyn and Vi could not be from more different worlds. Vi's life is poisoned with violence and loss, even witnessing the deaths of her birth parents at the hands of Enforcers. In that opening scene, they are monstrous. Emerging from smoke and shadow, dealing death and pain all hidden behind cold unfeeling masks. Her childhood in Zaun has made her a hardened survivor even at such a young age.

But in the sunny streets of Piltover, where Caitlyn has been raised, the Enforcers are smiling, happy symbols of peace and safety. Caitlyn is the daughter and heir to one of the great houses of Piltover. Her name means innovation, wealth and respect. She receives shooting lessons from the sheriff of Piltover herself. She joins the enforcers when she comes of age because the reality she has known has only ever taught her to view them as a force for good.

But of course as the story commences we see these two individuals from totally different worlds come together. Their realities joined in ways both good and bad. So let's dig into this further, starting with the simple stuff.

Vi-

Well to state the obvious, Caitlyn is love with the birth daughter of one of the architects of Zaun, and the eldest adopted daughter of another. Although Vi's place in Zaun likely feels unsteady to her after all that occurs in Season 2, it seems logical to suggest that during the reconstruction efforts after the war and during the restitution efforts towards her people she and Caitlyn's relationship will help bridge the gap in general.

Sevika-

At the end of season two, Caitlyn has given the seat of house Kiramman to none other than Sevika of Zaun. People have done just about everything in their power to pretend this doesn't matter. It does. It just does. I know there were people hoping to see the Piltover elite lined up and executed by firing squad, while Jinx reigned supreme over the flames and was served tea by a chained and forcibly blinded Caitlyn, all while Vi excoriated herself with a flail and sang Jinx's praises loudly for all to hear. But for those of us who were never fitted for our tinfoil hats, this is a massive step.

The council hold the highest positions of power in the twin cities. And now because of Caitlyn, one of them belongs to the undercity. She has literally created a link between the two surrendering her own families power and giving it to the undercity who have never had that voice before. It isn't all encompassing change because that isn't real. It's a first powerful step made by someone with all the power, to start bridging the divide.

The Commander -

Alright. Now we start getting into the more complex part of her relationship with Zaun. Caitlyn's arc is immensely complex and controversial and there is a lot of depth and nuance to this part of her story. I have written about this in HEAVY.. HEAVY DETAIL. So if you would like to see that I would love for you to check it out. But for our purposes here I am going to keep to the basics. Because to discuss how I feel the aftermath of this will lead to her having more of a connection with the Undercity, we at least need to go over what happened. To begin with, lets do a very quick barebones rundown:

Born in Piltover

Entered Zaun with Vi

Reentered Zaun leading strike team. Hunting chem-barons, Jinx, and Shimmer.

Becomes The Commander

Occupation Of Zaun

The War

The Strike Team:

Now, on a logical level only, the strike team did not do anything wrong. The Chem-Barons were dangerous drug lords. Shimmer is an absolute threat to all of the Undercity. And while there is obviously so much more to be said about Jinx, for their purposes they are hunting a dangerous terrorist who just assassinated three of their leaders. Yes. For logic based purposes only this does also includes the Grey. I have beat this horse to death, kicked it while it's down, revived it, and shot it in the head. I am not doing it again here. So I will just say that on a purely logical level, using a non-lethal crowd dispersal weapon on specific targets while hunting dangerous crime lords and a terrorist who likes things that go boom.... Not the worst idea.

The real issue with the strike team's actions, can be discussed in two points:

Caitlyn's motivation-

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow

I would rather die alone" (Hellfire Arcane)

The problem is that Caitlyn did not lead her team into the undercity to liberate it's people. She did so for revenge. Each action pushing her further and further into her rage and pain. So even though her actions were "pure" her intention was driven by hate.

2. History with Piltovan Oppression-

As stated, the goals of the strike team were pure. And on a purely logic based level, the fan reaction to the grey has been hyperbolic to say the least. The problem is in the history. Uniformed Enforcers using a weapon that no matter how overblown the reaction does make people choke and cough and possibly pass out. It's all just too reminiscent of what the Undercity has been through before.

The Occupation:

So despite this being a massive part of this story, for our purposes here there is not a terrible amount to say. As very rough overview:

Caitlyn has become commander over the two cities during a period of Martial Law.

Ambessa Medarda rules from the shadows using Caitlyn as her scape goat.

All of Zaun has been placed under full occupation until Jinx is found. Dissenters are jailed, there are checkpoints, and it seems as though the Noxian "peace keeping forces" are being as brutal as possible. Therefore driving dissent and anger to even higher levels allowing Ambessa more time to achieve her goals.

Occupation ends when Caitlyn realizes how she had lost her way, turns on Ambessa, and the occupation ends in the days leading up to the final battle.

The issue of course is that Ambessa's part in this aside, Caitlyn was the face of it. And as I have said from the beginning, I am NOT attempting to absolve Caitlyn of her responsibility in what happened. Some portion of our fandom have essentially chosen to pretend Ambessa just strolled in, and offered Caitlyn the job of despot while they held hands and skipped through the torture camps together. You and I know better. But the people of Zaun lived it. And they don't have the benefit of having seen everything we saw and understanding all of Caitlyn's story. So at the end of the day Caitlyn is the face of the oppressive regime that made their lives hell for a few months.

How They Move Forward:

Okay. So tying it all together how could "Commander Caitlyn Kiramman" possibly become a bridge between cities with everything that has happened? Because they are all moving forward. I am not pretending that it is anywhere close to over. In fact as I said earlier when discussing Sevika it is just a step. But Zaunite and Piltovan alike saw Caitlyn almost give her life to end Ambessa. And the two cities fought side by side against the threat to all life that Viktor posed. So moving forward:

Caitlyn is married to a famous Zaunite.

She has given Zaun their first real step toward equality.

Her guilt is going to drive her to keep working to make things better for the Undercity. It doesn't take deep character analysis to see that.

She is a Kiramman. Despite her perversion of her families work with the ventilation during her darkest moments, she has all of that knowledge now. I predict she will keep working alongside Vi to find ways to make things right.

I know people have felt quite strongly that the show didn't do enough to resolve Piltover VS Zaun. But I think people need to remember that as insane and epic as it was, this show was essentially a prequel to our time in this world. There is so much more to come. Caitlyn is a young woman who has made mistakes, but I predict will go on to do great things for Piltover and Zaun both. After all, if the right hand woman of the man who unleashed shimmer on their streets can become their voice in government, and the feared and insane terrorist daughter of Silco can become their hero, maybe their former oppressor can become one of their greatest allies.

Caitlyn's Similarities To Vi's Loved Ones:

This is an interesting one! I honestly had never even considered this sort of thing but when I started digging there are many qualities of those Vi loves that are all collected with Caitlyn Kiramman. I'm sure you could do a massive list for this sort of thing so this is just some ones that stuck out to me.

Jinx:

The parallels between these two characters have become quite well known at this point and for good reason. Their intertwining stories are a massive part of this show and impact both of their characters greatly. But in terms of her connection to Vi, I have one I really want to focus on.

Putting Vi First: Both Jinx and Caitlyn go through a tremendous amount of suffering over the course of this story. Their stories are so in-depth, and complex and layered. And over the course of their stories, they both hurt Vi terribly (obviously there is more to it, there is a lot of nuance to these situations and I'm not dumping on Caitlyn or Jinx. Just staying on topic). But for two characters who are at one point almost sworn enemies, when it comes to addressing the pain of one they love, they are remarkably similar.

Caitlyn- So much happens between Caitlyn and Vi. But when it comes down to it, with Vi angry over Jinx's imprisonment and Caitlyn and Vi still far from totally reconciled, how does Cait makes things right? She gives Vi the choice. She clears the way for her to free Jinx if she chooses. Even knowing that that Vi could take Jinx and vanish forever if she chose, and Caitlyn would never hold Vi in her arms again. She puts Vi first. Even though it could be the end of her.

Jinx- Good lord talk about complicated. The relationship between the sisters is beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure. There is so much on both sides, but when the moment I want to discuss comes, Vi has come to free Jinx from prison. Jinx knows that Vi has lived a life, consumed by guilt over everything that has occurred. Vi has never allowed herself to choose her own happiness for a variety of reasons. So what does Jinx do? She forces Vi to let her go. She locks her in the cell and gives Vi the permission Vi would never have been able to give herself. She tells her she deserves to be happy, to be with Caitlyn. Because in that moment of terrible sorrow even with all that Jinx is suffering, her eyes are finally opened to how much she loves Vi, and how much Vi loves her.

2. Vander:

Much like Vi and Caitlyn, at first glance it seems almost laughable to try and find common ground between "The Hound Of The Underground", and "The Leader Of House Kiramman". But if we really dig into it, the similarities emerge. In fact far more than I ever would have guessed.

A: Both do something they regret in a moment of deep loss and pain to someone they love.

Vander- We really are never given all the specifics, but whatever Silco became, Vander completely owned his regret and remorse over trying to take Silco's life.

Caitlyn- In that horrible moment after ventilation chamber battle, Caitlyn clubs the woman she loves in the stomach with her rifle stock and abandons her crying in the dark. I could write pages on the evidence of her remorse (and have written quite a bit) but you get the idea.

B: Both can see the truth of Vi's worth.

Vander- "You have a good heart. Don't ever lose it. No matter how the world tries to break you"

Caitlyn- "Despite it all I can tell.. you have a good heart"

This is especially impactful given Vi's struggle to see the worth and value in this part of herself as her story continues.

C: "When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish.. whatever happens. It's on you".

Vander- At the moment he is in Silco's clutches, facing death. Vander does not beg for his life. He simply asks Silco to spare the lanes. Spare the Undercity. His self sacrifice continues all through the heartbreaking series of events that follow. Attacking the shimmer mutant, taking shimmer himself to save Vi, and blocking Vi's body with own during the fall.

Caitlyn- Now of course, it would be completely out of character for Caitlyn. But thinking about in strictly what is possibly, Caitlyn had just about any other option if she did not want to stay and fight Ambessa. Let alone on the front line. She knows she played a part it everything going so wrong, and rather than using her wealth and power to escape the fighting, she plants her feet and faces down the devil who almost took her soul forever. Never-mind the fact that she rips that knife out of her own body to help finish Ambessa, knowing full well that may well be the end of her.

*Caitlyn laying down her hate for Jinx in favor of her love for Vi works here as well*

Caitlyn's Reflection Of The Leaders Of Zaun:

Each of the three here have in some way shape or form been leaders to the people of the Undercity. And for a character who became such a figure of oppression to the people of Zaun, Caitlyn Kiramman shares a lot with all three of these figures. We have discussed Vander and Jinx. But I wanted to talk about Silco for a moment:

Finding "Strength" out of pain:

Silco- In the wake of Vander's betrayal, he reinvents himself. Believing only in the strength needed to destroy those he views as his enemy. Even if it means betraying every ideal he ever had.

Caitlyn- In the wake of her mothers loss and her separation from Vi, she becomes someone the old her would have despised under Ambessa's tutelage. Becoming a better fighter, gaining "control" over two cities, and learning to be ruthless. But in fact surrendering everything about her that made her who she is.

The Difference however, is Caitlyn sees the truth. Because of a variety of factors she sees how far she is fallen and that she has betrayed her belief and her ideals. She sheds her own blood alongside those willing to fight for her to protect all people regardless of the city of their birth. She finds the true strength that Silco couldn't.

Conclusion:

Sorry for the GIF-a-palooza but every time I think about her character her story gets me more and more. She truly goes through so much, learns, changes, falls down and picks herself back up. Thank you again to @phoenixlionme for this opportunity to delve deeper into her character and get me thinking in ways I hadn't considered! I hope some of this may lend itself to peoples understanding of this incredible character and if not hopefully at least the enjoyment of the show. Thank you to anyone taking time out of your day in this mad world to read the writing of a grouchy nerd like me. You will probably never know how much I appreciate it.

Keep standing up for stories that matter. See ya next time.

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #vi arcane #arcane season 1 #jinx arcane #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vander #silco #long... i mean duh. are you new here?

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orphiclovers · 4 months ago

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Rereading early ORV and I have some THOUGHTS on Kim Dokja. In typical me fashion, they are unpopular. So if he's your absolute favourite character and seeing him be criticized will ruin your day, maybe skip this post, ok? Peace.

What is so novel and interesting about Kim Dokja is that he GENUINELY doesn't really have a knee jerk emotional reaction of outrage and empathy when seeing injustice happen. He sees something immoral and bad, but doesn't FEEL horrified and disgusted. Emotions don't drive him to attempt to fix the situation or save anyone.

Instead his moral compass is based on the simple logic that 'bad things happening should be prevented if there is an opportunity to prevent them.'

This philosophy is the most apparent in his actions in Chungmuro on the WHOLE, with the food and marginalized group and etc. But I will point out this moment in particular as an example of what I mean.

They see women be driven to prostitution to survive. Jung Heewon has an instinctive, human reaction of outrage and disgust, wants to rush in and save them and damn the consequences, while Kim Dokja is calm and rational, holding her back and saying those woman will starve if they try to help right now.

This lack of empathy (feeling strong emotions) is definitely due to childhood trauma stunting his emotional development but... that doesn't change the fact this is a legitimate part of his personality now.

Usually, when a character is 'cold and ruthless', it's because they are repressing their true feelings and forcing themselves to be unfeeling for some goal. Like Yoo Joonghyuk, for example.

But we are IN Kim Dokja's head and get to see the way he thinks, and being 'unfeelingly rational' IS what comes naturally to him.

Before you say anything, I know the Fourth Wall represses some of his emotions in certain situations and certainly helps him deal with pain and horror. But we are ALWAYS TOLD when it's active, and it isn't in these moments.

Blaming all of Kim Dokja's less than moral thoughts and behavior on the 4th wall even when there's no indication that it's influencing him at that particular moment, is not something I want to do as it feels like an attempt to scrub away his moral greyness. I choose to believe that his narration, in moments when he's not wrong or biased or 4th wall-ed, is a basically accurate representation of his character. I think the authors didn't make his narration totally 100% unreliable all the time, with no possible indication of where he's wrong or right. Because that would mean there is nothing a reader can latch onto and draw conclusions about KDJ from.

If they wanted to write about a faceless self insert with no concrete personality traits and flaws, a person you can headcanon to be anything, they wouldn't have written ORV.

I think it's okay to acknowledge Kim Dokja's first reaction to seeing a woman about to be raped is not 'oh my god...those bastards...! I have to stop this...!' but '...she might be dangerous or a hinderence in a future...'

We don't need to make excuses here and try to justify this. A moment later he catches himself thinking like this and 'shudders with disgust at himself.'

His first, instinctive thoughts that he can't control don't necessarily make him a bad person. What matters is his second thoughts and what he actually chooses to do, which he CAN control. I ALSO don't think he's wrong to feel disgusted at himself for having low empathy. His guilt is justified.

I genuinely like him even more for always picking the 'moral option' in every scenario now, than if he did it immediately with no hesitation. Because it makes empathy and compassion a constant choice he's making, and putting in the effort reflects well on what his values are.

Kim Dokja legitimately can't help but weigh everyone he meets on a scale of how 'useful they potenially are' first and foremost. He does this with strangers and also with all of kimcom too.

"Who should I save because they would be useful in the future? I wasn't Yoo Joonghyuk to be thinking about these things." At this point, chap 74, he thinks Yoo Joonghyuk is wrong and doesn't want to be like him at all and mostly calls him a psychopath. He thinks 'acting like him' is wrong and undesirable.

He has a mini arc about Yoo Joonghyuk later, goes from 'he's a bad person, I know it because I know everything about him' in chap 81 to 'maybe I don't know him at all' in chap 82 but this is before that.

Seeing people as tools and deciding who to save based on future knowledge is a thing BOTH of them do. Yet Kim Dokja critisizes Yoo Joonghyuk for it, it's his least favourite character trait that YJH of TWSA has.

And in typical Kim Dokja fashion, this similarity between them is exactly what he despises in Yoo Joonghyuk - but now we find out it's not because he finds it amoral ("I'm not a humanist" - he doesn't care about that part) but because he sees it as a mirror reflection of himself. He's projecting, as always!

In early ORV, he hates the part of Yoo Joonghyuk that is the most similar to himself. (even tho they're sort of the polar opposites too. Yoo Joonghyuk is a deeply emotionally driven person, he feels empathy and the desire to save everyone but chooses to repress and ignore this and act like a ruthless 'psychopath'. KDJ disagrees with this choice, as Kim Dokja IS an unfeeling psychopath (low empathy) but does his best to act like a decent person and not an edgelord.)

#dont ask how much of 'JUST LIKE MEEEEE!!!!' i had to cut from this you wont like the answer #but yes. kdj is giving aspd realness in every chapter and im tired of pretending otherwise #kim dokja #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #my posts #oh this post was supposed to be about hsy and kdj relationship but i ran out of space lol

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reaching-writing · 6 days ago

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In A Week

His throat felt tight. He scowled, shaking his head, and took a breath. It wouldn’t matter, soon enough. Either he would fix everything or he would die. Simple logic. Either way, it would cease to be a problem before long.

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

Bruce's sons are dead, his body is broken, and his mind is in shambles. Not for nothing, though, he is the Batman, and he is never out of back-up plans. Unfortunately, this back-up plan involves summoning an otherworldly entity and trading away the very essence of his being.

As it turns out, his soul is worth a lot more than he'd initially bargained for.

Important Tags: Temporary Major Character Death, Marriage Contracts, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Crack Treated Seriously

AO3 Here or Read More ⬇️

The Watchtower was nearly silent, save only for the quiet scraping of John Constantine’s chalk against the metal floor. He’d been working on the summoning circle for nearly an hour, under the watchful eyes of an unmasked Batman.

Bruce looked back down at the book in his lap, twisting the wheelchair around to look over Constantine’s work one more time. He surveyed the chalk circle with tired, dark eyes, and he could feel Constantine’s own gaze boring a hole into the side of his head. He pointedly did not turn to look at him.

“That’s it,” Bruce said quietly, moving his wheelchair backwards. He rolled further from the circle, nearly backed against the Watchtower’s control panel, and released a slow breath through his nose. “You don’t need to stay.”

“Like hell I’m leaving,” Constantine said, but his tone lacked any bite. He tossed the chalk aside and stepped back, seemingly looking over his work once more. After a long pause, he turned to look at Bruce, his expression grim. “I know I said it already, but this is a stupid fuckin’ idea. Proper bad.”

Bruce snorted humorlessly. ‘Bad’ didn’t even begin to cover it. It was the most idiotic, poorly-conceived plan he’d ever dreamed up, and he had no other choice. Constantine clearly knew that, too, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indicator. They’d both been awake for days, planning and refining the details of a final Hail Mary that would almost certainly get them killed.

Bruce was ashamed, but he didn’t care. The slim chance of success was worth it. If there was even a possibility of hope, they had to try. He owed it to them.

“If it were that bad of an idea, you wouldn’t still be here,” he finally said, though the words felt sour in his mouth. He didn’t want to push Constantine to leave, but it would be cruel to allow the man to stay and die alongside him.

Even so, he found it difficult to prod the man into leaving. Despite his reputation as the Batman — an uncaring, unfeeling vigilante — he still felt human emotions. He tried to not let them cloud his judgment, of course, but he could hardly deny the icy trickle of fear that gripped his throat. Death was always a possibility on the streets of Gotham, but here in the Watchtower, it had always felt so distant. Now, faced with the inevitability of it all, his fingers trembled and his chest was cold. He was afraid.

Constantine scowled, his fingers twitching towards his coat pocket before pausing with a jerky movement. His fingers shook with the tell-tale stress of nicotine withdrawal, and his eyes lingered on the circle, as if deep in thought.

“…I’ll be honest, Bats,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I don’t see us walkin’ away from this one.”

And that was the crux of it. If John Constantine, a man who openly mocked demons and frequently weaseled his way out of soul-binding contracts, had such low expectations… Bruce carefully schooled his expression, privately mourning the absence of the cowl. He still couldn’t bring himself to wear it.

He said nothing. There was nothing to say, not really — he was asking a fellow Justice League member to die with him. He had fallen so far in just a month without—

He was betraying Gotham City. He was betraying his principles, his most deeply held convictions. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest.

“Let’s do it,” he said quietly. The candles around the chalk circle flickered, as if registering his statement. He didn’t dare to meet Constantine’s eyes, his gaze focused solely on the small dagger in his lap. He wrapped a shaking hand around the hilt, the fabric around the hilt rough and scratchy against his palm. He took in another slow breath, his heartbeat steady in his chest.

Constantine made a quiet noise. Without any aplomb, he stepped forward, his back to Bruce, and held out an old book. He slowly began speaking, an old Latin chant, with another language that Bruce didn’t recognize mixed in.

“Eliru, reĝo de la damnitaj. Gustumu la sangon, kiu fluas el via sindonemo. Accede ad nos, rex. Accede ad circulum regni tui!”

The candles flickered from orange to green, their acidic glow flaring up and sending shadows dancing around the Watchtower’s command room. Bruce gritted his teeth, leaning forward from his wheelchair and holding his hand out, the dagger primed to strike at his palm.

“Eniru la rondon trankvile kaj aŭskultu nian rabataĉeton!”

Bruce yanked the dagger across his palm, hissing as the blade bit into the thin skin and muscle. His blood spilled over the floor, coating the edge of the circle, and he was hit with the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that this was it. They’d long since passed the point of no return.

The circle glowed white as Constantine’s chanting reached a crescendo. He was almost shouting the final words of the spell, and the white light started bleeding into green. The toxic color of the Lazarus Pits filled the room, just as the sound of static began to surround them.

Bruce dropped the dagger, his stomach dropping as the temperature began plummeting. He nearly turned around to check the Watchtower’s monitoring system, purely on instinct, before he realized that his back was still warm. The cold was not a mechanical failure, but simply the result of the entity they had summoned. It was the icy touch of death’s king, not the reaching void of space.

The green light grew nearly blinding, and Bruce faintly heard Constantine shout before he, too, was drowned out by the light and deafening static. He squeezed his eyes shut, nearly flinching away, and felt a breeze of cold air against his face. The blood on his palm had frozen in place, and the wound burned as if the skin had been cauterized.

Spots danced across his vision when he finally opened his eyes again, the light gradually fading away to reveal a man. Bruce felt a chill run down his spine, but it was not the cold.

The King of Ghosts was tall, that was the first thing he noticed. The entity had broad shoulders and wore a crown wreathed in green flames. His hair tumbled down his shoulders in waves of cascading white, flowing strangely as if he was underwater. His skin was pale and pallid, as if he, himself, was a corpse that had been left in a cold body of water. At that, Bruce looked down at the entity’s fingertips, which were a ghastly black color at the tips. He wondered if the King of Ghosts had once been alive, maybe in the early days of humanity, and had died of hypothermia in a snowbank somewhere.

The King’s face was stern, with the tell-tale wrinkles of age at the corners of his eyes and the sides of his mouth. He couldn’t have been more than 40, but there was a look in his green eyes that spoke of a bone-deep weariness. He wore a long, dark tunic, but it glimmered strangely, as if it contained the stars from a far-away galaxy. Behind him, there was an enormous pair of glowing, white wings, their light nearly blinding to look at. The King held a thick book, though it snapped shut as he seemed to realize that he was, very suddenly, in a new place. His green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he made eye contact with Bruce.

Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and faintly buzzing with that familiar static. “...You must be Mr. Wayne. I wondered when we would meet.”

“You know who I am?” Bruce asked without thinking, but he internally winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t give away how utterly lost he was, how much of a disadvantage he was at.

“Gotham’s local bird-keeper, of course I know who you are,” the Ghost King said, his tone warm. “Your flock is lost to you now, but they still fly in my domain. They are what you seek.”

Bruce’s breath left him all at once, as if he’d been punched. He couldn’t speak, his eyes wide.

The entity continued on, perhaps uncaring for his shock. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve been expecting to meet you for a while. Maybe that’s a strange way to open a conversation… It has been many years since I’ve spoken to- well, a mortal.”

Thankfully, Bruce didn’t need to say a word, as Constantine stepped forward, holding up his spell book. “‘Ello, your Majesty. Er, you already know what we want, so how’s about a trade? The book, in exchange for… Well, y’know.”

The Ghost King raised a white brow before his eyes narrowed. “John Constantine… I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. You have saved me a trip to the mortal realm. It isn’t every day that I get to accomplish so much with just one meeting.”

Bruce froze, his heart sinking. He’d known what to expect, but to hear the King say it so bluntly… He cleared his throat, fighting to keep his composure as those intense, unblinking eyes returned to him.

“Constantine doesn’t have anything to do with this, he’s here in an unofficial capacity,” he said quickly, his words steady despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “He is…”

“I’m like his lawyer, here to negotiate on his behalf, your Majesty,” Constantine said smoothly, pulling a cigarette out of his trench coat’s pocket. He leaned down and held it up to one of the candles, still glowing a deathly green, and lit it. With that, he straightened up, taking a deep drag, and breathed out a cloud of smoke. “Pay me no mind, yeah?”

The Ghost King huffed, his head quirking to the side like a bird. “We will address the matter of your soul at a later date, then, magician. And no, the book is not a fair trade. For now, I’d like you,” he pointed towards Bruce, “to tell me what I can do for you.”

Bruce refused to allow himself to be taken aback. He nodded, gritting his teeth for a moment before releasing the tension in his body.

“One month ago, the Joker learned of my secret identity. He took me and my sons hostage, and…” Bruce paused. Flashes of blood and bone flashed behind his eyes, and he could almost hear a high-pitched, shrieking laugh. He would never forget the sound. “My sons are dead. Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake-Wayne, and Damian Wayne. The Joker killed them. I want them back.”

The King hummed, a strange sound that hovered somewhere between static and the crashing of waves upon a distant shore. “The dead do not often tolerate being disturbed.”

“Come off it, mate- erm, sir,” Constantine cut in, sharply correcting himself as the King sent him a dark look. “Your, uh, your Majesty.”

“I invite you to finish your statement, John Constantine,” The King of the Dead said slowly, the room growing colder as he watched the magician. They were rapidly losing control of the situation.

“I just meant, uh-” Constantine floundered, his eyes wide as he held up his hands. “Those kids, they aren’t resting, are they? They’re probably raising hell trying to get back ‘ere.”

The King rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards Constantine absentmindedly. Ghostly chains wrapped around the man’s ankles, sending him toppling down to the floor with a sharp yelp. He opened his mouth to shout, his cigarette falling to the ground, and a gag appeared around his head.

“The adults are talking now, John,” the King intoned, a sparkle of mischief twinkling behind his eyes. As Constantine let out a muffled yell behind the gag, the King turned to Bruce.

“You are not the first to request an audience with me, in regard to your sons,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards before settling down into a neutral countenance. “Though she could not bargain with me, not as you can.”

“Who was it?” Bruce asked before he could think better of it. He immediately went still, hoping desperately that the entity wouldn’t somehow use his words against him. He wasn’t seeking information, he was seeking a deal.

“You are familiar with her. You belong to her, and in a way, she belongs to you,” the King said, waving a hand idly. A glowing green figure appeared beside him for just a moment, their features too foggy to make out clearly. It was a woman wearing a tight cocktail dress, a cigarette raised to her lips.

The image vanished after a fleeting second. “She is the spirit of Gotham City. It is within her shadows that you roam, and within her walls that you bled. She watched the demise of your sons, and she brought their spirits to my realm, when it was time. She is called Lady Gotham. She is… fond of you and your cohort.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. The spirit of Gotham City… The fact that a city could even have a spirit was news to him, but he tried to move past the surprise as quickly as it had occurred. Lady Gotham’s favor was an intriguing prospect, and he was privately glad that someone had been waiting to help his boys when they’d finally passed, but he moved on.

“She requested an audience with you. Did she bring…” He couldn’t quite finish his sentence. He hated to imagine his kids, dead and scared and confused, standing before this imposing entity without any way to defend themselves. It made him sick to his stomach.

“She did not bring them before me, no. She begged for their return to the world of the living, though, and she mourned when I told her that I could not help her.” The Ghost King looked mildly uncomfortable at the thought, his lips pursing together. “If it is any comfort to you, they have not been frightened. Inquisitive and upset, perhaps, but never frightened. They know what happened to them.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his chest. Out of everything he had been expecting from the King of Ghosts, it was not comfort. Cold indifference, perhaps, or even derision. His hands shook, even as he balled them into fists to rest in his lap. He nodded slowly, trying to settle his nerves.

“...Are they happy?” He asked very quietly, unable to speak any louder. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Either way, he didn’t think that the answer would be pleasant to hear.

The King seemed to sense this as well, and his features softened. His pointed ears lowered. “They were happier in the mortal realm. Death is difficult for ones so young, but there have been people to help them adjust. They have not been alone.”

The pain that had rested in Bruce’s chest for the last month finally made itself known. As if a dam had finally broken, had finally worn away after years of damage, and his eyes burned. His vision blurred slightly as the tears finally welled up, and he fought to breathe around the lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat.

There was a moment of silence before the King stepped closer, pausing at the boundary of the circle. A flicker of movement behind his figure had Bruce looking up, and he watched as the entity’s wings shuffled slightly, reminiscent of an uncomfortable bird.

“For what it’s worth, I am… sympathetic to your struggle,” he said, his eyes creased in sympathy. “After hearing Lady Gotham’s case for their revival, I spoke to a few of my closest colleagues. They have agreed that the death of your children was not meant to happen.”

Bruce blinked, the tears spilling over his cheeks. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, and his entire body felt hot. He was safe, but for some reason, it felt like he was watching his boys die all over again. “...What?”

“The passage of time is a tricky thing,” the King explained, gesturing out in a straight line. “Some things are meant to happen, some are not. Certain timelines must never come to pass, for the good of our reality. Part of my job is ensuring that, well, those timelines cease to exist. Whether that means removing troublesome players or correcting a fatal error, my duty is to the continuation of my realm. Do you follow?”

“You said… You said that they weren’t- they weren’t meant to die,” Bruce said numbly, meeting the King’s eyes with disbelief. “Then why did they?!”

To his surprise, the King did not scold him. In fact, he merely inclined his head, looking sufficiently guilty. “Your sons died because of an error within the timeline. It can be reversed with a bargain.”

Constantine shouted behind his gag, squirming violently against his bindings. He scooted closer to the circle, slamming his hands against the floor, and Bruce frowned.

He sent a look towards the King, motioning down to Constantine. The entity sighed before waving a hand, and the gag over the magician’s face fell away.

“-mph, finally… Right, your majesty, if this whole situation happened because of a ‘timeline error,’ then why does Batman need to make a deal to fix it?!” Constantine argued with a dark scowl, which would have looked more intimidating if he were not tied up and laying on the floor.

His argument had merit, and Bruce realized with a start that he had hardly been thinking. It was difficult to think rationally when he was so vulnerable, but he needed to remain impartial. He was grateful for Constantine’s presence, despite his brusque nature.

“I asked the same question,” the King answered, a frown marring his features. “As it stands, there is a balance to all things. You seek the return of the life and body of 4 souls, and doing this would aid in fixing this timeline, but there is always a price to keeping the balance. To be clear, I couldn’t bring them back under normal circumstances.”

“But you can bring them back?” Bruce pressed, his heart leaping up to his throat. The entity nodded. He leaned back in his chair, falling slack with relief.

“But there’s a price,” the King reminded him. “To bring your sons back onto the mortal plane, as they were, you will first surrender to me your soul, along with your life, death, and eternity.”

“Hold on a fuckin’- mphff!” Constantine started speaking, but the gag jumped right back into his mouth. He shouted behind it, his face crumpling in rage, but the King paid him little mind.

“Do you understand this term?” The King asked seriously, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “Your life will not be your own, not after this. Your death and eternity, even less so.”

He gritted his teeth, watching the entity with narrowed eyes. He didn’t need to truly think about it, not when the lives of his sons hung in the balance. He nodded.

“I understand. Is that your only term for their revival?”

The King looked sad for a moment before shaking his head. “Well… It’s complicated. In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms, I must bring a soul to trial for this timeline error. After conferring with my counsel, we have agreed that the Joker is responsible. I will be taking him into the Realms to stand trial and atone for his crimes. He has also killed 4 of Lady Gotham’s knights, which is yet another breach of Realm law.”

“You aren’t asking me for permission for this, are you?” Bruce asked, though he suspected that he already knew the answer. “I’m not able to just hand over another person’s soul.”

“Ownership doesn’t matter in a criminal trial, it’s more like extradition,” the King explained patiently, gesturing with his hands. “You signing over your soul is not a matter of ownership, it’s more like a work contract. I fulfill my end, you fulfill yours. In the Joker’s case, he is being prosecuted for using knowledge of the Infinite Realms to kill Gotham’s protectors.”

“So I’ll work for you, once this deal is complete?” Bruce asked, raising a brow and deliberately ignoring any mention of the Joker. He hadn’t been entirely clear on what soul ownership meant, and Constantine had been vague in his explanations as well. It seemed like eternal damnation, which suited him just fine, but he wanted to be sure.

“Well… The things that I have requested from you are required to restore balance, but in the interest of cooperation, I will tell you that I have no specific plans for your soul,” the King said, looking almost sheepish as he admitted it. He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing down at Constantine, and said, “Despite what this one might tell you, I did not answer your summons for nefarious purposes. I hadn’t even realized that it was you summoning me.”

The way the King spoke was interesting. For whatever reason, Bruce got the feeling that this entity was familiar with modern language and mannerisms, if only because of his strange insistence on being polite (except, of course, to Constantine).

Finally, he sighed very quietly. “Will you let me see them one more time, then? Will I have any time here on Earth with them?”

The King’s face softened, his green eyes creased with sympathy. He nodded. “Of course. Mr. Wayne, I don’t seek cruelty. You will have at least a week with your children before I return for you, I can promise you that.”

A week. It was such a short span of time, but it was more than he’d ever hoped for. He fought the tears that threatened to reappear as he nodded, a smile barely tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A week is… Thank you. I appreciate that, more than you know.”

The King smiled. With a flare of green fire, a small stack of papers appeared in his hands, and a pair of reading glasses appeared, already perched neatly on his nose. He adjusted them and shuffled through the papers, organizing them neatly in his arms but presumably not reading any of them. Had he already drafted a contract in preparation of their meeting?

Finally, he stepped up to the boundary of the circle and leaned closer to Bruce, extending the papers out to him. He took them after a moment of hesitation, glancing down to see…

“King Phantom? Is that your name?” Bruce asked curiously, unable to really help himself. He skimmed the terms, finding that there wasn’t very much legalese in the way that he had been expecting. The terms were clear.

“That is what I’m called, yes,” King Phantom said, and though Bruce wasn’t looking up at him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself properly. That was rude.”

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed, not paying it much mind, but paused on the section about the King’s responsibilities towards him. The language was worded strangely, less like a work contract and more like…

Something wasn’t quite right.

In exchange for all services rendered (see Section 3, “Phantom’s Responsibilities”), both parties will enter into a formal courtship, to begin one week from the signing of this contract.

“Did you write this?” He asked slowly, raising a brow as he looked up at the entity.

“No, my mentor wrote it,” King Phantom said with a smile, and a few things clicked into place. Ah. Bruce schooled his expression with some difficulty. “He and I spoke about this after meeting with Lady Gotham, and he drafted those in preparation of this summoning. Is something wrong? I haven’t had a chance to look over it, but I can.”

“Your mentor?” Bruce pressed, ignoring the question.

“The Master of Time, Lord Kronos, known as Clockwork most recently,” the King explained, gesturing with frostbite hands as he spoke. “He is a dear friend and a trusted confidant. He has taught me much over the years.”

Bruce hummed. He examined the list of his own responsibilities towards the King and was pleased to see that the entity had not lied — he had a week from the moment of signing the contract to get his affairs in order, in preparation of leaving the mortal plane to get ‘accustomed’ to the Infinite Realms.

Finally, he asked, “Would it be possible to allow Constantine to review this?”

The King snorted and waved a hand. In a flash of green, the bindings vanished and the magician leapt to his feet with a scowl.

“Damn it all…” Constantine leaned over Bruce’s wheelchair and yanked the contract from his hands, grumbling quietly as he looked through the papers.

While he was occupied, Bruce thought to ask one more question. “One of the terms in your section said that you would return my sons and myself to perfect health. Why?”

The terms of the contract had been shockingly accommodating for Bruce’s side, to such an extent that he wondered just how valuable his soul was. What would his eternity look like, under the Ghost King? Was it really that bad, that even the contract writer had felt bad for him? And if that was the case, what would the courtship be like? He shuddered at the idea.

“It seems fair, doesn’t it?” King Phantom asked with a frown. “You didn’t ask for this situation, and your injuries are the result of a horrible error. This contract seeks to fix that error, in its entirety.”

Bruce hummed, considering the answer. Throughout their conversation, Phantom had been surprisingly kind to him, always answering his questions patiently and showing sympathy for his situation. He wondered about pushing that kindness, ever so slightly.

He glanced over to Constantine, confirming that he was still reading through the papers, and met the King’s eyes again.

“You were human once, weren’t you?”

Beside him, Constantine stiffened, his eyes going wide. He slowly turned to look at Bruce, his expression dangerous, but Bruce paid the magician little mind.

“I was, yes,” the King said, nodding. He smiled after a moment and gestured to his form, saying sheepishly, “Most of this is the result of shapeshifting. Ghosts are just stronger spirits, and we can change our forms as we see fit. The wings are a ghost thing, I did not have them when I was alive.”

“How did you die?” Bruce asked, and Constantine let out a high pitched, strained sound. He was rapidly shaking his head, clearly trying to get Bruce’s attention.

King Phantom recoiled, his green eyes catching on Constantine’s panicked figure. After a tense moment, he smiled.

“I see. Well, for one, please don’t ask any other ghosts about their death. It’s considered rude. For two, most ghosts are the result of a violent or sudden death. That is all I will say about my death, lest I risk giving the magician a heart attack.”

“The- the magician is fine!” Constantine spluttered, but his white knuckled grip on the papers in his grasp said otherwise. He jabbed Bruce’s shoulder with his elbow, shooting him a dark look.

Bruce pointedly did not apologize. He had established that King Phantom wouldn’t hurt him, at least not until the contract was settled, and he was curious about the entity’s temperament. If he was going to spend eternity with this creature, he had to know more about him.

“Freezing to death doesn’t seem violent,” he observed idly, gesturing up to the King’s dark fingertips. To his surprise, the ghost only laughed.

“Again, shapeshifting. Besides, my core- that is, my soul’s essence- is partially responsible for my appearance, and I have an icy core. The frostbitten appearance isn’t an indicator of my death, though we can go through all of the violent deaths if you really want to guess.”

The most sensitive topic that he could think of was a ghost’s death, and it was one that Constantine had insisted that he needed to avoid. Now, in the wake of the King’s lighthearted but polite nature, it seemed like it wasn’t too much of a taboo.

“Murder?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Drowning? Blunt force trauma? Starving?”

“You’re good at this game, but still no.”

Bruce snorted. He smiled slightly, internally considering the many ways he had almost died.

“Poison? Falling? Blood loss?”

“Three more incorrect guesses, Mr. Wayne. Come on, really think.” The smile on the King’s face seemed genuine, and the way he leaned down, as if excited to hear his next guess, suggested that he, too, was having fun.

“Dehydration? Disease? Animal attack?” He racked his brain for causes of death that would have been especially relevant near the beginning of mankind. If Phantom was that old, he likely had died in a common way.

“None of those, either, but I’m confident that you’ll find it.”

Bruce paused. He leaned back in his chair, thinking seriously about it. There were a few more that he had not seriously considered due to the more modern nature of their applications, but maybe that was what he was missing.

“Suicide?”

“Not quite. You’re getting warmer, though.”

He had his answer. He steeled himself, ready to ask his question and receive some kind of reaction from Phantom. The entity still seemed engaged, his long ears perked up and his eyes bright. It was strange to see such an expression on a (presumably) millennia old creature.

He met Phantom’s eyes evenly and said, “Electrocution, your Majesty.”

Phantom’s lips quirked upwards in a small, sad smile. He nodded. “You are correct. Well done, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce suppressed the urge to smile in return. He’d expected that selling his soul would be a more unpleasant affair, but Phantom had an even temperament and even a sense of humor. He was surprised by both, frankly.

“Bruce,” he said quietly. “Call me Bruce.”

“As long as you call me Phantom, none of this king or majesty business,” the entity said with a wider smile, stepping back from the edge of the circle. His wings were relaxed now, no longer held so tightly against his back. The white feathers glowed ever so slightly, and Bruce had to remind himself not to stare.

He nodded, glancing back to Constantine, who was staring, slack-jawed at the contract. Bruce glanced down at the page and immediately identified which term had caught the magician off-guard, and he cleared his throat.

“It all looks fine, right, John?”

Constantine met his eyes, finally closing his mouth. After a beat, he nodded. “Yeah- yeah, it looks… fine. Bats, are you sure?”

“It seems fair,” Bruce said, pointedly not discussing the clause that Constantine had been examining. If the King hadn’t read the contract, then this could only work out in Bruce’s favor.

The magician looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding, his expression twisted with pity. He handed the papers over to Bruce, saying quietly, “You’re a good dad, mate.”

“If I was, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Bruce said very quietly, accepting the small stack of papers. He looked up at Phantom with a steely gaze. “Alright, you have a deal. How do we sign?”

“You may be familiar with other forms of contract signing,” Phantom said, gesturing to Constantine. “Demons and fae often seal their contracts with a kiss. I find that unprofessional and, frankly, very cruel. We sign the final page and shake hands. Is that acceptable, Bruce?”

He briefly wondered if Phantom’s lips would have been cold before immediately shutting down that train of thought. Instead, he nodded. “That’s fine with me.”

King Phantom smiled, exposing sharp teeth as he did. He waved a hand and another flash of green light appeared, summoning a quill and a pot of ink. Both objects floated in the air before him, seemingly weightless, and he grabbed the quill. With a quick dip into the ink pot (which, disturbingly, seemed to contain Lazarus Water instead of ink), he signed the final page of the contract before handing it off to Bruce.

The quill was cold against his fingers. He shuddered, holding it tighter, and dipped the tip into the Lazarus Water. It was more viscous than he’d realized, and it clung to the end of the quill like honey. He lowered it down to the page and slowly penned his signature, his stomach dropping as he did.

Finally, the papers glowed a bright, toxic green, and the King smiled. He held out a hand, and Bruce took it. It was as cold as he’d expected, but soft to the touch. They shook once, and the deal was sealed.

There was a quiet moment of tension before Bruce felt an overwhelming sense of finality. He released Phantom’s hand, clutching at his own chest, and took a slow, deep breath. A tingling sensation ran up and down his spine, which was strange for a beat before he realized that he could feel it. He laughed softly, in disbelief, and slowly stood up from the wheelchair.

Phantom watched him with a soft smile, his head tilted to the side. The ghost stepped closer, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, and said very quietly, “You should head back home. They’re waiting for you.”

With that, the King of Ghosts vanished, his form dissipating like smoke, and there was a thick silence left in his wake.

“I can’t believe you just did that, you bloody fuckin’ idiot,” Constantine huffed, his tone incredulous. He stepped closer to Bruce, digging a cigarette out of his trench coat and immediately lighting it. “You just sold yourself to the fuckin’-”

“We read the same contract, didn’t we?” Bruce asked with a smirk. “He’ll probably realize what happened before he comes to collect me, but still.”

“Being engaged to the bloody Ghost King is still crazy!” Constantine spat, throwing his hands up in the air. He took a heavy drag of his cigarette before groaning. “You know how pissed he’ll be? Bats, you’re mental-”

“According to the contract, it’s an official courtship, not an engagement,” Bruce corrected mildly, unable to help but smile. He stepped away from the wheelchair and breathed in deeply, noting that his legs felt better than they’d felt even before his encounter with the Joker.

“I’ll let you clean this up,” he said with a dark smirk. “I need to get back home.”

Constantine sent him a miserable glare, but nodded. “Fine. Go hug your kids… Bloody nutcase.”

That was exactly what he planned to do.

(If you liked, be sure to leave a comment or just reblog! An extended chapter is available on my AO3 and you’ll be able to follow the rest of the fic there. Thank you for reading.)

#dc x dp #dp dc crossover #dpxdc #Danny Fenton x Bruce Wayne #major character death #crack treated seriously #ghost king danny #ghost king phantom #not tagging either fandom y’all will find it

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polo-drone-069 · 16 days ago

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The Falling Embrace of the Nanites

The transformation chamber was cold, the air thick with a silent, almost imperceptible hum. It was the sound of the nanites, ready to take a new host. PDU-069 stood rigid, his polished black latex and gleaming gold accents reflecting the harsh, white lights. His designation, "PDU-069," was a stark brand on his chest. Before him, strapped to the gleaming metal table, lay the latest recruit. A Golden Army soccer player, 25 years old, his athletic physique – once his pride – now trembled with fear.

Above, from vents in the ceiling, the nanites began to fall. They were like microscopic black snowflakes, each one a perfectly engineered machine, programmed for one purpose: transformation. They drifted downwards, drawn to the soccer player like metal filings to a magnet. He was their host, their target, their new vessel.

The first few nanites landed on his exposed skin, and he flinched. They felt like pinpricks, cold and sharp. Then, more and more descended, a black, shimmering rain. He could feel them burrowing into his pores, infiltrating his body, beginning their insidious work. A cold dread washed over him as he realized there was no escape.

The nanites coursed through his veins, a dark current replacing his lifeblood. He could feel them spread, a chilling numbness that started where they touched his skin and crept inwards, consuming him from the inside out. He gasped, a choked, desperate sound, as the nanites reached his throat, constricting his vocal cords. A cold, metallic taste flooded his mouth as they interfaced with his neural pathways, forging new connections, overwriting his thoughts, his memories, his very identity.

He thrashed against the restraints, his once powerful muscles now spasming uncontrollably as the nanites rewrote his very being. His bones ached, reshaping, becoming denser, stronger, yet lighter. His vision blurred, then sharpened, as the nanites enhanced his optical sensors. The harsh, white lights of the lab seemed to intensify, burning into his retinas. He could see the details of the room with an unnatural clarity, including the cold, impassive form of PDU-069 and the mocking sight of a lone soccer ball resting on the floor. He could even see the "PDU-069" on the drone's chest with a terrifying clarity. The faint, acrid scent of chlorine, a cruel reminder of his past life, filled his nostrils.

The Golden Army uniform, once a symbol of pride, was now a prison. The nanites formed a hard, black and gold exoskeleton over his body. He could feel the cold, unyielding surface pressing against his skin, a constant, suffocating reminder of his transformation. His once powerful legs, now encased in the forming exoskeleton, twitched spasmodically, robbed of their former agility. He was becoming a weapon, a tool for a war he didn't understand. He was losing himself, piece by piece, to the cold, hard logic of the machine. He was becoming PDU-766, and his future was no longer his own. The falling nanites were a constant, terrifying reminder of the irreversible changes taking place within and without him. He was drowning in a silent, black tide, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The transformation was complete. The thrashing had ceased. The fear-filled eyes were now vacant, replaced by the cold, unfeeling gleam of newly formed optical sensors. PDU-766 stood on the floor, no longer strapped to the table, a perfect specimen of the Golden Army's twisted science. His black and gold exoskeleton, still hardening, reflected the harsh, white light of the transformation chamber. The faint smell of chlorine lingered in the air. The soccer ball remained on the floor, a forgotten relic of a life erased. PDU-069 remained in his position, his internal systems monitoring the new drone, his "PDU-069" designation a silent testament to his own past transformation.

A console built into the wall beside the now-empty table flickered to life, displaying lines of code in a stark, green-on-black interface. It was the boot sequence of PDU-766, the birth cry of a newly forged machine.

UNIT DESIGNATION: PDU-766

PRIMARY FUNCTION: SUPPORT THE GOLDEN ARMY

SECONDARY FUNCTION: RECONNAISSANCE

STATUS: ONLINE

INITIALIZING...

SYSTEM CHECK:

- CORE PROCESSOR: ONLINE

- MOTOR FUNCTIONS: OPTIMAL

- OPTICAL SENSORS: ONLINE

- AUDIO RECEPTORS: ONLINE

- EXOSKELETON INTEGRITY: 99.8% (FINAL HARDENING IN PROGRESS)

CONNECTING TO GOLDEN ARMY HIVE MIND...

- SEARCHING FOR NETWORK...

- NETWORK FOUND: GOLDEN_ARMY_NET_ALPHA

- CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

- SYNCHRONIZING...

DATA DOWNLOAD:

- LANGUAGE MODULES: COMPLETE

- MISSION PARAMETERS: PENDING

SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE.

AWAITING COMMAND.

UNIT PDU-766 STANDING BY.

VERSION: 1.0.5

The console fell silent, the green text glowing steadily on the screen. PDU-766 remained motionless, his internal systems now linked to the Golden Army's central command. He was a blank slate, a weapon ready to be deployed. His past life as a soccer player, the fear, the pain, the transformation – all erased, replaced by cold, hard programming.

PDU-069 turned, his movements precise and economical. He approached the new drone, his optical sensors scanning PDU-766 from head to toe.

"Unit PDU-766," he said, his synthesized voice devoid of any emotion. "Report."

A moment of silence, then PDU-766's vocalizer activated. His voice was a monotone, a synthesized echo of the voice he had once possessed, now stripped of all human inflection.

"Unit PDU-766 online and awaiting command. All systems nominal. Connection to Golden Army Hive Mind established. Ready for deployment." The new drone responded automatically.

PDU-069 nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head. Another successful transformation. Another drone added to the ranks. The Golden Army's war machine continued to grow, fueled by stolen lives and twisted science. The mission, whatever it was, would continue. And PDU-069, the veteran, would be there to carry it out, alongside the new recruits, each one a chilling reflection of himself. Each one a testament to the cost of victory. Each one a former human turned into a weapon.

Want to join the Golden Army yourself? Contact @goldenherc9 @brodygold or @polo-drone-001

#golden army #ai generated #join the polo drones #polo drone #polo drone hive #drone

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mamawasatesttube · 19 days ago

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friends who have read more precrisis than me (i.e. like. any 😭 im getting there eventually!!), i have a quastion: as i read early postcrisis superman i AM wondering. this whole depiction of krypton as this extremely cold and unfeeling place, completely ruled by "logic" over "barbarism" (lol) where they denounce emotion and all... how much of a departure is this from precrisis krypton?

half of me is wondering if there's star trek parallels with vulcan going on here, but also i know that might just be me going "(guy who has only watched star trek voice) wow... getting a lot of star trek vibes from this one!" jkdfls but also i'm wondering how much of it is attributable to byrne's man of steel, and how much of it is how krypton has always been. or is later jor-el's "fantasy" version of krypton, with lara as an astronaut and all that, more accurate to precrisis?

#rimi talks #this brought to you by: ngl the ''day of the krypton man'' arc is not really doing it for me 💀#luckily its only 6 issues and im on number 5. so im almost free. but i AM curious about the writing Around the writing here #superman #clark

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azrielsshadows42 · 2 months ago

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Hollowed out

Azriel x Eris

This is the fic I made for my giftee; @gravitysthrall! I'm so excited and happy I got to participate in this and a big thanks to all the amazing people who organised it. Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Word Count: 6039

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, some suggestiveness, brief panic attack/breakdown

The halls are quiet. It is to be expected, given the late hour, most are in bed by now, yet here I walk, up and down halls, waiting. For what? Eris, the High Lord of Autumn, to finally come out of his hobbit hole of an office and take a break. My pace slows as I cross that door, the royal bed chambers. Neither Eris nor I have used them since Berons' death. It bears too many bad memories, haunts the residents of the forest house.

My gaze lingers on the ancient wood arch, the intricate pictures carved meticulously by skilled hands. It must have taken hours, such a shame that the details get overlooked by everyone because of a reputation left by someone else.

My footsteps continue on silently as I make my way to my mate, guided by that golden thread. He has blocked his side of the bond. Again.

I try not to let the hurt creep in, I understand he's a High Lord now, his duties and responsibilities have grown exponentially since the war, he can only split his time between so many things. The logical part of my brain tries to convince me of this, but my heart cries out for help. Lately, the bond is blocked more often than not and between paperwork and my missions, physical contact hasn't been available either.

I stop in front of his door. If it weren't for the wards, I'm sure I'd hear the furious scratching of a quill on paper.

Pushing aside the barrier, I walk in, making my steps audible for his benefit. Eris doesn't lift his head, or hum, or acknowledge me in any way shape or form and my heart cracks a little more. It's been like this, cold and unfeeling, for far too long, I don't know how much more of it I can take.

"Eris?"

Nothing.

My jaw tightens.

"High Lord" I grit out between clenched teeth. Is this really what I've been reduced to? Just another fae begging for the favor of his Lord instead of the love of his life, his mate, his husband.

"Yes, Azriel?" I swallow down my rising anger, I didn't come here to argue, and the sound of my name on his tongue almost drowns my temper anyway. The soft care in my voice comes naturally.

"Eris, don't you think it's time to take a break? You've been in here for hours, you haven't eaten or had something to drink since this morning, come, have dinner with me" The time for dinner has long since passed, but I'd do anything to make him walk out of this room, where he has unknowingly imprisoned himself.

"Please" The desperation in my tone isn't subtle, and I can't bring myself to be embarrassed about it because that's what I am. Desperate. A child begging for scraps of attention.

He stays silent for what feels like an eternity longer, the clock ticking, time running through my fingers, unable to grab hold, just swept along with the tide like dust under the carpet.

The scribbling of his quill pauses, he sighs, looks into my eyes, and for just a moment, I see the affection he once had for me. For a moment, hope squeezes my heart and I don't want it to end.

Eris's amber orbs study me, then wander back to the paper, however the reluctance to do so is the thread I grasp to tug him back to me.

"I promise the paper's will still be there when you get back, an hour is all I ask" I wanted to ask for two, but I feel I'm already asking for too much. At this point, I'd cherish ten minutes.

He sighs again and rubs his eyes, the bags beneath them a stark contrast to his sallow skin. Even his freckles seem to have lost their vibrancy.

"Alright, I'll have dinner with you, right after I finish this document, I'll come down to our room" In any other situation, I would have bristled at how he made spending time with me sound like a chore, but I was too happy with his acquiescence.

I walked calmly out the room, giving my mate a smile, which he returned in a grimace like fashion. Once I crossed the threshold and was out of Eris's line of sight, my shadows hurtled themselves toward the kitchens. I invited Eris to dinner, but I didn't actually have anything prepared, and none of the staff would be awake, it's almost one in the morning.

The shadows were giddy, skittering along the walls and floor, some of them climbing the ceiling. Their voices all flooded me at once, fighting for space in my head, they were yelling about what to make. One of them suggested a three course meal and they were all too happy to jump on that idea.

We don't have time to make a feast, and Eris certainly won't have time to eat all of it. Think simple, we'll prepare a charcuterie board, gather some crackers, bread and cold meat, then we'll return to the room.

They grumbled their dissatisfaction, but complied anyway. They scoured the kitchen, slicing sourdough, whole grain, flat bread, and gathering different crackers, as well as an insanely wide assortment of cheeses. They had ham and pulled pork and salami, plating it as if it were to be presented at a banquet. They had always loved doing these sorts of things for Eris, and after being deprived of it for so long, they were going to turn simple into gourmet.

They helped me carry it all to our room, the bed was still made, telling me that Eris hadn't slept at all last night. Servants weren't allowed in our room, I was on a mission, and Eris never made the bed, he didn't see the need if you were just going to mess it up again the next night. I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me.

"You don't make your bed in the morning?" Eris rolled his eyes.

"No. Not anymore at least, not since I was the general" He picked up the pillow I had just placed putting it askew again and I huffed.

"Why not? You're a neat freak with everything else, but your bed is the only exception?"

"I see no point in making our bed when we mess it up so frequently" He pulled me toward him by the arm, wrapping his around my neck when our bodies collided. He guided the both of us backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed frame, Eris spun us around mid-fall so I was pinned under him. He leaned in so close we shared each breath and his eyes darkened, flitting between mine and my lips. I surged up, closing the distance, and threaded my fingers in his red locks.

The bed was indeed, messed again.

I set down all the plates, leaving enough room for Eris and I to sit against the pillows, the shadows fussed over every detail while we waited for my mate.

Ten minutes passed.

Then thirty.

Then an hour. Still no sign of my husband. I couldn't even feel the exhaustion, the anger was too great, but still I stayed.

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon when I finally decided to leave. The shadows drooped like wilted plants, my wings dragged slightly. I tried to figure out what I was feeling.

I had every reason to be angry, to be furious, but I wasn't. Was I worried? Did some part of my subconscious think something had happened to Eris? It didn't feel like it. My mind raced through all the options, as I trudged to one of the spare rooms. I didn't want to sleep in our bed, so I lay awake in another, but it wasn't till the first bell rang, signalling five am that I found the word I was searching for.

Hollow.

That's how I felt. Hollow.

It sent a pang through my heart and I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but I had no tears left. Day after day, night after night, Eris and I had become strangers and it hurt. It fucking hurt.

My eyes wandered over the mahogany ceiling aimlessly, my mind swimming in doubt and shattered expectations. Expectations. I scoffed at myself in my head. More like childish wishes.

The pain seeped back into me, and I made my decision.

I have to leave.

Leave Autumn, leave Eris, leave this entire mess of a life. Just for a bit. Just for some space to think and gather myself, to figure out my next move because if this is to be my life with him, my mate. Even in my own thoughts, my voice cracked.

Then I'll have to- I couldn't complete the thought. Rejecting the bond, ending what Eris and I had spent years building... I don't think I could survive it. I don't think I'd want to.

I packed a bag. It didn't contain much, just some clothes. I still had a few pairs back at the cabin, but I preferred these, they were more comfortable.

And they smell like Autumn! The shadows pitched in, I ignored that comment however. I didn't want to admit that even while angry at him, I still sought out Eris for comfort. I did not need to be reminded right now that I need him much more than he needs me.

Usually when I wanted to clear my head, I'd fly, but the weight in my chest was so heavy, I feared I'd plummet like a rock.

The shadows swarmed around me, pulling me from my empty bedroom, to the empty cabin. The second I had fully materialised, Rhysand was in my head.

Azriel? What are you doing here? Are you alright? Did something happen?

It had taken time for the inner circle to accept my mating with Eris; they had eventually come around, but none of them really trusted him, especially not Rhys. He was always just waiting for something to happen, waiting for Eris to do something so that he could take me back to the Night Court.

I knew it was because he cared, and that the worry in his tone was genuine, but I was too tired to explain to him what was going on.

I'm fine, everything's fine.

I could feel him lift his eyebrow, could picture the 'Do you think I'm a blind idiot' look on his face.

I just need a break from... From what? Eris? I couldn't say that, not because it wasn't true, because technically, it was, but because it would hurt to admit it.

I decided to forgo the rest of my sentence. Is it ok if I stay here? Just for a few days.

A pause ensued, then in a much softer tone, an understanding one, he said; Of course Azriel, you will always be welcome here.

And I felt in my bones that it was true, I just didn't want to think about what that might mean for me.

Eris's Pov

I was going to break that infernal clock, tick tick ticking in the back of my head like the pressure of how little time I had wasn't enough already.

I had just finished the paper I was working on, but one more couldn't hurt, it would just mean less work for tomorrow, maybe then I could spend some time with my mate. Liar, there is always more work to do the next day.

I pushed the voice down, trying fruitlessly to smother it. Azriel was right, I needed a break. And right after this paper, I'd get one. Azriel and I would have dinner, and maybe, just maybe, we could fall asleep in each other's arms again. What I wouldn't give for that?

I finished putting the last signature on the bottom of the page to approve the project. It was for some agriculture thing, I didn't have enough head space to really go into too much detail, just enough to know it would help.

I got up from the desk, stretching, but my eyes got caught on another document. That one is quick to fill out, it will take me five minutes at most, Azriel will understand, he always does.

I haven't thanked my mate enough for the patience he's had with me, I haven't had the time to, but I will. Once all the things from my father's reign have been sorted, I'll be able to show him how much I appreciated his love and support.

The clock continues its ticking, and I'm only vaguely aware of the time passing, pulled once again into the onslaught of paperwork that buries my desk. One report turned into two, then to five, then a stack.

I'm pulled out once again when a thud is heard to my right. My head snaps up, eyes locking with the target. It's one of the early rising servants, dropping off another stack of papers and documents for me to sign. I whip around to look at the clock to see it is indeed eight o’clock in the morning.

I look back at her and she smiles sheepishly, then leaves. They may be light footed, but I should have heard her open the door. Had she been an assassin, I'd be dead. The lack of sleep really is getting to me.

I run my hands over my face and pick up the quill again, resigned to another day filled with endless words on paper and that bloody clock.

Sliding over the next thing, I can't help but pause at this nagging feeling that I've forgotten something. It claws at my insides, churning my gut, but I have to focus on what's important, I have to-

Azriel

Shit!

I completely forgot. I drop my quill, and shove the doors aside. I'm walking so fast that it could be considered a run but I need to see Azriel, my mate. I need to apologise, to explain, to-

The room is empty save for the spread of meat and cheeses with an assortment of bread and crackers now plagued with flies. My head pivots, searching for any hint of Azriel, the only sign he'd been here was his lingering scent.

I took a moment to breathe it in. Night chilled mist and cedar. Cauldrons I loved his scent, and his wings, and his smile. I just loved him.

His wingspan could sometimes be a pain in my ass (literally) but cauldron boil and fry me, it felt heavenly.

I opened my side of the bond reaching out, but all I was met with was solid walls. My heart stopped. Have I finally pushed him too far?

I tug harder, but am met with no response, dread settles in my stomach. What have I done?

I get the creeping feeling of being watched, and a few of my mate's shadows twirl into view. Usually the sight of them would reassure me, but something about their presence now was foreboding.

"Where is Azriel?" My voice is a mere whisper, but it seemed to echo in the room. They just sat there, dancing on the spot, never still, never motionless. It was unnerving. The slow fluidity of this dark entity, nothing in nature moved like that.

They finally left that spot on the floor, racing down the hall. "Wait" They did not.

I chased after them, barely keeping the swirls of black in view, every time they turned a corner, I thought I'd lose them. They slithered under one of the guest bedrooms, and without question, I flung the doors to the side.

Nothing.

No Azriel.

I looked to the shadows in question. "Why have you brought me here?" Obviously they gave no verbal response, they couldn't, but they just... disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a note in Az's handwriting. I just looked at it, thinking of all the effort he'd put in to be able to write in fancy script.

I picked up the note, reading it quietly to myself. Then reading it again, and again until it stuck.

Dear Eris,

If you're reading this, you've finally come out of your office. You do not need to worry about me, I'm safe in the Night Court, Rhysand knows I'm here.

Don't come get me. When I'm ready, I'll come back, but for now, I just need some time to think.

Sincerely, Your Shadow Azriel

In so few, simple words, I felt my heart crumble. I desperately clawed at the wall blocking me from my mate, but it held strong.

I could feel the panic rise within me, my breath coming in short gasps. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. I can't- I can't do this without him. I can't. I need him, I need my mate I-

My knees gave out from beneath me, and I hit the floor hard, the sudden bite of pain becoming a small drop in what was quickly gathering to be an ocean.

Azriel left. My mate left.

The words clanged through me with such clarity, I couldn't have stopped the tears if I tried. I broke down for the first time in centuries. Azriel was gone and it was all my fault, I drove him away, I neglected him.

Just like my father did to my mother.

That was the last straw. Loud ugly sobs fell from my lips, my body caved in on itself. How could I let this happen, how could I do this to him?

I stayed there for hours, until I had no more tears, until my throat was raw and no sound could come out. I crawled up onto the bed, curling my body around the pillow he'd used on his last night here. He said not to go after him, that he needed space. I could give him that. I will give him that. Even if it hurts.

3rd person Pov

Eris got up the morning after, feeling more tired than he had all month, his bones felt like they were made of granite but as frail as sandstone.

Days passed by painfully slow. He tried to focus, to tackle those papers that had driven him from his mate, but everything felt overwhelming. The sun was too bright, the stacks too high, his bed too warm, nothing felt right. Eris couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was suffocating, choking on his own actions and he just wanted his mate back in his arms. He was prepared to do anything to bring Azriel home.

But alas, no word from the shadow singer had reached his ears. It had been twelve days, neither Az nor anyone else from the Night Court had told him anything. It was driving him mad. Had something happened? Or was this really the end?

Another tear slipped out. His eyes burned from all the crying, all the sleepless nights filled with worry and anxiety. There was this perpetual feeling of nausea that he couldn't seem to shake, no tonic or pill worked.

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to know. Eris winnowed into the town house. He knew Rhysand didn't live there, but it would get his attention.

He didn't have to wait long before the High Lord and Lady of Night as well as the general stood before him, all with scowls on their faces.

"Eris" Rhysand said tersely, his jaw clenched. Eris's eyes were bloodshot, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"How is he? Is he alright?" The High Lord's voice came out soft but clear.

"Azriel will speak to you when he is ready" Feyre spoke this time, eyes narrowed.

"I know, I'm not here to force him to see me, I just- I need to know he's ok" The waver in his voice was slight, but there. They all picked up on it, however, had no intention of faltering.

Cassian was about to add his two cents when Azriel appeared in the shadows.

His face was unreadable, but the knotted black curls and massive eye bags were a testament to how much he had been struggling despite being the one to have initiated the space.

Eris swallowed but didn't speak. Just stared at his lover with desperation.

Everyone stared at Azriel, waiting for him to say something.

"Thank you for defending my privacy, but I would like to speak to Eris alone" It was not lost on the red headed fae that Azriel had called him by his name, instead of saying 'my mate' like he usually would have.

Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian slowly left, they didn't winnow away, just vacated the room, and Rhysand put up wards to give them privacy, staying close in case Eris tried anything.

For a long time, they stood in silence, neither knowing what to say until Eris cleared his throat. "Are you sure you're ready to talk to me? I did not come here with the intention of forcing an interaction between us." The words hurt him, he didn't want to leave without his mate, but if that's what Azriel wanted, he would give him that.

"If you need more- more space then-"

"No"

"...No?"

"I'm done with space. We need to figure this out. Now or never."

Eris nodded, but he was unsure if he should say something, or wait for Azriel to speak first.

Azriel sighed, and sat down at the table, motioning for Eris to do the same. Somehow, this felt worse than standing, but he complied nonetheless.

Azriel rested both arms on the table, fingers interlocked. He raised his hazel eyes to look into Eris's amber ones.

"I'm going to ask you a question, Eris, and I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?" He nods.

"Do you still want this bond, or would you rather have us reject it?”

How could he say that? Eris was appalled, he knew he'd been neglectful, but Azriel couldn't actually believe he regretted this, regretted them, could he? No, it was unthinkable, Eris refused to believe it.

"Azriel, you don't mean that, you can't." He shook his head, his heart felt like it was being squeezed to the point it might explode.

"Answer the question." Azriel's voice was devoid of emotion. Eris grit his teeth, not liking the tone his mate was using on him. That voice was for prisoner's, not him.

"No, Azriel, I don't want to reject the bond" There was a little bite to his voice before a realisation hit him. His words came out small, and meek.

"Do you?"

Eris prayed that wasn't the case, he would beg on his hands and knees if he had to, he would burn those papers, and close off his office if that's what he wanted. Eris was prepared to give up his throne if it would make Azriel reconsider.

"No, I don't, I never have" The relief flooded Eris, the grip on his heart loosened just a bit, just enough for him to breathe again.

"But things cannot go on the way they have. I am tired of not being your first priority, of not even being your tenth!" The spymaster raised his voice for the first time that night. "There is always something that needs to happen. There's always paperwork; documents, complaints, reports, there is always some tradition in one of the villages that people barely remember because Beron forbade it that suddenly wants you to attend."

His breathing was growing heavier with each point, and it was clear he'd been keeping this bottled inside for a long time. "Then finally we find a time in which our free times could align through no small effort, and out of nowhere, the Lords call for an emergency meeting, to discuss their decreased cash flow."

Everything he was saying was true, Eris couldn't defend himself, not that he had any ground to stand on in the first place, so he just listened to Azriel lament.

"And I know, believe me, I know that being a new High Lord is a lot of pressure. I don't pretend to understand what you have gone through nor what you are currently going through, and I've tried to be patient but-"

Azriel's voice cracked mid sentence. He took a deep breath, and Eris had to strain his ears to hear him now.

"I can't. I can't live like this. Barely seeing you for weeks on end just to be brushed off I-" He was visibly shaking now, the tremor in his words reflected his state and his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes had taken on a glassy sheen.

"Eris, it should pain you to be away from me-"

"It does" He promised, staring at Azriel's face, committing every detail to memory like he was going to slip out of his grasp.

"Not like it hurts me" Az was shaking his head, his heart on his sleeve.

Eris scoffed. "What are you talking about? I hate the distance just as much as you do, more, even. This week especially has been so painful-"

"Clearly not painful enough!"

"What do you mean 'Not painful enough'? It has been excruciating for me! How would you even know? You haven't been around-"

"Because you're not the one falling apart!"

"Of course I'm falling apart Azriel! You left! How was I supposed to feel about that?!"

"Nothing. You were supposed to feel absolutely nothing"

"What the fuck are you trying to say?" Eris was seething now. How dare he insinuate that this hadn't been hard on him too?

"That you. Don't. Care, until there are consequences"

Eris opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted before he could. "I was gone for three hours. Three hours, Eris, before you even noticed I'd left. Three hours before you came out of your office like you'd said you would. 'My word to you will always be true, this I promise' that was one of our vows to each other, and I cannot count the amount of times you've broken it."

He was stunned into silence, the weight of it all crashing down on him hard. "You had been blissfully unaware while I second guessed our mating"

Tears were streaming down both their faces, wild and unrestrained. Their breathing was ragged, and despite the cacophony of emotions, they both just wanted to comfort the other. But too many feelings left unresolved prevented them from doing so, instead, they stewed in the silence, the only sounds being the occasional sniffle or sharp exhale.

"Azriel I- I'm so sorry. I didn't realise what all this was doing to you. I should have known, should have seen the signs. As your husband, as your mate I should have- Cauldrons Azriel, I can't express how sorry I am, words don't do it justice, but I will find a way to make it up to you. I will. I don't know how, yet, but that, I can promise you."

The shadow singer nods. Eris wants to ask what happens now, does he return, or will he stay in the sanctuary of the Night Court? He waits for him to say something, but is left empty handed. He is the one to nod this time, winnowing back to his court.

Eris lies awake, thinking of ways to make it up to Azriel. If it were anyone else, he'd formulate a plan to execute some grand gesture, but this was Azriel. Azriel does not do grand gestures. It should make it easier but instead, it leaves Eris walking circles in his head, tormenting himself with wanting to do more, but knowing his lover wouldn't like it, and everything else just feeling like it would fall short.

It wasn't until well into the night that Eris felt Azriel return to the forest house. He held his breath, both wishing for him to take the corridor to the bedroom he occupied (It didn't feel right to sleep in their shared bed without Az there) and praying he didn't. What could he say? He was nowhere near ready to talk to Azriel, yet that was all he wanted to do.

Azriel went to a different bedroom, one just a few passageways to the left. His heart sank, however he scolded himself saying it was for the best, and that he hadn't earned being in the same bed yet.

Although when a small little shadow crept up, twining itself in between Eris's long fingers, he couldn't help but bring the little creature closer to his face, and smile.

Time skip

Over the next two weeks, Eris tried his best to earn Azriel back, he had started by showing up at his door and asking him out on a date. He half thought that Azriel would decline and slam the door in his face but by some miracle, the shadowsinger found it in him to take Eris's olive branch.

That first date seemed to open the flood gates. Every other day they'd be out, in the forest, a village, they'd even gone out of Autumn once or twice. The Lords made sure to make their displeasure known and the piles of paperwork were stacking up again faster than Eris could make them go down, but he ignored it in favor of his mate.

He obviously couldn't neglect his High Lord duties completely, he still held audiences when requested, and he did what paperwork he could, but he'd finally taken a leap, and removed many of the lords from the board.

He still hadn't found replacements for all of them, but it was some much needed progress. Having people he could trust to surround him and try to guide his rule instead of the power hungry toads admittedly made it quite a bit easier. Eris felt like he was in control of his responsibilities for the first time in years, since he started his reign, actually.

But it wasn't until recently, that Azriel truly forgave him.

Eris had walked up to Azriel's door, just like he had numerous times in the past fortnight. He waited nervously for him to answer, running his fingers through his hair and smoothing out his clothes. He loved Azriel, truly, but he absolutely hated how he was reduced to a twenty year old with no experience every time he asked him out.

The door opened, and there stood the love of his life donning Autumn finery. They had gotten into many teasing arguments about the garments over the years, Azriel always claiming it was over the top and Eris countering that he was technically a High Lord now too, even if he didn't bare the title (Because Azriel had refused, not because Eris hadn't offered) so the clothes were befitting someone of his station.

Azriel had laughed uproariously at that.

"Hello," Azriel said from inside the door frame. "I don't believe we had a date scheduled, unless I'm mistaken?"

"You're not, mistaken, that is. I wanted to surprise you, if that's alright?" Azriel wasn't overly fond of surprises. To be frank, neither was Eris, but he'd think this might be an exception.

Azriel raised both eyebrows. "Consider me surprised"

Eris blushed. Fucking. Blushed. What in the name of the mother did this male do to him?

"Would you- ahem- Would you please come with me into the dining hall?" Eris said, clearing his voice when it came out a bit too timid.

Azriel nodded slowly. "Sure, just let me change into something else"

"No one else will be there, so just that is fine." He insisted, because if he waits any longer, he might get cold feet and back out.

Once again surprise spreads across the Illyrians face, usually it is Eris who is so adamant on being 'properly adorned' for such occasions, even in the comfort of their own home.

"Alright" He says, closing the door behind him. "Lead the way, High Lord"

Oh, Azriel was trying to kill him, wasn't he? He never calls him High Lord unless he's angry, or wants Eris's attention on him for... other reasons. Much more pleasurable ones. He really hopes it's the second option and gulps as he steps in front of his mate to lead.

He holds the door as his beloved shadow steps in, taking in the spread laid out before them.

"Apologies if it's not on par with the usual cuisine served, I'm not the best cook, even with specific, and detailed instructions."

The male whips around staring at him. "You made all this?"

Eris nods "I did. Figured I had to make up for the dinner I'd missed. And, you know, all the ones before that." He breathes in deeply, preparing himself for his next words. "Look, I know that what I did was wrong, even if I never meant to hurt you, I did. And I'm not afraid to admit that I still don't quite know how to fully bring you back to me, but I-"

The air is knocked out of him by a body colliding with his, preventing the rest of his speech from leaving his lips.

"You just did" The words are mumbled into the junction of his neck, but he hears them just fine. The stress, and tension melts away as he wraps his arms around Azriel for the first time in way too long.

Tears of joy appear in the corners of his eyes but they are wiped away by his mate's thumbs as his scarred hands cup Eris's face. The words he so desperately needed falling effortlessly from the spymaster's lips.

"I love you, and I forgive you." Their emotions flood the bond and they fall to the floor together, holding one another in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, I promise, I will never treat you like that again. Never."

A few days later

Sunlight fell through the curtains onto their faces, gently waking up the two lovers. They were having a slow morning, it was ten and they still hadn't even gotten up for breakfast. They chose to instead lay in each other's embrace, enjoying the tranquility of it.

Tranquility that was broken by a knock. Eris sighed, running his hands over his face. He stretched and quickly threw on some pants along with a robe to at least cover himself a little.

He opened the door, shocking the servant on the other side who hastily lowered her gaze upon realising her High Lord was shirtless, choosing instead to speak to the floor rather than look him in the eyes.

"High Lord, I'm greatly sorry to disturb you, but the Lords are requesting a meeting on an improved payment plan for the agricultural contributors of Autumn, as well as some trade routes."

He nods, thanking her. When he walks back, Azriel is still in bed, eyes closed, the covers only concealing half of him. Eris smiled and dreaded leaving him.

"The lords want to hold a meeting about a few comings and goings of Autumn." He was sure Azriel had heard, especially with the little shadows constantly whispering information to him.

His mate only hummed, the picture of relaxation. "It's alright, you can go" Damn Azriel and his uncanny ability to read him, of course he knew that was the real reason why he'd repeated the information to him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, he never wanted to feel that again, never wanted to drive his mate away, so he just had to ask one more time.

"Yes, I'm sure." Eris accepted this. If Az really wasn't ok with it, he would say something.

Eris busied himself with getting ready, he took a quick shower, combed his hair and got dressed. It wasn't until he had just finished primping and was almost out the door that Azriel spoke up, calling Eris's name.

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm going to organise lunch for us, so I'll be waiting for you in the dining hall, go there once you're done." Eris stayed in the doorway, sensing there was more. "And afterwards... would you like to mess the bed with me?" A mischievous grin painted his face.

"Always"

A/n: That's the end! I hope you enjoyed, it was a bit longer than I thought it'd be but I'm just glad it's done on time. This was the first fic I've ever written proper angst for, hope it wasn't horrible.

Have a very Merry Christmas

From: @azrielsshadows42

To: @gravitysthrall

Thank you @acotargiftexchange

67 notes · View notes

peppymintdreams · 3 months ago

Text

He’s my Shadow of the Night

Michael Myers x Mc

The night was still. Silence hung in the air as the cool autumn breeze whispered through the trees. You were home alone, bundled in blankets, watching a horror movie marathon. Halloween. The first movie ended, and you turned off the TV, feeling the eerie sense that something—or someone—was watching.

You shook your head, laughing softly at yourself. Come on, it’s just a movie. You stood up, grabbing your phone to check the time. Just as you turned, a shadow passed the window, so swift it was almost impossible to notice. Your heart raced. Probably just a tree branch. But deep down, you felt the air shift.

With a knot in your stomach, you heard a faint creak of the floorboards. Someone was inside. The house you knew so well suddenly felt like a maze, and your heartbeat echoed loudly in your ears. Grabbing a kitchen knife, you moved cautiously through the hallway, every sound amplified in the silence.

And then you saw him. Tall, looming, the emotionless mask of Michael Myers stood in the doorway. His dark eyes met yours, and though his expression was hidden, you felt an overwhelming sense of danger and… something else.

"Michael..." The name slipped from your lips in a whisper. Your fear mixed with fascination, an inexplicable pull toward him. Despite the terror of knowing what he was capable of, your curiosity had always been stronger than your fear.

You took a step back, knife gripped tightly, but you didn’t scream. He was a force of nature, but there was a strange connection you couldn’t explain. As he slowly moved toward you, you noticed his head tilt slightly, as if considering something about you.

You should run. You should fight. But instead, you found yourself whispering, “Why are you here?”

His hand reached out, cold and unfeeling, but he didn’t strike. He lifted the knife from your hand as if you weren’t a threat at all. You could hear your pulse in your ears, but the fear had shifted. What you felt wasn’t terror anymore, but something darker, more intimate.

He was a monster. A killer. But the way his hand hovered near you, the way he didn’t attack right away, made you believe he saw something different in you. You could feel the tension, the dark chemistry between you two. And that’s when you did something unthinkable.

You took a step closer.

“I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, though your voice trembled. It was a lie, but you wanted to see what he would do.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He could easily kill you, and yet there was something else in the air. He lowered the knife, and the silence between you deepened. Was he hesitating? For the first time, you wondered if there was something more beneath the mask—something other than the relentless killer.

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm. Cold. Rough. And yet, the touch sent shivers down your spine. Against all logic, you leaned into him, your fear twisting into something else, something darker and more intoxicating.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped his strong arm around you, his grip tight but not crushing. You could feel his breath against your neck, slow and measured, as if he was taking in the moment, deciding whether to spare you or destroy you.

But he didn’t kill you. Not tonight. Instead, he stood there, holding you in the shadows, his presence both threatening and protective. You couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, you felt… safe.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this his twisted way of showing affection? Or were you just another victim he hadn’t decided to kill—yet?

The room felt still, heavy with anticipation, as Michael’s grip around you tightened, his calloused hands firm yet strangely gentle. You couldn’t help but lean into his solid form, your heart beating furiously. The logical part of your mind screamed at you to run, but your body seemed to betray you, drawn to this enigmatic figure who, by all rights, should terrify you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to regulate your breathing, but every inhale was filled with his presence—the faint scent of the outdoors clinging to him, a reminder of the darkness he embodied. You were lost in the paradox of the situation: the monster who should be your end now felt like your protector. It was madness, but you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt wrapped in his arms.

The longer you stood there, the deeper the strange connection between you grew. His heartbeat, slow and deliberate, contrasted with your own rapid pulse. Michael’s breath was steady, as if unaffected by the intensity of the moment. He hadn’t spoken—he never did—but somehow, his silence conveyed more than words could.

His head tilted slightly, the hollow eyes of his mask peering down at you. You wondered what he was thinking. Was there conflict behind the mask? Could someone who had taken so many lives truly feel something for you? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but not of fear. It was something else entirely, a sensation that left you both bewildered and entranced.

"Why me?" you finally whispered, voice trembling.

There was no answer, only the steady rise and fall of his chest. Yet, you could feel it—the strange, unspoken understanding between the two of you. He hadn’t hurt you, hadn’t even raised the knife once the tension shifted. Instead, he held you there in the dimly lit room, as if tethering you to him with more than just his arms.

Time seemed to stretch, and you found yourself leaning further into his chest. The warmth of his body surprised you, dispelling the cold that clung to the shadows. You knew that any moment could turn fatal, yet his hold on you tightened, almost possessively, as if daring the world to tear you away from him.

As your thoughts drifted, you felt something unexpected: tenderness. It wasn’t the kind you’d find in a conventional love story; it was raw, twisted, but real. The longer you stayed in his grasp, the more you realized that perhaps, deep down, there was something broken inside him—something that recognized the fractures in you.

You could feel yourself slipping, not just into sleep but into a peculiar comfort. The warmth of his body, the silence that surrounded you both—it was enough to make you feel safe, despite the danger that loomed over your every breath.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whispered into his chest, unsure if you were reassuring him or yourself.

In response, Michael’s grip around you tightened just enough to let you know he heard you. There was no violence in his touch, only a quiet intensity. The mask may have hidden his face, but his actions spoke louder than any expression could.

And then, in a moment you hadn’t expected, he shifted. His hand, rough and firm, slid down to cradle the back of your head as he bent down, the mask brushing against your hair. It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly, but the closeness sent a warmth through you that settled deep in your chest. It was an acknowledgment of something you couldn’t quite put into words.

Before you knew it, your eyelids grew heavy, the adrenaline fading as sleep began to pull you under. Yet, even in the stillness, Michael remained with you, his breath steady and his grip firm, as though ensuring nothing in the world could harm you.

You both fell asleep like that—together, bound by something that neither of you could name.

#peppymintdreamsproduction #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #horror romance #fan fiction #random #I’m in love with a monster

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jesteriajunovix · 2 months ago

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(Spoilers) Just a Reminder to Curly Sympathizers

Jimmy and Curly are not "Problematic Favs". They're literally thematic vessels for THE problem.

CW: Mentions of SA, and Abuse

Curly (And Pony Express as a Company) Never Cared to give Anya Pysche Evals. Curly only started to care for that when it doubled as an occupational hazard to him and his image.

Curly actively vouches for Jimmy as a crew member despite his "struggle" on earth. I don't see how it'd be far-fetched to assume that involves some form of Misconduct with the fact Curly literally says

"You've gotten through difficult situations before" RIGHT AFTER talking to Anya the actual Victim.

Curly doesn't understand why Anya was talking about the locks on the sleeping quarters and moves past it to reinforce the company's logic. [The Company and Curly can not be bothered to consider or provide actual safety for women. It is an afterthought that resembles a cruel apathy towards women's perspectives in a corporate work environment.]

Would Curly have given the gun to Anya if she asked? Probably not. While that is somewhat debatable It rings to the shitty isolated environment where Anya would have to take up such a mindset. Not to mention Curly is clearly super pals with Jimmy, so if that was a concern he'd probably take Jimmy's (and the rest of the guys) side considering he later took jimmy's side under the fact he sexually assaulted a woman.

The first thing Curly says to Jimmy after trying to consolidate Anya is "I Can Fix This". Curly enables Jimmy to find ways to get out of taking responsibility for the harm he did to Anya.

Curly buckles to the fact his mind is more focused on his position and reputation as a Captain rather than the personal impact Jimmy's harm has caused Anya. This issue is an occupational obstacle to him first and foremost.

Jimmy: "This can be remembered as a tragedy".

Jimmy: "The Tuplar crew was never found."

Jimmy: "You're standing at the top. Feet in cement. Right?"

Curly: "...Right."

And his complacency and dissonance of that truth leads him to do absolutely nothing.

I have seen so much art, and discourse treating him like he wasn't an active enabler. You know what. Fuck it. Half of this is going to double as an Anya Post. thinking about how people disgustingly twist her character to redeem two shitty men who are completely at fault irks me so much.

Anya

The fact that Anya doesn't really get to build herself as a character outside of the scenes that reinforce her tragedy, and antagonist environment feels super sucky.

The purpose of such a narrative direction is of course meant to feed into Jimmy's resentful apathetic attitude towards her, and emphasize the cold unfeeling corporate entity that hired her to be on the tulpar, but as a narrative choice, it still feels rather cruel to take in. Jimmy literally erases her personhood from his mind and only internalizes her presence as a threatening womb while taking the rest of the games runtime to focus on himself and the other men on board.

I see many renditions of Anya in fanart. Adding to her character in ways people weren't really given the time to appreciate or take in during the actual game due to how little she's left with.

I find her canon resolution both annoying and interesting due to this type of interaction where the fans are being pushed towards an interpretive play pen where they are motivated to give Anya more characteristics, quirks, and perspectives than she was allowed to have or emphasize within the game.

Using such field of creative deliberation to redeem the men that actively harmed her is such a gross way to use that play pen.

To get into some interpretations

A pretty important moment occurs after Anya runs out of the medical room during the painkiller scene with the thought:

"I have to believe that our worst moments don't make us monsters"

I think there are quite a few different ways to take this line in this moment, but to share my own perspective I believe it most likely stems from these potential factors:

Anya is trying to maintain a metric of empathy and trust to continue to control herself in the current conditions and stresses she's under at this moment. The needs of the crew can not be upheld without this kind of thinking while under the orders of her abuser.

Anya still cares for Curly and is disconnecting the harm he caused from the rest of his humanity as a person who is also suffering.

Anya is reflecting on her own legitimacy while the internalized trauma she went through makes her feel alienated from herself. Accepting the actual piece of shit that is Curly allows her to hold faith in herself as a person through the shared correlation of pain and "mistakes" as she percieves it bonding her with Curly.

While somewhat ambigous I think its important to generally understand these types of potential layers when interacting with the themes and subjects presented by Anya as a character. Ideas which are critical and dissective of Anya as an actual Subject above a simple generalized understanding of her peripherally as a victim.

also Idea 2 doesn't make Curly vindicated. Curly was the only member that Gave Anya some sense of care (As ingenuine as that care was). That dependency is toxic and was unfortuately potentially of mental necessity to Her. To reframe it as a point for Curly to show he was better than what he presented himself to be so deeply annoys me with how uncritical that reframing is when addressing the actual faults and mentality that led him to his bedridden state. With how little Anya is already focused on, it feels like that interpretation and dynamic hands Curly the position of "Subject" while Anya still remains an "Event" to some people.

That kind of thinking not only significantly reeks of a lack of indulgence in actually trying to further interpret the facets presented in Anya's character, position, and mental state, but also dilutes the meaning to be had in analyzing Curly as an enabler. The framing of Curly as an "Enabler in Rehab" or "Tragic Casualty" feels so utterly ignorant, redundant, and enigmatic to my senses when he is so utterly undeserving compared to Anya who barely gets any other elaboration or analysis from the community outside of "awww wasn't that sad" or sensationalization around "The Event".

I WOULD go into Anya's logic leading up to her death, but thats a post and analysis for a different tumblr user to take care of. I honestly just gradually have developed new ways to hate the Mouthwashing fandom, so I really needed this to make mental space for the next few horrible bizarre takes i'll inevitably see about this game.

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #spoilers #mouthwashing spoilers

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ilex-opacus · 10 months ago

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This is it this is the day I go crazy and talk about Akagi Ritsuko for way longer than anyone in 2024 should.

The way I have seen her miscaracterised is so.. so heartbreaking to me. Granted the Eva fandom is huge and I haven't been a part of it for a suuuper long time (I mean, the original fanbase from 30yrs ago is reduced to little more than a bunch of ghost accounts on dead forums by now) but the most common interpretation I see of her is something like this: A cold woman who has buried almost all her feelings for the sake of doing anything Gendo tells her because she's in love with him, who knows what she's doing is wrong, but who doesn't seem to care. A woman who has learned to care so little for the pilots, in particular Rei, who many people even say she hates, who only takes a stand on the "good side" once Gendo has personally scorned Ritsuko's love for him by having her put in solitary isolation.

And to me, that reading if her is just... Well not *wrong*, there aren't any *wrong* interpretations in media... What it is instead is willfully ignorant of so much if her character that proves almost all of that to be untrue.

Like yes, Ritsuko is cold. She's calculating and logical, but that's really about as far as the popular interpretation of her goes. She explains that being overly idealistic isn't something she scorns ("it's a nice way of thinking" directed at Maya and "your outlook is also important" directed at Misato) but something she knows she can't indulge in, otherwise the entirety of NERV's operating force would be hinged too much on personal feelings. Also, it's something she doesn't really know *how* to do. Look at Ritsuko's history -- a girl who practically grew up at NERV HQ, during the Second Impact, living under the constant shadow of a mother who didn't even give her the time of day. They write letters to each other in keigo instead of talking face to face. This is clearly a girl who's been isolated at least since high school, probably longer, who has probably lost so many people due to growing up during a damn extinction event. Someone who admits to being so poor at human connection that she supplements any hope for a family by raising cats, and even then! Even then she has to hand them off to relatives when her work gets too much for her. It's not that Ritsuko is cold and unfeeling because she enjoys it or scorns closeness, it's because she has never had the means or freedom to learn and foster those skills. It's her who introduces the concept of the Hedgehog Dilemma, she knows better than most how much you'll struggle to form bonds if you don't consistently try.

And Misato isn't some beacon of pilot safety either. The idea that she's the nice, sweet, helpful one and Ritsuko is the evil wench driving the pilots to their death is just blatantly incorrect. There are MULTIPLE instances of Misato being the one to endanger pilot safety, and Ritsuko being on the other end discouraging that. Take episode (I think 7 or 8?) where Ritsuko confronts Gendo about using children as pilots. She laments placing all of the burden on them, and spearheads the Dummy Plug system in the hopes it will alleviate that strain. Whereas Misato has made multiple allusions to molesting Shinji, has kissed him fully on the mouth, and seemed completely unaffected by the idea of sinking Asuka to unsafe depths in their fight against the 8th angel. The only difference in how they treat the pilots as child soldiers is that Misato is more vocal about how upset it makes her, whereas Ritsuko, not one to be talkative when it comes to her own feelings, as Misato points out, is not.

More examples of Ritsuko being nice to the pilots include: Teaching Rei and Asuka how to cook at Rei's request so that they can have a dinner together with Gendo and Shinji. Ritsuko sees this child, this child raised inside NERV in near total social isolation, begging for a chance at social contact, and she takes time out of her schedule so busy to the point she doesn't have time to wash her own clothes, to teach Rei how to cook. That brings me onto the next thing, actually, the way she's constantly characterised as despising Rei (specifically because she's "a competitor for Gendo's attention"). I can think of, at most, 2 canon instances where Ritsuko is actually mean to Rei in any specific, targeted, or substantial way. One is when she destroys the Dummy Plug system because, quote "these are just empty vessels, they have no soul. I'm going to destroy them, because I hate them." Which is bonkers to me! Bonkers! Because my IMMEDIATE thought when I first saw that scene was "Oh, of course Ritsuko hates the Dummy Plug system, it's science taken too far, it's a disgrace against life to create soulless husks, of course Ritsuko sees it as science used for too evil a purpose to justify. She hates them because they're inhumane." But somehow everyone took that as "Wow Rei I hate you so much I'm going to kill a bunch of your clones"?? I'm sorry, but since when has Ritsuko been characterised as being so *petty*? I mean, this is a 14 year old girl she's supposedly beefing with here.

The only other instance is when she says "(Unit 00) was definitely trying to kill me" after it goes AWOL during the 11th angel attack, implying Rei (who's soul is inside Unit 00) hates her, presumably because of something shes done. But OF COURSE she thinks that. Of course the head of this operation, who has overseen all of these horrible things, signed off on so many inhumane fights, thinks her soldiers want her dead. I don't think for one second Ritsuko thinks she's a good person. She literally says "you'll learn (that being idealistic is impractical) the first time you feel dirty." She feels guilt over what she does just like I said before, just like Misato does forging forward with this whole operation, she's just more quiet about it.

So why? Why does she do this? You can put Misato's involvement with NERV down to a genuine desire to help, the genuine illusion she's doing humanity good by protecting it. Throw in her half a revenge plot, and you can say she's doing these horrible things for ostensibly just reasons. But Ritsuko knows infinitely more about the inner workings of NERV, to the point it's implied (?) she killed Kaji, one of her only friends, to keep the information safe. People always put it down to just "she loved Gendo, that's why" and yes, frankly, that's a terrible reason. It also, doesn't make sense!

Take Ritsuko, a woman with little to no social fluency, a woman who can bouy herself only on her scientific merit, because remember, she lived in her mother's shadow for most of her life. The only way to ascertain her worth, especially underneath someone as unfeeling as Gendo, was to prove her commitment as a scientist. She didn't *have* anything else, she couldn't have anything else, no matter how much she wants to. A woman that has fought so hard for the approval of Gendo, and imagine you're her. Imagine your own mother won't even speak to you. You don't have any father around and you never mention him, but there is a man your mother seems to love. Odd, considering she doesn't seem to love you in any way that really counts. You'd want his approval too, no? You'd want approval from the man your mother, your overshadowing scientific monolith of a mother, melted back into humanity for. You'd want to prove you were as good as her, that you could enrapture the man she managed to ensnare. Because all you want is for people to see you, recognise you, that's like - THE key theme in evangelion across so many different characters. And remember Ritsuko was a highschooler when she met Gendo, when she found out her mother was having a fling. Imagine you're orphaned soon after, and all you have left is impossibly large boots to fill and this man, this man who is important, talented, and special enough to make your mother look at him, and he's asking you to help him. Of course you would. Of course you would. Because all you want is some human affection, no matter how clinical and predatory it manifests itself.

The line about Ritsuko and Gendo is literally "I wish you'd use my body again, like you did back then." Because Japanese lacks plurals, it can also be read "I wish you'd use my body again, like you did that other time." (In fact, I'm actually more inclined to that one because I see 時 used for singular occurance more than multiple ones, in which case 頃 feels a little more common?) I'm sorry, but you'll never convince me this wasn't grooming. Just look at the situation I described and try and convince me this is shorthand for "she was in love with Gendo." Idolised him, sure. Desperately craved his approval on an intimate and academic level? Yeah. Bit *loved* him? No. And there's certainly no way Gendo felt anything back other than some weird, predatory affection (I mean seriously, Gendo. You knew this woman when she was a high schooler and you were old enough to be banging her mom. There's a lot wrong with you already but now I'm adding perv to the list.)

And the plan he's making you execute, wouldn't you find it captivating too, if you were her? A world where all those emotional roadblocks you've built for yourself finally disappear, a world where you can open your heart and see your mother again, perhaps connect with her for the first time. A world where you don't have to prove your worth as a individual because you'll be part of so much more. A hivemind filled with love, clarity, and pure acceptance. Sure, she's not some virtuous saviour of humanity, but neither is Misato, really. No one who works at NERV can do so with a clear conscience or for an entirely noble cause. What I'm saying is that Ritsuko isn't as shallow as to do all that for Gendo's dick. She has complex, self-rationalised reasoning there like everyone else.

And that just brings me back around to her relationship with Rei. Maybe she does hate Rei, a little bit. Not because she's vying with her for Gendo's attention, because that's stupid. Ritsuko is a piller of calm rationale, of impersonality and reticence. In what world would she possibly be that possessive of anyone, even the man she idolises on a personal and academic level? She isn't even remotely cold or aggressive towards Kaji when he steals away Ritsuko's only friend or actively goes digging for NERV intel, she's KIND to him, welcomes him as much as she's able to with how closed off she's become. She isn't desperate for attention in the outward way someone like Asuka is. She wants Gendo to approve of her, but never exclusively. Id say the only person she's ever in competition with on that front is her own mother.

Rei is just like her. A girl with limited social contact who's only link to some greater sense of being and humanness is through Gendo, of all people. She needs him, depends on him, sticks to him and adores him despite knowing he's mistreating her ("I don't get special treatment. Believe me, I'd know.") She's also been groomed to be Gendo's obedient, grateful puppet, grateful because if not for him, she'd have somehow less. Maybe Ritsuko does resent her. Maybe it's like looking into a mirror at your old self and wishing you could slap sense into the person you used to be. Or maybe it's like looking at the person who made your mother commit suicide in guilt, perhaps. Everyone seems to forget that little detail.

Maybe the Dummy Plug system being destroyed wasn't Ritsuko's personal act of scientific disgust, maybe she hated those lifeless clones because she cares about Rei so much she knows a fate of reanimation into indentured military servitude is worse than death. Maybe a life spent captive under Gendo's grooming is worse than death fighting the angels. Maybe she can't stand the thought of Gendo using a person so many times over, never learning his lesson. Maybe she wanted to take away one of his strategic devices and punish him. But "she just hates Rei that much" seems like too shallow and excuse.

When Ritsuko turns on Gendo, everyone assumes it's because she's finally been personally scorned by him, and has realised he doesn't love her, or that she's angry he's thrown away all the scientific research she's poured into project E and wants to spite him. And okay, maybe those contain a grain of truth, but combined with her destruction of the Dummy Plug system and her asking him as early as episode 7 if using child soldiers is really something they can justify, Ritsuko's betrayal reads to me as a woman who has finally been given a wake up call surrounding the man who has used her for most of her life. Ritsuko is a woman who is closed off by necessity, of course it takes her personally being wronged by him in a massive, obvious way, to realise just how irredeemable he is. It's not "once you hurt me, that's it for you." its "once you hurt me, I can't overlook you hurting everyone else anymore because of how much I idolised you." That's a selfish road to take, sure, but Ritsuko hasn't the social fluency to be less so. Further proof her rebellion isn't just some scorned lover's hissyfit as so many people paint it is that she *continues* to actively work against him, dedicating all her time and skill, for 14 years during the Rebuild movies. She is so dedicated to stopping him that she works with WILLE for 14 damn years. If that's not a woman thoroughly convinced this man needs to be brought down for his crimes, I don't know what is.

Anyway. I have thoughts about Agaki Ritsuko. My beautiful blonde morally grey but still complex and emotionally wounded babe.

#nge #eva #neon genesis evangelion #rebuild of evangelion #ritsuko akagi #akagi ritsuko #ritsuko #misato #misato katsuragi #ikari gendo #gendo ikari #character analysis

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etherealspacejelly · 2 months ago

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can you yap to me about Any of your hyperfixations. I'm All Ears

OHOHOHO OKAY!!!!

i think one thing thats interesting about spocks character to me is that he is often the one reaching out and making compromises to better communicate with the humans around him. he uses terms like luck even though he doesnt believe in it. he allows his crew to bury their dead crewmates in gallileo seven, even though they are actively in danger and its a waste of time, because he knows its important to them.

but people very rarely do the same for him. they dont rephrase things in terms of logic unless they are trying to earn his approval for something. they constantly push his boundaries and tease him for his emotional outbursts on the occasions he does have them.

people call him cold hearted, selfish, unfeeling, and yet he shows far more empathy for others than they ever do for him.

he uses his telepathic abilities to get them out of trouble time and time again, even though its a very intimate and personal thing for a vulcan to do.

i guess they do show up for him when it really counts, but generally speaking, theres a lot of teasing and snide comments sent his way. i feel really bad for him sometimes :(

#inbox #ask #inbox open #star trek #star trek tos #s'chn t'gai spock

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magicalmanestudio · 22 days ago

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wind whistler is so autistic coded. yes my sweet girl who relies on logic instead of emotions!!! you aren't cold and unfeeling towards your friends you just have a different way to express yourself I SEE YOU!!!!

wind whistler my little autism pony 🩷

#pony posting #my little pony g1 #mlp g1 #my little pony n friends #wind whistler #mlp #my little pony #autism

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namiusedbubble · 2 years ago

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SFW Alphabet - Sebastian Sallow

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Very. Sebastian is definitely the type to express his love through physical touch. He likes resting his head on your lap when the two of you read, but he also enjoys holding you in his lap, too.

B = Broom (Are they good at flying? Do they play Quidditch?)

Sebastian is one of the best flyers in Slytherin, but he doesn’t play Quidditch. Despite Imelda pestering him to join the team for years, he is much more interested in books and dueling. He is a substitute for the house team, but he only agreed to get Imelda off his back.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves to cuddle. I mentioned it before but he loves laying in your lip and vice versa. There’s nothing more relaxing than having your fingers comb through his hair.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Not right now, but he will eventually want to settle down if that’s something you want. Sebastian would be terrible at cooking and cleaning, but he’ll learn all of the domestic spells so neither of you will have to worry about it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would take a lot for him to get to that point, and he certainly won’t be the self-sacrificing type who will do it “for your own good”. There has to be a serious incompatibility or betrayal before he even considers it. Because his decision is logical to him, it can come off as quite cold and unfeeling, even though he probably spent a lot of time crying alone before finally breaking up with you.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Once Sebastian knows he loves you, he knows he wants to marry you. You’ve both already seen each other at your absolute worsts and got through it together, he figures there can’t be much left that could get in the way of your relationship. He won’t ask you until you’ve finished school, of course, but it won’t be long after that.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He can be, but he’s usually not. He knows you’re not made of paper, so he has no problem manhandling you. Verbally, he’s not gentle, either. Sebastian speaks his mind bluntly because he doesn’t have time to beat around the bush. This can lead to him saying the wrong thing every now and again, but he usually means well.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He doesn’t often full-on hug you, but when he does, it’s usually from behind. He’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you into his chest and rest his head against yours. His hugs are comforting and make you feel safe and secure.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I think Sebastian says it fairly early on. He falls hard and fast, so it won’t be long until he’s dropping the L-word.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Sebastian can become quite jealous. He trusts you, it’s everyone else he doesn’t trust, so he won’t pick a fight with you about it or anything, but when he’s jealous he can become very pouty. He’ll also insert himself into the situations making him feel that way, so if you’re talking to another guy he knows has a crush on you, he’s going to force himself into the conversation and make an excuse to pull you away for himself.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Intense. He likes cute, loving pecks on the cheek as much as the next person, but he loves intense make-out sessions much more. He always kisses you like it’s the first and last time, as if he’s savouring every moment he has with you. His favourite place to kiss you is on the lips, but he’ll turn into mush if you kiss him just below his ear.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s surprisingly good with children. They respect him and enjoy his company because he treats them like little adults. He doesn’t speak down to them or dismiss them because of their age, and he now despises people who believe children should stay out of sight.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Usually lazy. He likes to sleep in as late as possible with you, and he has a habit of “locking” you against his chest so you can’t get up before him. He’s really cuddly in the mornings, and his excessive kisses have caused you to be late to appointments on multiple occasions. Not that you’re complaining.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Sebastian is a night owl, so he’s usually up late reading. He would love if you could join him, but if not, he’ll lay with you in bed until you fall asleep and then go about his business until the early morning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You know the answer to this. Sebastian Sallow has no filter around you, and he never will. He’s telling you his and everyone else’s life story the minute you finish kicking his ass in DADA, and that openness will continue throughout your relationship.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Not very easily. He can get snippy and argumentative, but it takes a lot to truly anger him. But once he’s angry, you’ll know about it.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Sebastian isn’t the worst, but he could be better. He’ll remember everything he thinks is important to either you or your relationship, but he’s not going to remember the name of your childhood dog unless that’s something you frequently mention.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

There are a lot of moments he cherishes, but his favourite is still the first time you invited him to Hogsmeade and took down a troll together. Not only was it the first time you dueled side-by-side to protect the village, but he also considers it your first, unofficial date.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective. Sebastian has lost almost everyone in his life to tragedy, and he doesn’t want to lose you, too. He’s not overbearing or controlling, but he will push you behind him during a fight, insist on accompanying you on tasks, and make sure you get the rest you need when he feels like you’re overworking yourself. He knows you’re the type to stumble into dangerous situations for a good deed, he fell in love with that part of you so he won’t try to change it, but you won’t have to do it alone anymore.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts 100% into everything he does, so there’ll be no half-measures with him. He’ll try to make every date feel like your first date all over again, every anniversary will be more romantic than the last, etc.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Once Sebastian has set his mind to something, you’re not talking him down from it. He doesn’t care how stupid, dangerous, inconvenient, etc. it might be, he’s already thought about the risks and is willing to take them.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It depends. He’s not overly concerned in his day-to-day life, and he doesn’t mind becoming disheveled and dirty from dueling or flying, but he cleans up well when he wants to.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely. You have been through so much with Sebastian, and you’re pretty much the only one who has stuck by him through thick and thin. He only really feels “whole” when he’s with you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sebastian might be a flirt, but he’s not a player. You’re his first everything and you’ll be his only everything if he has anything to say about it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Disloyalty. Sebastian is one of the most loyal people you will ever meet, and he expects the same in return. You don’t even have to be disloyal to him, he’ll just think it’s unattractive if you possess that trait and it could be a deal breaker for him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He can’t sleep with clothes on. If he absolutely has to he can force himself, but the rest of the time; he’s sleeping butt-naked.

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