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bnhaobservation · 4 months ago

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Did Enji atone to Touya (and his family) and stepped up on his role as a father?

Boku no Hero Academia has a grave 'flaw'. The fact that's strongly tied to Japanese culture and Buddhism makes it a very interesting work but also makes it a hardly international work because way too many cultural things are left unexplained because they're assumed to be a given. Only they're not when the work is read by foreign readers. And this lead to confusion.

The Todoroki plotline is an example of this.

In the west many feel Enji did nothing for Touya or did too little because the little he did is a given in the west. The point is... it's not a given in Japan. In Japan is a BIG DEAL. So let's go though it.

First, the fact that he doesn't want to kill Touya even though he's a criminal

Todoroki Enji ‘Ore wa ikinobite mo... ENDEAVOR wa shinda. Tairyō satsujinsha (read: musuko) to tatakaenai.’ 轟炎司「俺は生き延びても...エンデヴァーは死んだ。大量殺人者（むすこ）と戦えない。」 Todoroki Enji “Even if I survived... Endeavor is dead. I can't fight against a mass murderer (read: my son).”

Let's compare it to these two scenes of "Death Note" and see how Yagami Soichiro, a policeman, is taking the idea his son might be a killer and how, although Misa protests, the story doesn't present it as him being crazy but as it being his duty.

That's why Hawks doesn't want to send Enji, who's on an atonement path, to face Dabi, because Enji might end up in a situation in which he would have to kill his son and he would refuse... which is more or less what happens.

Second, Enji acknowledges that what Touya said is true, Touya is his son and Enji did what he did. In such a situation many would lie. Dabi's video proves nothing. He is a Villain, they had a doctor in the team who could create Nomu, the paternity test could be fake, even if Dabi were to provide a sample of his blood or skin they could insist that's fake.

Society didn't want the truth, they don't want Enji to confess, they wanted him to reassure them, they even commented he should have lied because yes, that's what's done often.

Basically he put his honor on the chopping block. A public apology like this one is a BIG DEAL in Japan. It's much more serious than in western countries and he does it when he could have spared himself and say Dabi lied but that would have meant to deny his son.

Third, it connects to the first in a way. While Enji is unwilling to kill Touya, he's willing to die with him. It's ‘shinjū’ (心中 Lit. “Mind/heart center/inside” but more likely means “oneness of hearts”, probably reflecting a psychological link between the participants) and it’s a word used in common parlance to refer to any group suicide of two or more individuals bound by love, typically lovers, parents and children, and even whole families. People who commit shinjū believe that they would be united again in heaven, a view supported by feudal teaching in Edo period Japan, which taught that the bond between loved ones would continue into the next world, and by the teaching of Pure Land Buddhism wherein it is believed that through shinjū, one can approach rebirth in the Pure Land. By volunteering to die with him, Enji is basically agreeing to remain with him in their next reincarnation.

For us it's crazy, it's Enji giving up on saving him. In Japan it sounds like 'I love you and I want to be with you'.

Forth, he'll apologize to Touya. As said before it's a BIG DEAL, especially since Enji is the family head and, although for us most of what he did is wrong, in Japan most of what he did is well within what he can do. Marrying a woman you don't love in a combined marriage to expect the child who'll be born from it will fulfill your ambitions and not really bothering to raise it because that's a mother job, well, things are changing in Japan but none of the above is a crime. In a not so distant past it was actually the norm. Yet Enji apologizes even though normally a family head wouldn't.

Fifth it's a bit in the first point and in the second but it'll drag on through all the story, Enji won't reject Touya. He's the only one (except Fuyumi who however doesn't get to say much) who never calls him Dabi after the reveal, and he won't strike him out of the family register but will keep on considering him his son.

Look at the Tobitas instead and at how they kick their son out.

Don't think Hawks is cutting strings with his parents solely because they were abusive, the Tobitas show us how you should just cut strings with a criminal. Same as the Togas.

Have "Theseus no fune" in which a man accused to be a murderer, send a birthday gift to his son and watch the reaction of his wife.

They don't want to keep contact with a criminal. It's scary because they'll be mistreated if they are discovered to be related to him.

And, in this vein, the fact he wants to go see him, that he'll keep on seeing him till the end instead than turning his back on him, is seen as important. It's seen as him being his father.

To many of us it seems as if he's forcing his presence upon Touya. Actually, from a Japanese perspective he's instead not abandoning him like many others would.

And since Touya is dying, very likely the talking will be the talking that's done in a Buddhist culture when someone is dying. Death should occur in a calm and peaceful environment, with close friends and family in attendance. Together they should reflect on the good deeds the dying person has done throughout their life, in the hopes it will help them in their next reincarnation. Additionally, family and friends can perform good deeds on behalf of them, which they believe will be of merit to the deceased.

So, since Touya is dying he won't get a scolding like Chisaki, they'll all only tell him nice and soothing things so he'll die peacefully.

Now... in the west all this is absolutely way too little, and in some points even feels wrong. Dying together instead than insisting in trying to save him? Deciding unilaterally to show up every day? Not our thing...

We can totally say 'thanks, I hate it' because we grew up with Darth Vader who instead gave his life to SAVE his son. All this accepting that Touya instead is going to die so Enji can at best die with him or keep him company until he does... well, it's mostly not our cup of cultural tea.

In in Japan though, all Enji does is important. Enji is doing something for Touya as a father, something important many fathers wouln't do for their sons.

Does it would satisfy a Japanese audience? They'll get the message better than us... but things are changing and anyway it can still feel too little. "Death Note" is dated 2005/2006 and back in it Misa was already questioning the idea of a father killing his son and then killing himself. BNHA is more innovative as Enji doesn't think to kill Touya but he still goes for the 'let's die together' route... and Horikoshi subtly criticizes it by having the rest of the family decising they'll try to stop the fire before just giving up. They're willing to die, but not before trying.

Enji represents plenty of old theories after all, which Horikoshi acknowledges were moved out of wrong beliefs, not moved by mean intents... which, is possible, would still not be enough for Japanese readers either because among teenagers, the target audience, there's an increasing number of teen who, in Japan, are forced to leave home (the Toyoko Kids) and often ends up committing crimes to survive and the league seems to be based on all the kind of homeless people Japan has.

While for a kid at home with a loving family being told that your father will die with him if he messes up instead than just dumping him might be comforting... for a kid that was abused and forced to leave home this might feel not enough.

People want to be saved, being told it's too late to save them, might be a lesson for those who hadn't done anything wrong yet so that they won't do it, but it's surely not a hopeful message for who instead got himself into troubles.

But well, that's something for the Japanese audience to ponder.

There's also to point out that, even though the message is not hopeful, Horikoshi is seeing the homeless people and acknowledging they should be helped.

Japan in regard to the Toyoko kids is mostly like the old woman who pretended not to see Tenko but that, in the end, helps that new boy.

I think Horikoshi's message desperately wants to be hopeful even for them, that he wants BNHA be like Midoriya's final stand, something that will push people to acknowledge they exist and reach out to help them.

It just that... it gets lost in what I'll call the 'litteral translation'.

No one explains us how we should jusge the scenes and, since we lack the cultural background, to us they are perceived differently because to us things work differently.

And, personally, even when I think I figured out the author's intent and can see the positivity of it, the cultural filter is still too tick and the picture gets blurried.

It's like being beginner at speaking a foreign language and having to constantly translate it in your head. The message loses its natural beauty, get simplified and not fully grasped.

I think I understand how Enji's atonement work in regard to Touya... it still doesn't feel fulfilling to me. But enough about Touya.

'Now,' you might rightfully say, 'fine, I'll bite, let's assume what Enji has is an atonement arc for Touya. It doesn't work at all in the west but let's give it a pass. What about his other kids?'

Natsuo and Fuyumi's wishes are in conflict.

Fuyumi wants the five of them to be a family (at the time she doesn't know Touya is alive), Natsuo doesn't want to be part of a family with Enji.

Enji's solution is giving Fuyumi a house in which she can welcome her mother and live with Natsuo (and Shouto when he comes home), while he removes himself from the equation. The solution fulfills Natsuo's wish of not seeing Enji because it makes him feel bad. It only partly fulfil Fuyumi's wish because it'll allow her to have her mother back (Rei couldn't bear meeting Enji either) and to stay with her siblings... but Enji takes responsibility for it, he doesn't tell her it's due to Natsuo that he can't live with them, so, in theory, it won't be Natsuo the one who's stressed to be at home when Enji is there and the one who has to leave home because he can't stand the sight of Enji.

There are many things I can say on how this is not a good solution (it doesn't make Natsuo feel better, it just stops him from feeling worse), but there are two points to consider. The first is that Enji is getting old and it would be his children's duty, due to filial pity, to take care of him, instead he's basically giving them the means to leave and take his wife with them.

Actually, since Natsuo is now the oldest MALE, it should fall on him specifically. Yes, Enji always intended to have Shouto inherit his mantle but this doesn't free Natsuo from his duties. Instead Enji is letting all his children free.

Even with Shouto, he doesn't insist anymore for Shouto to learn Flashfire Fist as his heir but just as an intern.

I take this is big in Japan.

Here again, not so much, especially in the countries in the west that think kids should leave their parents' home as soon as possible and we don't think our children are obliged to inherit our mantles.

Note how the story implies that this was meant to be the end for the Natsuo/Enji arc.

Natsuo made clear he didn't want to meet Enji again, he does it solely because they've to stop Touya and, once they've stopped Touya, he makes clear he doesn't want to see him again.

If we want though, the fact he's leaving the family can be seen as a concession in a way.

Since apparently Rei wants to stay with Enji (and likely their old house was devasted because that's what happens to relative of criminals) Enji can now move with Fuyumi and Rei and Natsuo won't have to see him because he'll leave home... to make his own home.

As for Shouto... Horikoshi answered his request by basically showing him Enji being a father for Touya and then promising he would protect them from the fiery fallout, which Horikoshi doesn't show at all because it's another thing that's a given in Japanese culture, it'll be hell for Enji to protect them, but not for us.

Just to get an idea of the fiery fallout here are some images from "Theseus no fune" again showing you how bad is this sort of thing.

Back to Enji, Horikoshi gives us verbal confirmation that Enji is now being a father by being willing to do this, by having Natsuo, who never called him as such, calling him father for the first time.

For Horikoshi that's Enji being a father.

Again, we've no idea of which hell Enji will suffer because that's not part of our culture. I've posted above screencaps of "Theseus no fune", that's how the fallout should be so not pretty at all.

So the fact that Enji will try to protect them from it is, again, BIG.

So yeah, Enji did do BIG things to atone and keeps on doing them and if he'll ultimately get forgiven by Natsuo (the rest of his family wanted to forgive him way before he were to do something), that's up to Natsuo... Horikoshi likely left this as open ending because he wanted to let it up to readers so as not to make them feel they were forced to forgive Enji.

In the general hopeful theme of the manga and with Natsuo acknowledging him as a cool father I guess his idea is that Natsuo too will eventually forgive him because he's kind.

I don't want to say that Natsuo forgiving Enji would be a culture clash because there's people even here that forgive their horrible parents and that's valid. Forgiving is a personal choice and one has the right to make it even if said horrible parent did nothing to deserve it.

It's up to you.

But sure is, if again we take the story at face value and not in its cultural contest, we can't see what Enji does to atone, because for us is nothing big.

It's even made worse by how Horikoshi doesn't show at all the hell Enji will go through (as for him is a given) so for us IT DOESN'T EXIST. We see Enji as having it easy, talking big but not having to face anything at all.

Honestly though... I think this is a bit of a flaw of the manga as a whole.

Way too often it prefers to focus on the good than on the bad so that the bad gets sidelined to much to the point people forget it.

There were horrible Heroes who committed crimes and had no intention to repent or stop... and we never met them. Nagant killed them off but we never met them.

Mountain Lady, who became a Hero for money and fame, then sticks to the job even when it's bad. Desugoro, who left the job when it turned bad, then came back to help. Enji is on an atonement path and, anyway, on work he was always a good Hero.

In the same way Horikoshi prefers not to show Enji's hardship but focus on how he'll have the support of his sidekicks, driver and Hawks... partly also because it ties in so well with the general message of everyone reaching out.

The result is that the Midoriya plotline of everyone reaching out becomes more important of the Enji atonement arc and overshadows it.

Enji's atonement arc ends in 426, chap 430 doesn't feel the need to tell us if Enji is keeping up with it despite the hardship, nor how his family is doing. It feels the need to reassure us that people will reach out for him even if he's in hell, that even if he had to give up on his family, he now as a new found family.

It's thematically consistent with the theme of reaching out but... the fact it overwrites the atonement arc honestly FOR ME doesn't work so great.

I think it's an overall problem of the 'reaching out message'.

While in itself is beautiful... it saves nothing I was lead to care about.

In Enji's case I was interested in his atonement arc, in how he could help his kids. I wanted more of that, partly because his atonement arc is so far from my culture, partly because it touched characters I cared about, I wanted to be reassured he would keep on working on it and that his family would be well.

Yes, he should be in hell, but the story didn't really work hard on trying to make me worry for him as it established already a support network for him. The story made me worry for the kids, for Touya, who was dying, for Fuyumi, who wanted back her family and won't have it, for Natsuo, who's marrying an unknown character so young, for Shouto, who has to cope with the loss of the brother with whom he wanted to connect.

I don't really care Burnin, Onima, Kido and Hawks are willing to continue to protect Enji, to reach out to help him, I knew they would, I wanted to be reassured Enji's kids are safe, well and protected. I wanted to see ENJI reach out and help them.

In this vein I don't really care the old grandmother saved a nameless abused kid, or, at least, not as much as I cared for Tomura to be saved. It's nice she saved him, it's nice he gets to live the life Tomura was denied but honestly, he's a mob character with a super tragic backstory created deliberately to force us to emotionally connect to him.

The message he now will be saved is good, but my emotional investment to him is too little.

The same applies to Uraraka's Quirk counsueling program, we knew next to nothing about the Quirk consueling previous program beyond that it didn't work (a real problem in Japan as they have a school consueling program that didn't work... and changes are in progress) and that now it supposedly does.

To how Shouji now solves peacefully plenty of conflicts caused by Heteromorph discrimination, which Horikoshi tossed in later and never really showed how to solve (and, don't take me wrong, it's not solved even by Shouji, he just solves peacefully the conflicts, how is up to everyone's speculation).

Long story short, I think Horikoshi worked really hard for BNHA to have an optimist, hopeful message... but part of it goes lost in cultural differences and part of it goes lost in how the story didn't try to get me invested in the things it's now saving.

So yeah, I'm still sad for this little panel in chap 430

I guess I'll eventually get over it. Today though, it's not that day.

On a positive note... if we count the pages of all the chapters that should go in vol 42 they're only 132. The chapters that were meant to go into Vol 39 had 165 (which yes, Horikoshi further expanded once the volume was released).

So yeah, unless Vol 42 will be slimmer than usual or that he'll add to it some sidestory or extra story, it's possible we'll get more plot in terms of epilogue. We'll see.

(also yes, I'm not touching Rei in this post. Rei is another can of worm entirely and one, I fear, Horikoshi doesn't care about. The poor woman doesn't even get a profile while Ikoma Komari does. And really, I do think Rei is much more important than Ikoma Komari)

Last, but not least, since someone seems to get the wrong idea, in case it wasn't clear enough, I'm not Japanese. I research on this. Through books, through the net and yeah, since I like to read manga and anime also through them which I often use as a source of comparison because they're easy, accessible to many and represent the same kind of media BNHA is so they more or less move according to the same or similar rules. I might have messed up somewhere. I encourage you to also research on the topic and take everything with a grain or two of salt.

#boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #Todoroki Enji #Todoroki Rei #Todoroki Touya #Todoroki Fuyumi #Todoroki Natsuo #Todoroki Shouto.#bnha ramblings #bnha meta

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shmowder · 7 months ago

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In P1, it always felt like Artemy glossed over his father's death, like he didn't give much of a reaction nor act like someone would in a state of grief. You get more lines to address it in P2, more opportunities to reminisce about the past and Artemy's childhood. It feels like you go through the stages of grief with him. You watch him miss the dad he had whilst accepting his death. He kneels at the pit of mass graves with the thread in his pocket, witnessing the dead speak and his only question was if his dad can hear him one last time. A stark contrast to how cold-hearted he seemed to onlookers in P1.

It made me question if he even cared that his father had died, if it even mattered to Artemy. Sure he always has shown concern to who killed his father and diligence to fullfill his role as menkhu, but nothing beyond that. Nothing personal, as if he was using revenge as a distraction from facing his emotions.

Sometimes, in P1, you get lines like these.

And it's sudden, abrupt, and completely takes you off guard from how out of tone it feels. How just the mention of his father has him suddenly getting agitated, ignoring the facts. Each time any character mentions Isidor and talks about him freely, Artemy gets the option to tell them to shut up and that they don't know what they're talking about, that they can't possibly understand. It can lock you out of quests.

In one conversation, you get that option 3 times in a row, and you have to avoid choosing it each time so you don't end the quest. Artemy actively has to stop himself from snapping at people left and right so he doesn't throw away all of the progress he has made.

A literal explosion of emotions after days of silence and going as business usual, pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Mind you, that dialogue line above happens in the same conversation as this one below. So by that point, Artemy snapped at someone he considered a friend.

Artemy is grieving, Artemy is distraught, and he doesn't know how to deal with these emotions in P1. So he supresses them, doesn't acknowledge the lines Isidor writes about wishing his son was by his side in his dairy, doesn't accept any condolences nor pity.

He puts a facade of composure since he stepped foot off of that train, a mask of apathy so he doesn't appear weak to anyone in this town. He can't be Artemy the son, he needs to be Burakh the wise menkhu, the warden of kin, the healer his father diligently raised him to be.

He has no time to think about it, he needs to invent a cure, he needs to protect the children, he...needs his dad but that dad is gone.

In P2, he hasn't seen his father in 5 years, but in P1? 10. A decade came and went. How lonely it must have felt, how long the ride on the train back home must have been. How suffocating that anxiety of facing your family after a decade without contact, wondering if his farher would be proud of who he has become. That feeling that you're in trouble when a parent addresses you by your full name and urges you to come see them, it's like he was 10 years again. How could he have known that in the same night he'll come back home to being the last remaining Burakh in town.

#♧Artemy #♧Isidor #♧character study #artemy burakh #pathologic classic hd #pathologic #isidor burakh #pathologic 2

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nimiana · 29 days ago

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Orin the Red, importance of burial and bodily autonomy or lack thereof

Orin doesn't leave a body behind. Her remains are similar to her armor - a bloody mess that doesn't even resemble a person. It's not even marked as Orin. You want to cast speak with the dead on her? Too bad.

Mutilation of a corpse and lack of proper burial is one of the biggest fears that's been haunting humanity and, as I believe, further reinforces the overall theme of Orin's lack of personhood. Since I have a degree in classics and I'm slightly insane about the similarities between House of Atreus and Bhaalfamily, let's dig into the topic from the perspective of Greek texts.

Starting with the Iliad. Thorough the story, despite gory and very detailed description of each death, battles end with a truce allowing both sides to gather their dead and give them a proper burial:

VII 380-7, tr. R. Fagles.

Hector's dying wish is for his body to be return to his family:

which Achilles immediately refuses - thus breaking the custom:

Op. cit. XXII 398-417.

See Andromache's lament at the sight of Achilles' mutilating Hector's corpse:

Op. cit. XXII 597-605.

Her speech paints a grim picture of rot, pointing to physical destruction of Hector's body and contrasting it with care and love he should be treated with.

Achilles' actions finally bring down divine intervention as Apollo urges other gods to stop his madness:

Op. cit. XXIV 39-51.

Achilles is likened to a lion - his lack of respect for burial rites is inhuman. Compassion (ἔλεος) and respect (αἰδώς) are a meter of one's humanity. What to we get from it? One of earliest known literary works underlines that even in the midst of brutal war, act of proper burial is sacred, regardless of the enmity between men. Deliberate mutialtion of corpse and denial of one's burial is horrific and impious. To quote Emily Vermeule:

Moving on to classical times. Before we go to Antigone, let's make a short stop for the Oresteia cycle. Twice is mentioned that Klytemnestra not only murdered Agamemnon, but also mutilated his corpse:

Sophokles, Elektra, 439-447, tr. H. Kitto.

Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, 439-443,. tr. A. Brown

Verb μασχαλίζειν is used in both instances, and, as Francis Dunn points out, evidence suggests that it adapts ritualistic language more fit to animal sacrifice to describe disfiguration of a corpse with intention of either shame towards the deceased and their family. Again we see that the idea of mutilation of a corpse is seen as something extreme and wrong, that should stir the audience with anger.

Now, Antigone (and Seven Agains Thebes). The story of brothers killing each other, resulting in one of them being denied the right to burial. Without getting into the debate of whethere state can dictate laws and natural versus cultural orders of things, let's see how the issue of leaving corpse unburied is described.

Aeschylus, Seven Against Thebes, 1294-1311, tr. H. Bacon

Op. cit. 1324-37

Op. cit. 1368-74

Firstly, lack of burial is an extension of punishment and secondly, grieving one's nearest kin is an universal, basic feeling.

Sophokles, Antigone, 961-79, tr. R. Gibbons, C. Segal

Antigone's speech points out one more important thing: burial must be carried out by one's nearest kin (to which I will come back later). She (and her sister) are the last remaining members of their family and the responsibility falls on them.

The last example is, chronologically speaking, the youngest, but nonetheless striking. In one of his partially surviving comedies (yeah, comedies), The Shield, Menander describes in detail a gory afermath of a battle from the perspective of a survivor who lost his master in a turmoil. As a result, a family is bereaved of an heir and left without his body to bury.

Tr. S. Ireland.

The play itself was written and staged during the period the Wars of the Diadochi. Menander described a grim scene - mass grave, mutilated bodies, lack of proper, individual burial - which was a well known reality for his audience and a nightmare that haunt them. The story ends with the young master alive and returned to his family, giving the viewers a sense of closure they couldn't have in reality.

Leaving the fiction behind, public funerals and annually paid honors to the deceased were also important for shaping collective memory. Families of men killed in combat had a chance to cherish memories of them and, in case of young children, to learn about their fathers.

Ever since the Homeric epics, the theme of immortality gained through collective memory is prevelant. Memory is shaped during funerary rites and cult surrounding the burial site, for which physical remains are necessary. As Gregory Nagy concludes:

And, lastly, despite funrary games being public and serving the purpose of a state, funeral itself was a family business and duty (hence the disruptions in funerary practice in the house of Atreus served to show how badly the family was messed up).

What does it mean for Orin?

Orin cannot be buried. As a result, she cannot be properly mourned and remembered. She is bereaved of this incredibly basic, primal right that no one should be denied.

If she can't be remembered, did she even exist? Was she a person?

Well, the game is inclined towards taking it from her.

Helena and Orin - mother and daughter, sister and sister - are trapped in a cycle of abuse even in death. Orin preserves Helena's body in her chambers and calls herself Helena's daughter. Where Orin's remains are gored to nothing, Helena's remains are forever embalmed in a mockery of burial.

Neither Durge, nor Orin (nor Helena!), are allowed to have a sense of personhood apart from being their father's vessels.

As someone with a bad enough relationship with my father, I am ar marvel at how the writers managed to show how abused children still yearn for their parents. It's not their affection.

The last words Orin hears before she is turned into slayer are taking her personhood away.

Off with her family tree, off with love her felt for Sarevok and any trace of affection she had for Helena, any last remaining emotion she felt about herself.

No more Orin. The fact that no body remains of her - not Orin, but Orin's Gore Pile - is the only possible consequence.

You cannot mourn murder and there's no Orin to mourn. As we've seen from cited above classical sources, mourning one's family is not only one's responsibility, it is the most basic, primal human need. How can you remember someone without burying them, without performing funerary rites from them? Every familial bond is destroyed here, every rite crooked. No one here can move on with their grief. Before Orin was murder, she was Orin, but how can anyone remember her now, with no proof that she even existed?

The last thing I have on my mind is this quote from Jean Anouilh's Antigone (tr. L. Galantiere):

She was my sister.

#hello this is me orestes i am bitter about the lack of possibility to give orin a proper burial #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #orin #orin the red #the dark urge #dark urge #bg3 orin

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wing-ed-thing · 7 months ago

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Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter VIII

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: For those of you who have been saying "wow! I wonder what's going to happen next!"... me too.

Following the last Senju raid, which had nearly decimated the Uchiha village in its entirety, the reconfiguration of the land shifted. The newly appointed clan head, Madara, led your clan up the mountains to higher ground as the Senju more than doubled their already sizeable territory, spreading across the sprawling forests.

One of many wooded mountains in the range that bisected the Land of Fire, the one that the Uchiha chose to call home was the largest and was appropriately dubbed the “Grandfather Summit,” which boasted three great peaks. The smaller outer two were called the “Guardian Shoulders,” while the peak in the center was simply called the “Crown.”

You supposed that some ancestors long ago had thought the sizeable structure to be anthropomorphic enough to be a golem or perhaps a god. You could see it, although the shape took on little more than what you thought a child could draw. Madara never believed that the Grandfather Summit looked much like a man at all.

“It is a large pile of stone and nothing more,” he would frown and perhaps cross his arms with a tilt of his head. But his unimpressed notion of the Grandfather Summit didn’t stop him from relocating what was left of his friends and family up the mass of rock following the most destructive blow on the Uchiha tribe in recent history.

You couldn’t believe that Madara had been able to set his pride aside for such a move. While all the clans in the Land of Fire bordered on nomadic in some way or another, a clan as large as the Uchiha typically opted to stake its claim in a sizeable plot of fertile land. After all, a clan’s ability to keep their territory was a marker of status in and of itself.

But in the end, Madara moved you away from the patch of forest you had called home for all of your life in pursuit of the Grandfather Summit. You were almost certain the remaining elders were unabashed in sharing their thoughts before they were forced to submit under Madara’s domineering presence. And you knew just as certainly that if the previous clan heads were alive, they would have given him an earful.

“They are buried so deep, the earth fills their mouths too much for chatter,” Madara would surely say.

He hardly followed rigid tradition, even when it mattered, so you weren’t surprised when protests fell on deaf ears. Madara’s changes were apparent, even from the distance you hid yourself. Only strong young men filled the war room, with no wrinkled brow or shaky joint to be seen. Just like Madara, they were all chosen through combat.

Madara took his place in the center of the room, stroking his chin gravely as he studied the map. Izuna stood at his side, both wrists folded and resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. Four stones sat each corner of the table, holding down the corners and pulling the artisanal paper taut as the band of Uchiha warriors took turns gesturing and poking at the depictions drawn below.

The Uchiha settlement sat between the Crown and the southern shoulder, which offered the most fertile and settleable land. Although despite resting on the lower of the collection of peaks, the southern shoulder still undoubtedly offered the highest ground compared to the land in the surrounding radius. The current positioning of the Uchiha compound was second only to the treacherous northern shoulder and the Crown itself, which reached the clouds in the heavens above.

It was no wonder the Senju were beginning to close in from the north.

At least, it made sense to you. You were no military strategist.

“It would be impossible.” One of Madara’s councilmen scoffed. You saw the flippant wave of a hand through the crack between the windowsill and the closed shutters. “Say the Senju manage the northern Guardian. The chances of their warriors taking on the Crown are slim to none in and of itself. There is too much to lose in an attempt to ambush us from the skies.”

“Nay, save such speculative talk, for we are far past speculation.” Another flippant wave. “The Senju have already sunk their claws deep into the northern shoulder. Farther than we could have ever anticipated. Perhaps your words would be true if we had only heard rumors of their traveling north, but it was only a sennight ago that my brother carried a Senju crest back with him from patrols.”

“An ambush from the highest peak of the Grandfather himself?” A third voice scoffed. A shadow teetered back and forth, swiping across your eyes from where you hid, wavering in the candlelight. “What must Hashirama Senju be thinking? He is certainly out of his own head! He thinks himself a god!”

“He thinks himself nothing.” Madara’s voice was low and raspy, churning in his chest like a beastly growl. His nose scrunched to the side, contrasting the nonchalant bob of his brow and shrug of his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, allowing his forehead to rest in the area between his index finger and thumb. Madara took a deep breath, letting another growl-like rumble resound in his chest. “He thinks himself nothing.”

The light from the candles that lit the room flickered, casting shallow shadows across the warriors gathered. They littered the room silently; all turned toward their clan head with watchful eyes.

No one dared speak but Izuna.

He leaned down, bowing at the waist, to speak directly into his brother’s ear. Madara quirked an attentive brow.

The red pattern of your already ignited sharingan swirled in your irises as you watched from your hiding place. Your breathing slowed to steady streams of hot air, and all of your attention focused on Izuna’s lips.

“It is worth considering that the Senju…” A curtain of hair fell over the side of his face, obscuring your view. He continued to whisper as you tried to track the movements of his mouth from behind strands of hair.

A chill came over you. Goosebumps began to pop up across your skin. A shiver worked its way down your body in a wave, starting from your shoulders and ending at your thighs. It was only then that you met Madara’s eye.

He peered directly at you, straight through the tiny slit between where the window and the shudders were supposed to meet. Your breath hitched in your throat, everything around you slowing as you felt the hairs on your arms rise.

And with the slightest breeze, you were whisked away like smoke in the cool summer air.

***

The meeting didn’t adjourn until late into the night, and it was only when the candles were snuffed out that the soldiers began to head home. The moon shone brightly overhead, appearing more prominent in the sky than it had during any of the previous seasons. Even without lanterns, the entire Uchiha compound remained well-lit. Madara and his forces trickled out of the meeting building’s doors, exchanging formal nods with each other as they set off onto the moonlit paths.

Madara paused before the wooden steps, eyes focused on the trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Izuna stood on the porch behind him, silently following his brother’s gaze from the trees back to Madara.

He lingered on the Uchiha clan head for a moment before making his way down the steps. Izuna approached him with certainty, placing a firm hand on Madara’s shoulder. Only through touch did Madara snap out of his trance, blinking a few times as he tried to conceal his acute surprise. Izuna returned his hand to his other in their usual resting place at the hilt of his katana, offering his brother a knowing nod.

Madara wordlessly understood, making his way down the dark path toward home.

Izuna loitered in the middle of the dirt road. His shoulders relaxed under his robes, and his hands never once left their slack position across his weapon as he watched Madara disappear farther and farther into the distance.

Only when Madara disappeared over the small dirt hill in the distance did Izuna set his sights on the trees. He peered at the spot where Madara had been fixated on, slowly pivoting himself in the earth to face the patch of dark forest.

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded. His gentle voice carried a great sternness.

He stood patiently in the open, ever so sure of himself and not in need to prove it.

You respected a man’s ability to manage his seriousness devoid of aggression. That was likely why you obeyed him, moving out of the shadows to step into the moonlit patch of road not too far of a distance in front of him.

If it were up to you, Izuna would be clan head.

Not that you had any power to make those decisions in the first place.

Izuna eyed you with mild incredulousness. You expected no less from him.

“I told you to reveal yourself,” he repeated, voice ever-neutral. You sighed softly, bowing your head as the double before Izuna melted into the atmosphere. Your true body emerged from behind a nearby tree a distance away. Izuna continued to eye you wordlessly.

“I deemed it worth an attempt,” you said, clearing your throat. Izuna didn’t humor you.

“You forget yourself.”

Quiet overtook the night once again. You dared to venture farther from your hiding spot, stepping through the grass toward the ever-still Izuna. Your limbs protested, your instincts locking your joints like those of a wooden doll. You stopped at the edge of the path, protected by the shallow shadows of the trees and feet still planted in the line of the forest.

You could see the tension build in his neck. Having already been lost in thought with the Senju affairs, you were sure your woman’s trick hadn’t been the most well-thought-out plan in the face of Izuna’s clear vexation. Quite a few Uchiha women were known to unlock their ocular abilities, but unlike their male counterparts who were expected to partake in battle, the Uchiha women’s sharingan techniques were almost entirely passive.

Most of them centered on making illusions, for an image of a beautiful, vulnerable woman alone in the woods may distract enemy warriors long enough for a mother to escape with her children. The mother often taught these techniques to the young in her home for similar survival reasons.

You waited for Izuna to speak again. It was best to wait, as unlike Madara’s explosive, violent fits of predictable rage, Izuna kept his rage artfully, dangerously restrained. Like storm clouds slowly rolling in to cover the sky above, you knew that Izuna’s thunder could crack at any moment.

“I will have no more of your nonsense, and neither will Madara,” Izuna harshly proclaimed. He slowly turned away from you, hands never moving from where they sat on the hilt of his swords. The skin of his nose crinkled a bit as if he were holding back a bitter snarl. “You know not what you involve yourself with. A woman knows nothing of the matters of men, nor should she be as involved as my brother has allowed you to be. If I were clan head, an apprentice would have replaced you as apothecary long ago.”

You stared at him as he tried to fight off the bitter look that threatened to contort his face. The redness of your sharingan had long extinguished, but you hardly needed the enhancement to study the man before you.

“There is none more knowledgeable at the present. Makihara was… Makihara was far too liberal in his ideologies. And with the war effort, we cannot afford a lesser medicine maker.” His stoic exterior faltered for a moment with a dip of his lip. Izuna gazed somewhere in the distance, lost in an anger caused by something greater than you. “But above all, Madara wishes not to take more from you than has already been stripped of you by the Senju.”

Izuna drew his attention from the ground to the moonlit sky overhead. A full moon peaked from behind the thin clouds, illuminating the road in a silver sheen. He pivoted a foot as he regarded you, the cracks in his exterior beginning to sink back into his cold exterior.

“Then, it is not in your control,” The gentle evening breeze carried your level voice. It was soft and undaunted, like an Uchiha woman should be. “Nor is it in mine.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked in an even tone. “I ask myself why you forget yourself so, and why has fate encouraged you?” Izuna gazed up once again at the sky.

You stood in the darkness, shrouded by the forest.

Izuna stood elevated in the light, blanketed by the glow of the night.

“An Uchiha, yes,” he continued coldly as if the words he recited were nothing less than factual. “But you boast no living blood. You, a woman— you have no interest in the value of tradition. Instead, you busy yourself with matters that do not concern you.” Izuna’s gaze sharpened but didn’t narrow. “Your heart is easily swayed. Your flesh is soft and bleeds when it is struck. You consider not what is done on your behalf; I implore you to consider it.”

Izuna’s sword drew from his hip in a flash, and the tip of his katana drove into the ground. The polished metal sunk a few inches before stopping.

He finally breathed. He hadn’t realized that he had begun to heave or that his sword had been pulled from its sheath. Izuna stared at the hilt for a moment; hand still gripped around the woven handle.

“I advise you to retreat from this place,” he muttered, heaving another deep breath as he removed his weapon and slid it back into its usual place by his hip. Izuna turned once more, squaring his shoulders back as if the mere act of speaking to you angered him to the core. His robes snapped with the motion, flowing in the air as he stormed off, ever-militant. “Our world as we know it thrives on deception, and you are no different. Retreat before your illusion fades like the fog before a flame.”

He stalked off down the path, leaving you where you stood in the darkness. Your form remained shaken but undaunted.

***

The Uchiha’s most formidable forces were venturing off to defend the northern shoulder. It was the talk of the village from as early as daybreak, and the entire compound bustled with life as everyone made preparations.

The journey that the warriors were to be making was most perilous. Due to the incline, there was no better way to reach the northern shoulder than to pass around the Crown summit. If Madara were to lead them upward, the warrior party would encounter a few narrow routes that led directly north. If only a few warriors were leaving, the journey might have only taken about a day or so, but with a battalion the size that Madara selected, you anticipated that it would take them a few days to reach the northern shoulder.

Women carried back firewood and prepared provisions. Children ran across the village, delivering messages and small amounts of raw materials. Metal on metal sounded from the forge. The ovens churned the scent of bread products into the air. And just shy of the center of town sat your apothecary.

You propped the door with a large rock and tied the shudders open that morning. Warm natural light trickled into the main chamber, where you stood, slaving over a mortar and pestle at the counter.

The apothecary didn’t appear too dissimilar to your old workspace. Made of mostly wood, it stood on giant tree trunk supports. Five wooden stairs led up to the entrance, and a small patio housed a few pots of herbs.

Large cabinets lined the walls, reaching about hip height with sturdy shelving just above to house a tall arrangement of medicinal goods. A half counter bisected the room, separating the entrance lined with goods from the back of the building, which flared out a short distance on either side. Heavier jars and handling tools were stored in this section farther into the apothecary, leaving room on the extended countertops for you to use as a workspace.

In the very back stood a winding wooden staircase. At the top sat a loft with a small library, and at the bottom was a door out the back into the small plot of land you called your medicinal garden.

Madara’s warpath kept your counters as messy as ever. To your left, you kept trays of various herbs and mixtures laid out, ready for the adolescent soldiers to pack into bags to put into field kits.

“You should be able to administer the wound ointment.” You frowned, stopping your work to hold up the two halves of your concoction. “First, you are to place the powder—”

“I am aware of the ways in which to administer medicine,” Madara groaned, letting his head tilt back. He rolled it from shoulder to shoulder, gazing off toward the ceiling as if that would make you stop talking. “I have not the time to learn your convoluted experiment. Where are the items I requested from you? Izuna should have notified you.”

Madara leaned over your counter, and you met his gaze. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was bored, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable. With you behind the counter and Madara imposing himself onto your workspace, it was almost as if you were sixteen again.

“Some things never change,” you sighed. You turned to grab a small bowl from an eye-level shelf and placed it down on the counter with a huff. Madara caught your eye again, but despite the glimmer of curiosity that continued to swim in his dark irises, you knew better than to test him like you would have just a few years prior. “I insist that we try the deep-wound treatment first. The fibrous characteristics of the vallestinia, in combination with some moisture and the accelerant-type factors of the lamortens grand, can quite plainly sew tissue together with chakra in a matter of moments—”

“Unnecessary.” Madara placed his entire hand into the bowl, scooping up a palmful of pills. He let them slip through his fingers, falling back into the pile as he considered them. “The Senju will not allow us any time to spare to make use of lengthy healing processes.”

“But you wanted me to create these,” you posed, holding your tongue from making more than an implied criticism.

The last of the pills fell back into the bowl. Madara stared at the small compilation.

“I do not doubt that Hashirama Senju will be present on the northern shoulder,” Madara drawled, pausing between phrases. “The surrounding clans grow weary of battle, and I must admit that I have grown… tired of the state of affairs.”

“You?” you hummed an amused laugh behind tight lips. “The grand Madara fatigued of battle?”

“Fatigued from the act of burial,” he swiftly corrected. The corners of his lips twitched upward for only a moment. “Fatigued from my home being disturbed.” His words drifted off into a growl, a soft, bored rumbling in his chest. Madara often let his voice stall in his throat, the noises turning over as they churned into a low rumble.

“This is why I implore you to bring my latest ointment. There are but a few of them—”

“The Senju do not climb upon the Grandfather Summit to entertain prisoners. Should a warrior of the Uchiha sustain a fatal blow, he should take it upon himself to give his life in a suicide attack. It should be an honor for the final act of a soldier to be making his enemy pay.” He rose to his full height from his leaning position, glancing from the trays of herbs to the pile of pills on the counter. “Are these all you have crafted?”

“There are several more jars in storage. The herbs consist of a standard selection for minor wounds… for the journey home, of course.”

“Very good.” Madara nodded, not sparing you a second glance as he exited.

You wouldn’t see him again until the battalion departed. After a few short days of preparation, the gathering of some of Uchiha’s best warriors and other volunteers left before daybreak. You watched them go from the porch of your apothecary. Madara led them out of the compound, donning his infamous red battle armor and gunbai. Izuna followed close next to his brother. He didn’t look back at you either.

There was much fanfare, but it was soon over, and the Uchiha compound was left in peaceful stillness.

You busied yourself with foraging in the woods near the compound, enjoying the time you were left undisturbed. The doors and windows to your apothecary remained open so you could enjoy the cool summer air. Despite the sun, which shone brightly overhead, the temperature remained comfortable.

Something about the stillness didn’t feel right.

***

The Uchiha never made it to the northern shoulder.

The Senju made their approach toward the Crown, and both clans clashed on the rocky terrain that plateaued between the two summits as you tended to your garden at home. Madara and Hashirama engaged in combat, as they had for years, clearing out a massive section of the battlefield for their duel. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on the unforgiving field, leaving little but hot stone and wilted grass.

Not a far distance away, Tobirama’s sword clashed with Izuna’s. Their weapons crossed, shaking with the sheer force of their strikes as the two came face to face. Izuna flashed his sharingan, the deadly crimson pattern swirling to life in the heat of battle. Tobirama quickly closed his eyes, and Izuna used the opportunity to strike.

Tobirama tumbled back, slamming his back against a nearby boulder. A strangled noise tore from his throat at the impact. He wasted little time readying his hand signs, completing his jutsu before his eyes reopened in time to counter Izuna’s great fireball jutsu.

Steam filled the battlefield.

Not one to underestimate his life-long rival, Izuna held the reds of his irises at the ready, scanning the rock for signs of movement. Kunai flew toward him from the front. He hummed to himself, unamused at the feeble attempt.

And for a moment, he considered himself blessed to have been blessed with the sharingan eye.

“Flying Raijin Slice!”

At home, one of your flower pots fell from the railing on the apothecary patio. The sound of shattering clay startled a flock of crows, which flew overhead from a gathering of nearby trees. You stood just at the top of the wooden steps, staring down at the pile of shards, dirt, and upheaved roots.

You could feel it.

Something was terribly wrong.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: The last chapter, this one, and perhaps part of the next are a bit Uchiha-centric in order to set up for what I have planned. You know, I didn't even intend for Madara to have this much of an impact on the story nor did I even consider writing any Izuna, but here we are... I knew I had to kill him before I posted this.

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting. It's been really cool seeing the Foul Creature notifications roll in all the time. Especially when it's someone starting from Chapter 1. Always feel free to chat; I know my posts are few and far between.

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

#Tobirama x reader #Madara x reader #izuna x reader #naruto x reader #naruto reader insert #naruto #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #izuna uchiha #madara uchiha #hashirama senju #tobirama senju #x reader #x you #reader insert #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #x naruto #fic: foul creature

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sleepyowlwrites · 1 month ago

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it's that time of year. I must give you spooky songs.

I'm not just throwing my playlists at you, either. you can find all 200+ of my playlists on my spotify. spooky is a blanket term, okay. the vibes are expansive but there's something...there.

spooky but in the background, mostly

the Ghost songs by Louie Zong

Ancient Souls - The Daniel Pemberton TV Orchestra

Edge of Night - Cullen Vance

The Mist - Max LL

The Inevitable Haunted House - Boqeh

Mass (Re-Imagined) - Phoria

Dispossession - SQUARE ENIX MUSIC

Ceaseless Watcher - harvo

Waltz of the Bone King - Peter Gaundry

Thryy Wyrd Tynns - Alec Holowka

Dance Off - Heloise Tunstall-Behrens & Auclair

Dragon Lullaby - Dave Volpe

The Gambit of Night - Neil DeGraide, Dirt Poor Robbins

Sleep - The Last Bison

Mausoleum - Rafferty

White Specter - Adrian Von Ziegler

spooky but there's something here with you, a creature?

Fangs - Little Red Lung

Rusalka, Rusalka / Wild Rushes - The Decemberists

That Unwanted Animal - The Amazing Devil

Into the Woods - PHILDEL

Into the Unknown - Evetty

The Nowhere King - The Centaurworld Cast

Aha! - Imogen Heap

The Glow - The Last Bison

Nature Girl - Cryoshell

Running with the Wolves - AURORA

Howling Moon - Coleman Hall

The Pines - Roses & Revolutions

Caterpillars (Of the Commonwealth) - Will Connolly

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

Errasuriz - Kiltro

Bloodsuckers - Johnny Hollow

We Have It All - Pim Stones

spooky but maybe it's you

Devourer - Aideoneus

When I Was Done Dying - Dan Deacon

The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron

So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star

The Mortal Boy King - The Paper Kites

Stone Wall, Stone Fence - Gregory and the Hawk

Ghosts - James Vincent McMorrow

Oceanica - San Fermin

Going - Tow'rs

Sticks and Stones - The Pierces

Strange - Runah

All Things Devour - aseaes

Raise the Dead - RAIGN

Sunlit Grave - Saint Mesa

Remain Nameless - Florence + the Machine

spooky but we're having a good time, I think

Let's B Goblins! - Ratwyfe

Death, Thrice Drawn - The Scary Jokes

Great Vacation - Dirt Poor Robbins

Face the Night - Tennyson

Skeleton Song - Kate Nash

Bones - anne october

The Magic - Lola Blanc

All Is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye) - Radical Face

the jester - ratz

spooky but in pastels

In The Beginning - Fahrenhaidt

Kiss the Grass - The Paper Kites

Butterfly Water - Pastelle

I Was Feeling Down, I Found a Nice Witch and We're Friends - In Love With a Ghost

The Ancestor - Darlingside

Entangled Life - Merlin Sheldrake, Cosmo Sheldrake

Night Owls - Mree

#sleepy recs

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blackbloodteeth · 2 months ago

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Shout-out to @chickycherrycola and @mellancholy-morose for pushing me to do a quick snippet for the night (and @silluuuu because I was unashamedly thinking about Thief during this too haha), had a lot of fun with this one haha

————

He never thought he was that kinda guy – He had standards, taste. After all, when one is so soul-deep tied to a piano's keys, it's only natural to be so musically inclined. Fine-tuned, even.

And yet this gal just had to come along, brightest spark of curiosity he'd ever seen in that nice-lookin' trench coat and plaid red skirt (he loves red, what can he say), standin' with her shoulders squared even as the lights dim, just before his next performance. The old stage floor creaks as the wheels slowly roll out into view, a dark, ebony grand piano bathed in the shadows steadily being painted in the one remaining light left, all on its own as it stops just a few feet in front of her. And what does she do? Comes up to him, bold little gleam in her pretty green eyes as she takes it like an invitation and starts tapping his damn keys.

Of course, let him step back a bit – He doesn't always mind when people do this, no. Always free show and food if someone good comes along and busts out a tune, and a delicious midnight snack if they came in after hours or were absolute shit at it. But her, no, no, no.

He's a patient guy. Sometimes he waits his turn if there's too many people in line, too many eyes on his prize for him to eat someone on the off chance in peace. But her. No, it almost made his strings snap with just how unbearably awful her playing was, I mean just Beethoven rolling in his grave level atrocious, and yet: He couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even a taste of her delightful little soul, all aglow with that smile and laughter, all genuine because he didn't scare her. She was having fun, actually honest-to-heck enjoyin' herself listening to all the different notes he made out of tune like she was a sadistic little angel and this was his punishment finally manifested.

And honestly: Really she was actually just tone deaf.

Now, you can fast-forward a bit.

That spark in Maka's eyes ignites somethin' fierce as she presses her favourite little key of his – G – and lets her fingers interlock as it rises up as a mass of shadow, quickly reforming into a hand just as dedicated to her grasp while the rest of the piano melts into the form of a person – Him. All decked out in that suit he likes, grinning all his shark teeth from behind her as he looks back with faintly glowing eyes, red like fine wine and midnight while he fully assumes his human form, white hair and all. 'Bout as much of a human piano as one would 'spect, he reckons.

"You rang," he chuckles, head cocked to see a little more of that mischief take ahold of her face again.

"Jack the Ripper's on the loose; You game?"

A dark laugh twirls her around in a dance of indulgence and misfortunate familiarity, bowing her down in a pose because he knows it annoys her as much as she allows it. "As if you had to ask."

Eyes roll, she turns the tide, leaning over him with a murderous reminder of their contract in her eyes. "Then let's go, Soul Eater."

#2024 art #writing #soul eater #soul variant #soul evans #maka albarn #soul x maka #(probably)

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cod-dump · 1 year ago

Note

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT88wpxHG/

I can't explain this but I know for a fact that someone sent this to the group chat with absolutely zero context

The moment Price saw the contents of the video he knew that he had to say something immediately before the boys did anything.

“If any of you take my pasta to do shit like this, all of you will get punished.”

“Threatening mass punishment like the dictator you are, I see,” muttered Soap.

The moment those words left his mouth, Price could see the regret appear on the man’s face. Gaz snickered loudly while Ghost feigned pity for Soap (though it might have been real pity). Finally, Soap stood and ran, causing Gaz to laugh out loud. Price huffs before he looks to the remaining two men.

“No pasta shenanigans. Ya hear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good.”

But, alas, pasta shenanigans would occur anyway. But not by his boys, no. By Graves and his Shadows. Well, Graves wasn’t actively doing anything, but he was observing the Shadows ruin Price’s pasta. Price was speechless was he walked in the room, pasta pieces everywhere. Graves noticed his expression and just patted his shoulder.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I’ll get you more noodles.”

Price could hear the boys losing their shit somewhere behind him, which led him to believe that they had something to do with this. Price turned and glared at the three who silenced their laughter and ran. Oh, they were going to pay for this.

#call of duty #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #phillip graves #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #drabble #ficlet #shadow company

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bonefall · 1 year ago

Note

Can we hear about the Guardians too? I forget if you've already talked about them, but what about their afterlife? Where'd they come from? What're their ideas about gender, culturally?

Anon you got me feeling like an elder telling stories to kits again lmao. All righty. Elder Bones gonna teach you a bit about the Guardians.

Troutfur and I are building out a rough draft for their language too so I'll give you a preview of that, too. Let's start there, in fact.

GUARDMEW

Is an SVO order language, just like English. We Cultivate Roses. Subject, Verb, Object. This is going to come up a lot in BB!ASC when Berryheart, the Evil Educator, critiques a ton of Sunbeam's grammar.

Unlike Clanmew with each verb morpheme being used in full to describe a past action and shortened for present tense (pabrpabrpabr vs pabrpabr) Guardmew uses suffixes, also just like English. Sunbeam picked up the habit from her mentor, and Berryheart HATES that she will say "Pabrpabryr" instead of "Pabrpabrpabr."

But anyway, forget the setup we've got going for ASC. Let's just talk a little more about Guardmew.

It is in the same lingustic family as Clanmew, descending from Lakemew. Of all the living languages, Guardmew is closest to the ancestral form, since it was born directly from refugees fleeing eastward, from the tyranny of Holly Leaves.

They also have the concept of Threat Level, with pronouns built around skill for people, and benignness for everything else. That means, they have completely separate pronouns for cats, but classify plants and animals based on how they act on the environment.

For examples, their leader Spiresight shares the same pronouns as their "elders" and most experienced craftsmen. The building they live in will use the "respected object" pronoun. A plant with an infectious mold, or an invasive weed, will have a "malignant" pronoun.

CULTIVATION CULTURE

While Tribe cats encourage traveling, Guardians are the opposite. They believe in the value of setting down roots, and cultivating your homespace. If you go somewhere, they expect you to take care of it well.

The Church that Dovewing found is not the only place where Guardians live in that geographic region. They tend to name their groups after a major landmark-- she found the Guardians of the Spire.

They manage their land in a way that attracts wild animals, and then attempt to selectively hunt the animals that live on that range. In a way, it's like a carnivore's approach to agriculture.

If the Clans have a specialty in combat, and the Tribe has a specialty in hunting, Guardians can be considered to have a specialty in construction.

AFTERLIFE SYSTEM

If they have a Hell, it was made by Sol. But I'm not sure if they have one of those.

They DO have a heaven though-- they call it The Firmament.

The Firmament is the ground, but it's specifically your home soil. To Guardians, the more people who are buried somewhere, the more power that ground has. They believe that buried bones are proof that the soul still remains within the Firmament, and remains are NEVER to be disturbed.

They try to avoid the graveyards of humans and bury their prey neatly in "mass graves," pits dug neatly and only totally covered bi-weekly. Because there's such a strong taboo against disturbing remains, they are VERY careful about where Guardians are buried, and try to cover them with carefully arranged stones and woody plants so these graves are not disturbed.

After death, the flesh of the body must rot away into soil. They believe that this allows you to experience The Firmament TRULY, as a mole or an earthworm does. It becomes a new world, and you no longer see dirt, but the connections between everything.

You could describe this as "Monotheistic." They believe that when your flesh melts away, you join The Firmament. Your bones are like a conduit of the wishes you have for your loved ones still above the ground... but, these too will someday melt away! That's part of it too!

The Sky, in contrast, is a terrible, almost evil thing. In English we may say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." A Guardian would say, "When the sky rains, the firmament grows mushrooms." Weather is something to be anticipated and handled, ESPECIALLY storms.

New spirits are made from what the mother eats of the Firmament. Berries feed the mice, mice feed the cats, cats return to the Firmament. A cycle, forever.

LEADER POWER

NOTE: I should rename this BB concept, "leader power." Not all cats with these unique abilities, given by an Afterlife System are political leaders-- they're spiritual ones.

One example of this is the Groundskeeper of the Guardians. They are thought to fully reincarnate, taking new bodies over and over. When a Groundskeeper dies, they are put into the same grave as their previous incarnation, and it is believed they gain more power with each death and rebirth.

But, they are not given political authority. They have CONSTRUCTIVE authority-- advising new projects and acting as a liasion between the Firmament and the living.

Cats who are identified as Groundskeeper change their name to their old incarnation. Spiresight is the leader of the Guardians of the Spire. They're identified on their birthday, so all Groundskeepers begin at exactly 1 year old, at least 1 year after the death of the old incarnation.

Spiresight is able to "see" the world as an interred skeleton does, he is in a permanent state between life and death in their eyes.

He can "feel" when something new enters his Firmament, gage it based on its paws, weight, movement. He can can tell when a plant is sick based on how strong its roots are, or if something is being pulled up. He knows where all the skeletons are, feels the worms in the dirt, and can tell the weather from the sway of the plants above.

He can tell if a plant is sick, but not animals. Because of this, the Groundskeeper is NOT INCLUDED IN MEDICAL PROCEDURES. He may point a doctor in the way of good herbs, but all Guardians are expected to know medical knowledge significantly beyond first aid.

The Groundskeeper leads religious ceremonies, funerals, and new projects. He is socially expected to not leave the center of the territory too often, especially during storms. That aside, the Groundskeeper is allowed to have a life and family of their own, including adopting kits and having mates.

OTHER THINGS

Time for a closing list of random facts.

An adult member of the Guardians, fully trained, is called a Gardener.

They have an extreme and severe taboo against other supernatural entities. They believe that they are "of the sky" and harshly reject anything "unnatural."

This is likely because of Holly Leaves, who tried to force a star-based religion upon their ancestors.

The Guardians, like all societies, have their problems too. They don't welcome cats who return after a wander and heavily discourage leaving.

If you're going to leave, leave permanently. A dandelion seed does not return on the wind.

So returning cats, traders, and repeat visitors are treated more coldly on subsequent visits. Not always hostile-- but the welcome is not gracious.

Cats who do have to leave on a quest or for some reason have a "quarantine" period when they return. A cleansing ritual.

Kittens are named by their families, usually after consulting with the Groundskeeper. Names are often reused through generations.

A name carries association with whoever had it last; it's not quite a reincarnation so much as it is a "continuation"

Because of this, there's very rarely any new names. A cat who enters the Guardians keeps their old name, and it is entered into their "list" after they die.

This is how they get some weird ones, like Boots and Cinnamon.

When a Guardian does something awful, they're buried beyond the Firmament and their name is no longer used.

I haven't worked out their gender systems yet.

#Now try to go back to canon where they don't actually have any of this lmaoooooo #Hate how they never build out other cat cultures because they have to make the clans The Correct Way To Live #And oooough its so amazing and perfect and nothing else can compare #Shut up. Touch Firmament.#The Guardians wc #Better bones au #Man I need a tag for Cultural Overhauls #Like for all the outside groups im overhauling #In line with the spirituality overhauls #Heartstar's Rise

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voraciousvore · 8 months ago

Text

Giganterra (Chapter 10)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (9) | Next (11)

Content Warning: NSFW/ 18+!! Nonconsensual sex and vore (soft and safe)

Word Count: 3.5k

------ Chapter 10: A Full Belly ------

King Richard Hardon casually sauntered off to his private quarters, accompanied by his shadow, Ajax. The four women remaining in the cage—Candy, Jackie, Eren, and Addison—trembled as his giant form loomed over them. He didn’t break his gaze as he burned with hunger and lust. In particular, he kept returning to Candy. Eren was pretty enough, Jackie was plain, and Addison was too twiggy for his preferences, but Candy was perfect. He drank in the delicious sight of her big boobs, shapely body, and dainty features. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into her and taste her.

He climbed the stairs to his personal wing of the castle. Ajax stood guard at the door while the king entered his chambers. The room was dominated by a huge and luxurious bed with a sturdy wooden canopy frame that stretched from floor to ceiling. The bed was furnished with curtains of rich purple silk that matched the sheets. King Richard set the cage on his bed and sat down alongside it while his personal servant undressed him. Once his cumbersome outer layers of formal clothes were removed, leaving him in a soft linen undershirt and braies, he dismissed his servant so he was alone with his human prey.

The humans quivered with fear as their little confined lifeboat wallowed in a sea of purple silk. Every time the giant shifted on the mattress, they could feel the influence of his immense mass bobbing their iron boat on the silky sea, the springs of the mattress creaking and popping under his weight. He sighed with contentment, as deep as a gale of wind in a storm, as he propped up his back on a plush mountain of pillows and stretched his enormous legs out like mountain ranges of hairy living flesh. The women shirked back at the sight, submerged in raw terror. Would this be their grave as the giant slaughtered them one by one, sinking them into the crushing darkness of his throat and drowning them in his stomach? He placed the cage in between his outstretched legs, right up to his crotch, with a smirk.

“Miiiiilllliiieeee, darling! I’m back!” the king sang. He pulled aside one of the curtains to access the adjacent nightstand, which had a small glass enclosure on top. There was a human-sized bed, couch, and dresser inside, but compared to the giant room the furnishings looked like they were made for a doll. The tiny woman inside presented like a doll as well, with striking blue eyes reminiscent of marbles, fine blonde hair, and a slim, modest figure in a light dress. She had noticeable bags under her eyes, bruised with fatigue. The giant reached into her terrarium and scooped the woman out with his hand.

“Oh, so lovely to see you, Your Majesty!” Millie responded. Although she injected a positive inflection into her voice, there was a distinct note of pure despair that bled through. She was not happy to see him, not at all. She relished the few moments she had alone, when she wasn’t forced to be anywhere near the giant king, whether she was riding in his pocket or his belly, and she resented the interruption.

King Richard didn’t seem to notice her sorrow or care, however. He brought her up to his lips and gave her a sensual kiss that included rubbing his tongue over her exposed skin and even gently nibbling her with his teeth. She cringed, especially when his teeth gnawed on her breasts, but didn’t verbally protest. Her eyes watered with tears.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me back, sweetie?” Hardon questioned. His words were saccharine, but laced with the undercurrent of a threat. Millie whimpered softly before reciprocating with a small peck on his lower lip. His lips peeled back into a smug smile that turned her stomach.

“Oh, Millie, darling! How I adore thee!” the giant cooed, nuzzling her limp body with his nose. “Look, I brought you some new friends!” Millie’s frown deepened as the giant held her towards the cage so she could see the others. Jackie’s heart broke as she saw the poignant sadness etched into her expression. Millie gave them all a look of pained sympathy, cursed with the knowledge of what was to come.

King Richard hummed happily as he dropped Millie onto the wide expanse of his belly. She didn’t try to run: She knew there was no point, and she’d never escape him. He gripped the cage in his fingers, opened the door, and wormed his giant hand inside. The women shrieked and clambered to avoid him as their world rapidly morphed into a living nightmare, but he easily pinched Jackie between his fingers and tugged her out.

“No!” she cried. “Please don’t eat me!” The king sneered at her pleas. He obtained a vial of glowing blue fluid and dripped a single drop on her head. She shivered as the mysterious liquid was absorbed into her body. “W-what was that?” she stuttered.

Hardon didn’t bother to explain. He loved it when his prey was frightened and thrashed in his gut, unaware of the effects of the magical potion that prevented digestion. “Hm. Your looks leave something to be desired,” he remarked, squishing her face between his index finger and thumb. Despite the situation, Jackie deflated a bit with his insult. The king played with her in his hand, feeling up her body as she squirmed, and cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see how you look without that dress.”

“What? No!” Hardon plucked at her fine dress and tore it off with ease. Jackie gasped, reflexively trying to cover up her nudity. The king grinned, stroking her up and down with his finger. She turned a ghastly pale shade as he raised the small naked woman up to his lips. “Stop!”

She tried to kick him, but instead the giant caught her legs in his mouth and slurped half her body inside. She shrieked with terror. His lips curved into a leer as he sampled her exquisite flavor, clearly enjoying himself. Jackie clawed at his face as she was slowly sucked further and further inside, up to her belly, then her chest, then her neck, so only her head was poking out. She felt his enormous tongue wrapping around her body, sliding all over her skin as she was enveloped in heat and wetness. His teeth teased her, kneading her back and chest with the alarming reminder that he could bite down at any time and end her life.

Jackie screamed, but she was cut off as her head was lapped into his mouth with the rest of her. The remaining group watched with terror as the giant’s lips and cheeks smacked and pulsed with movement, as he shuffled her around in his mouth. He paused and gave a full swallow, sighing with pleasure as her body slid down his throat. His neck throbbed as her small body passed through, to the horror of the other humans. Millie shuddered as his belly gurgled and filled out slightly underneath her. His crotch, too, bulged with arousal.

“Mmmmm, what a treat,” Hardon praised, licking his lips. His gaze settled on the cage, his pale eyes flashing with ravenous energy. “Who’s next?” He reached his hand out again, sending his victims into pandemonium as they bounced off each other like ping pong balls. He snagged Eren and dragged her out by her leg, kicking and screaming as she swung upside-down in his grasp.

“You repulsive ogre! Let go of me!” she shouted, brandishing her fist.

The giant king chuckled. “Mouthy, aren’t you? Perfect. I like my girls with some spunk.” He flipped her around and slapped her into his palm as she swore at him with venom. A drop of liquid fell on her head and absorbed into her body like a sponge, making her tingle with an odd cooling effect. Another drop splashed on her neck, but this one was an entirely different substance, warm and wet and smelly, and Eren realized with disgust that it was saliva dripping from the giant’s greedy maw.

Eren was filled with a white-hot rage as he began to tear at the stitching on the back of her dress with his fingertips. She felt helpless as she pushed against the folds of his palm with her hands, with no result. Her dress ripped at the seams and she felt his hot breath on her bare back as his face hovered over her. He ogled her figure with pleasure and gently ran the thick tip of his finger over her exposed shoulder blades and down her spine. Eren wanted to scream.

With no other option available, Eren did the only thing she could think to do and bit the crease of his hand as hard as she could. The king let out a gasp of surprise as her teeth sank into his skin; his hold on her loosened enough for her to wriggle out of his grip. She took a wild leap of faith and jumped out of his hand, falling until she landed on his broad chest and tumbled down to his belly. Despite her disorientation, she scrambled to regain her footing on the squishy surface and sprinted away blindly as fast as possible, shoving Millie out of the way in the process. Her tattered dress was disintegrating, leaving her torso fully exposed as the ripped top dropped around her waist. She tripped over the bottom half of the cumbersome garment and ended up with her face buried in fabric. Before she could get up, she felt pressure from the pads of two gigantic fingers cinch her hips and she was thrust into the air swiftly enough to make her nauseous.

“Nice try,” the king taunted, “but there’s no escaping me, you naughty little vixen.” He grasped the lacy hem of her dress and ripped the whole thing off with a flick of his wrist. His lustful eyes raked her naked form up and down as she persisted in fruitless struggle. His stomach growled and he raised her up to the wide expanse of his lips. Eren shuddered as the giant pair of pink lips parted like the curtains on a stage, revealing teeth draped in strands of saliva and moist darkness beyond. Eren cried out as the fingers forced her inside and the jaws closed around her, extinguishing the light.

Just like with Jackie, the humans could do nothing but observe helplessly as the wriggling lump that was once recognizable as a person shifted from cheek to cheek. Candy fancied, at one point, she could even see the outline of a tiny hand pressing out against the skin, desperate for an escape. The king tilted his head back, allowing the tasty woman to slide into his gullet, before contracting his throat muscles in a mighty gulp. He traced Eren’s path through his esophagus with his finger, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as she passed into his stomach. Millie cringed as his belly expanded and twitched beneath her with a raucous grumble.

“Ahhhhh...” the giant sighed, rubbing his belly with his hand. “I can feel them squirming inside, can’t you Millie?” He grinned at her expectantly, and she gave a small nod, her eyes swimming with tears. Without any more preamble, he reached into the cage and snatched up his next living snack, Addison. She didn’t make a sound, only flailing weakly in his fingers, as if too frail to properly resist. The king frowned with mild dissatisfaction as he examined her, picking at her feeble, matchstick limbs and rotating her in his hand.

Hardon huffed. “Why would that lunkhead Chester approve this?” he mumbled. He stripped her clothes off, the grooves in his face deepening with his disgust. “She’s too thin. In fact, she’s half-starved.” He gave her a probing lick, causing her to whine with fear. “She doesn’t even taste that good.” Addison shivered, covered in spit.

“Well, whatever.” The king dripped the magic anti-digestion potion on her head. “Down the hatch you go.” He dangled her over his mouth and nonchalantly dropped her inside. She squealed like a butchered pig as she disappeared into the void. Unlike with the others, the king didn’t toss her around in his mouth, instead opting to swallow her right away. Even though he considered the offering mediocre, he still smiled and massaged his belly with his hands as she joined the others in his increasingly full stomach, which gurgled noisily with the addition of fresh meat. “Not too bad, I suppose.”

A bolt of electricity jolted through Candy as his wolfish eyes turned to her with avaricious yearning. “One more.” She scrambled to get away, pressing herself against the bars as if believing she could morph into a gelatinous ooze and miraculously squeeze through. His fingers pinched around her and pulled her out. He lifted her high in the air, bringing her in close to his face to admire her. Candy, roiling in terror, started to cry.

“P-please... let me go...” she wailed pathetically, pushing against his fingertips.

The giant man ignored her as he devoured her delectable flesh with his eyes. After placing a drop of the magic potion on her head, he began to take off her clothes, unwrapping her like a special present until she was displayed to him in all her feminine glory. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing his finger down her side. Candy trembled as he explored her curvaceous body with his huge fingers: bouncing her breasts; sliding up and down her thighs, inside and out; sensually touching her narrow waist, slim belly, and cute little backside. His lips parted with carnal passion as he leaned forward, closer and closer, over her and all around her with his overwhelming mass. She was bathed in humid breath.

“You’re perfect,” he said reverently, almost in a whisper. “Oh lord... and I haven’t even tasted you yet...” His mouth watered with anticipation. He drew her in closer to his open lips, his tongue emerging like a primordial beast from the cavernous depths. Candy whimpered as the huge tongue slid over her frontal form, from her feet to her chin, bathing her in saliva. The king moaned with pleasure and continued to lick her like a lollipop all over, in all her sweet spots, waxing with gluttonous lust.

As he tasted and teased her, he was overcome with erotic sensory overload and his hand slid down into his shorts. Millie sat dumbly on her plush belly perch, trying to block out everything that was happening around her and praying that the giant had forgotten about her as he moaned louder and jerked himself off. He began to nibble Candy with his lips, bringing her further and further into his mouth with every stroke of his lips and tongue. Candy struggled, but she couldn’t fight him as she was finally pulled over the threshold of his teeth.

She cried out as the teeth closed around her and she was completely engulfed in the soggy inside of the giant’s mouth, surrounded by walls of bone rimmed with gums, with a fleshy tongue below and curved palate above. The tongue continued to wrestle her down, throwing her about, pressing her against the teeth, dragging her underneath into the hot meaty bowl full of drool below, weighing her down in a suffocating embrace. At the base of the maw, she could feel his blood pulsing through his veins in an excited rush. His moans of pleasure rumbled the stale air around her.

The tongue scooped her back up and to her horror she found herself sliding back, towards the foreboding gullet that provided ingress to the throat. She screamed and tried to surge forward, but the tongue reared up and forced her backwards. Her feet sank into the precipitous drop below, and the throat muscles clamped down on her and dragged her under. She only had a moment to desperately claw at the squishy tongue before she was sucked into the abyss.

Candy’s scream was choked out as the swallowing motion crushed the wind from her lungs. She sank down a terrifying distance, smashed on all sides, as the deafening boom of the giant’s heartbeat and breathing vibrated through his flesh. She struggled as panic consumed her rational mind, but the powerful esophagus clenched her so tightly that she couldn’t even push back, with her arms folded against her chest. Suddenly, her legs broke free and she wriggled them wildly as she was squeezed through a ring of muscle.

She fell through open space into a lake of hot acid. The gastric fluid churned and bubbled around her with rhythmic motions from the wrinkled stomach walls, groaning and rumbling loudly as the stomach worked to digest its contents. Something snapped inside Candy’s mind at the sight and she flipped out, thrashing wildly in a futile effort to escape. She punched and kicked the walls and floundered as she was stirred in the current. She accidentally elbowed something soft that let out a squeak of pain.

“Ouch! Watch it!” Eren hissed. Candy turned to behold Eren floating alongside her in the boiling juices. She looked scared, furious, and disheveled, but what caught Candy’s attention was that her skin was glowing softly, like a paper lantern. Candy glanced down and realized her hands and arms were glowing too, with an ethereal light that weakly illuminated the hollow cavity around them. She was even more baffled, disoriented, and shaken up than before. She didn’t understand why any of this was happening, and she was terrified of dying.

“We need to get out of here!” she screeched, pummeling the squishy innards more. She bumped into Addison, who was huddled up like a lost child and sobbing uncontrollably. Jackie, too, was somewhere inside the stomach, her haunted howls of despair echoing in the fleshy chamber as she fought her gastric confinement.

Candy lost it. She wailed and cried and bemoaned what a fool she had been, to think she even had a chance to be with the giant knight who was supposedly fated to be her lover. She should’ve never listened to that fortune teller, the deceitful old hag. She never expected something so horrible to happen to her, and now she was going to die because of her own stupidity. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t accept her failure. Her sanity slipped away as she continued to lash out, embroiled in a flood of negative emotions: regret, pain, sadness, anger, defeat, and above all, terror.

On the outside, King Richard belched with satisfaction and patted his engorged belly, which was quite full after being stuffed with four tasty maidens. He enveloped Millie, who was shaking, gently in his palm and pressed her firmly into the fat of his belly. “Can you hear them in there?” he asked her with a devious chuckle.

Millie replied with a small nod. His stomach twitched and groaned with all the struggling going on inside. She could hear, muted by the thick walls of meat, tortured screams and loud squelches as the multitude of tiny prey panicked inside, not yet understanding that they were at least safe from digestion. She pushed against the giant’s belly with her palms, trying to pull away, but the giant king simply pressed her harder into his body, his belly jiggling as he laughed cruelly. Tears ran down her cheeks. She knew their pain all too well, having been ingested by the evil giant too many times to count.

“There’s room for one more,” Hardon teased, tapping his belly with the fingers of his opposite hand. Millie trembled with dread as the color sapped out of her face.

“No... anything but that...” she whimpered.

“Well then. You know what I want you to do.” The pressure on her let up as the giant loosened his hand. Millie let out a shaky sigh and wiped her eyes with her forearm. She crawled on rubbery limbs down the curve of his belly, towards his groin. She could clearly see how sexually stimulated he was from devouring the tiny women, with his enormous erection rising above her head, dwarfing her. With another heavy sigh, and a sick twisting in her guts, Millie slid under the waistband of his braies to access the tall pillar within.

King Richard reclined on his bed with sublime pleasure, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. He moaned with satisfaction and shifted his legs while his hard cock was stroked up and down by tiny hands and limbs as Millie performed for him. He also thoroughly enjoyed the ceaseless squirming in his gut. Fresh prey was the best, with how lively and terrified they were. A smile graced his lips as he thought about his favorite new addition to his collection, the big-breasted blonde lady. She was both delicious and beautiful. As much as he adored Millie, he thought to himself that this new girl might be his favorite now. He would tame her, break her, and make her his own. She would be his forever.

Chapter 11

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entertext · 1 year ago

Text

HGSN 22-3

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

Rie: How long has 'Hikaru'-kun been asleep for?

Rie: The medical examination turned up nothing, right?

Yoshiki: It's already been 2 days. It probably...takes time. For life-threatening damage

Yoshiki: So it sounds like you don't have any idea who that man was either, Kurebayashi-san?

Rie: That's right... but it sure is strange~

Rie: From the sound of it, he came to cut 'Hikaru'-kun to check if he wasn't human...

Yoshiki: A spiritual medium... or someone like that?

Rie: Then someone in Kubitachi must have hired him, right?

Rie: If that's the case, it wouldn't be strange for word of 'Hikaru'-kun to have spread under the surface

Rie: Despite that, it's been two days without anything happening

Rie: What was his goal?

Yoshiki: Wasn't it to exorcise him?

Rie: Huh? No, no, you can't, you can't!! Ahaha

Rie: There's no exorcising something like him~

Rie: Although he's much weaker, he's not at a level where humans can do anything to him.

Rie: Whether he can do anything to humans is a different matter, mind you...

Rie: What humans can do to him is to physically remove him from the village...

Rie: or perhaps lock him up?

Yoshiki: Oh, I see...

Rie: Stay on alert, and if it gets dangerous, you can take refuge at my place. I'll also look into that man

Yoshiki: "Look into"...how?

Rie: People with the sight have our own ways of searching

Rie: (A medium...? or was it that company...?)

Yoshiki: (Just a housewife...?)

TV: {Male in his twenties reported missing...last seen at Kibougayama's Darumazuka* Tunnel...}

(* - 達磨塚 - "daruma" + "mound/grave")

TV: {...a tunnel known as a famous paranormal hotspot. On the morning of the ■th, the man, a Ytuber, posted to social media, "I'm going to Darumazuka. If I make it back alive, I'll upload the video"...}

Yoshiki: (The patient in the next bed has their TV turned up so loud...)

Rie: Hey, do you know? What made Darumazuka a paranormal hotspot?

Yoshiki: It's a famous place...but I don't have a clue why

Rie: A long time back, they found bones here

Rie: A massive amount of ancient bones

Rie: This was something that happened before you were born, Tsujinaka-kun.

Rie: The odd thing was that all of the bones were only from the torso

Rie: And in Udekari, they found only bones from the arms...

Rie: And in Ashidori, only bones from the legs

Yoshiki: Uh-huh...?

Rie: It was said that there was a practice of dismembering the body for burial, but...

Rie: The strangest thing was that for all of the remains

Rie: The skulls were the only parts never found

Yoshiki: (Skulls...)

Yoshiki: Ah

Yoshiki: (The man I saw the time I was engulfed by 'Hikaru'...If you look closely, doesn't he look like Hikaru?)

Yoshiki: (A memory from Nounuki-sama of seeing the Indou's ancestor...?)

Yoshiki: ("The crime of the Indous" "A god that grants wishes in exchange for a particular kind of offering")

Yoshiki: (Severed heads?)

Yoshiki: (Now that I think about it, the monsters I've seen up til now...)

Yoshiki: (...have all been messed up above the neck)

Yoshiki: (That man offered a severed head to Nounuki-sama and wished for something)

Yoshiki: (Is that connected to the mass deaths?)

Yoshiki: (The heads went to Kubitachi...)

Yoshiki: (And the other parts were buried elsewhere?)

Yoshiki: ....

Rie: Tsujinaka-kun!

Rie: 'Hikaru'-kun has woken up...!

Yoshiki: 'Hikaru'...!!

===

Next chapter: 2023/12/19

Twitter Extra (link):

At this point...he's no longer surprised by much anymore...

Some of you may remember the Ytuber that went to Darumazuka Tunnel from the Vol 3 Promotional Riddle Game.

#hikaru ga shinda natsu #the summer hikaru died #hgsn spoilers

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henrysglock · 1 year ago

Text

Wonderful! A group of rich people died! Let’s dance on graves; I’ll get my good shoes.

But first, tell me:

Did the accident redistribute their wealth to the masses?

Did those deaths take out a harmful corporation in a way that makes life markedly better for those it was harming?

Did it enact any kind of helpful policy, regulatory, or socioeconomic change?

Or:

Are they just going to replace that CEO?

Is that wealth just going to get passed to their next of kin, remaining withheld from the masses who both need and deserve it?

Is this whole thing going to be forgotten by the next news cycle?

Is our collective glee just ‘bread and circuses’ type behavior that gloats over useless and frankly stupid deaths without any actual impact being made?

“People are justified in their lack of pro-social response to this event because of the socioeconomic state of the world.”

Okay, so show me where any of this changes the socioeconomic structure of the world. Show me where there’s anything worthy of “I hope they all die a slow, agonizing death for,” [checks notes], “hubris, a typical characteristic in most humans at some point in their lives.”

Was it all incredibly stupid? Absolutely. Did most of the dead have it coming? Absolutely. The tragedy in it is that there were no regulations in place to say “Uh…no?” when that voyage was in its planning stages.

And the worst part is? Nothing. Changes. So far, these are meaningless deaths.

Imagine we’re in ancient Rome. The CEO of Oceangate has convinced a group of his buddies (and the kid they dragged along) that “Hey, y’know what would be really fun? If we all dressed up as gladiators and paid to tussle with the lion. No, no, yeah there’s a chance you could die, but trust me, it’s gonna be so cool.” And then we all fucking ate it up, half of us cheering on the lion while the other half wept for those poor, poor rich people (yeah I know, I’m rolling my eyes too)…all under the watchful eye of our royal highnesses who put on the show: The Corporate System and The News Cycle, who both stood to profit whether the group of idiots lived or died.

Did the rich folks have it coming? Absolutely. Is it still horrific that it was allowed to happen at all? Yes.

This is why they don’t broadcast the other tragedies. It’s not good for them as a partnership. Those gut wrenching tragedies, the ones with true injustice? They don’t placate us, they upset us and turn us against those in power.

But dumb rich folks dying? On my TV? Oh goody, my fave show is on. Let’s see if it’s started another useless internet war, creating low-level enemies for us inside our screens so we forget about the real enemies for a while longer.

Not only that, but killing a CEO won’t change anything. That’s a replaceable employee, and the corporation as a unit cares about that person about as much as it cares about the rest of us (which is to say: not at all). That CEO’s wealth will just be given out to their relatives, and the money will stay contained within that family unit. The CEO will be forgotten in the next news cycle, when their death is no longer profitable for the news industry and the internet has moved onto its next useless spiral.

Guillotines in France worked because they dismantled the government, which also happened to consist of all the rich folks, to enact socioeconomic change. Thus: people celebrated the deaths of the rich, and rightfully so.

That’s not what this is. This isn’t “eating the rich”. This just the joy of entertainment, a good show.

Nothing ever changes. We stay entertained, temporarily placated by the deaths of a couple rich people.

Bread and fucking circuses.

#like yeah no shit rich people don’t care about us #but can we think critically about the situation?#please for once second can we think critically about what’s going on here?#i love dancing on the graves of those who exploit us but for the love of god can we acknowledge The Rest Of It All #i just [face in hands] it’s so interesting /neg #watching my fyp and my dash and my timeline and all that other bullshit do *exactly* what those in power want us to do #oceangate #titanic

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 months ago

Text

Behold A Pale Horse

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x female reader/ you

Content Warning: Kyle Gaz Garrick the son of a billionaire from generations of old money, mental health issues touched on and briefly explored, philosophy explored to an extent, therapist and therapy session briefly inserted. Y/N is not metioned. Reader is called nicknames like: Firecracker.

Words: 5374

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @strangergraphics

Note: Italic writing are your thoughts are. In the case, I might need to tell you before you go ahead and decide to read this.

Note 2: Listening to Moonlight Sonata 1st movement is reccommended in my opinion. But any kind of classical music will fit as well.

Summary: You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

You frowned as you looked at your paycheck, you didn’t know what to think of it. You weren’t used to having a large amount of money. Seventeen thousand pounds for the past month. It wasn’t something you felt like you could get used to anytime soon. You didn’t want to receive the pity of others.

You would rather die than receive the pity of others. Trust no one. Not even the people who call themselves your friend.

Do not mistake their kindness for affection. Show them nothing. Give them nothing.

You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

A loud voice said, come and see. Behold a pale horse. The man that sat upon his steed was death, and hell followed him like a strong stench.

You had seen enough of death to know that the voice was a mere echo of your own thoughts. Taken the name of the Grim Reaper as it was yours to keep close to your heart and soul.

You didn’t care if it was never yours to have in the same sense of those of ‘the faith’. But what they wanted didn’t matter to you.

What you needed was far more substantial, in terms of ‘soul-searching’ and finding yourself all over again. What the fuck does finding ‘your truth’ mean, anyway? It sounds more like an excuse to spend frivolous amounts of money on a useless life coach they don’t need.

You had seen the horrors of war. The screams of the innocent, the smell of burning flesh, the cold touch of death, it all clung to you like a second skin. A reminder of what you had done. What you have been a part of and still work in, manners of death.

You might as well become the fourth horseman of the apocalypse at this stage of your life with all the lives you have taken by your own hand or by the hand of fate, which you had a say in.

The voice, it was, persistent, whispering sweet nothings of destruction into your ears, guiding you through the fog of war like a siren's call leading sailors to their watery graves.

My hands are covered in a sea of blood I will never wash away. Some nights I wake screaming, thinking I’m back there in the middle of the bodies of the people I have given the death sentence to.

I do not wish to be there again.

Ever.

Yet every night I am all the way back.

Over and over again. I see each of their faces painted, tattooed into my subconscious.

I want them to leave. Not only that, but I tell them to leave.

Yet they never seem to listen to me.

As if all I say is empowering them to remain in my mind.

Religion cannot save me.

Therapy is the route I have not taken seriously as of late. It is a sign.

I will go upon this path. Before hell itself consumes my soul.

Father, have I done the right thing?

Mother, are you ashamed of what I have unleashed?

I have created many men and women widows.

Created many children into a mass of orphans.

Yet the superiors of mine clap my shoulder and congratulate me as if I had done the greatest deed man could ever accomplish.

To me? It is the greatest burden I have dealt with.

The weight of their lives on my shoulders, a heavy crown of thorns digging deep into my skin. But I wear it, for the sake of what? The country? The queen? Or the fear that I might just be a monster in the eyes of society.

Yet nothing I could have done while you were alive would have been good enough for either of you.

The push to succeed, much like my older brothers before me. You neglected what I wanted in service to your own needs.

To your own wants and desires. Inside layers of a play written by William Shakespeare.

One where everyone has their part but me. One where everyone knows what their part entails and the consequences that come with it.

But I don't. I am the puppeteer whose strings are tangled, and the puppet is dancing to a tune I never knew.

But you can’t force people to like you. To love you. To adore you.

You cannot force people to do anything.

A dance where everyone expects you to know all the steps of once you have reached a certain point in your life.

“Dr. Stone. I was sincere in hoping therapy might unearth a lot of my….emotional baggage.” You told your doctor.

Your black skirt feeling more like a twisted contraption you were dying to take off by the time you were done in the doctor's office.

Her eyes were kind, understanding, a tad bit pitying. The kind of pity which always seem to make you want to scream. She nodded gently, her long platinum blonde hair brushing past her shoulders.

“It’s okay. Your feelings are valid. The first step is acknowledging that you need help.”

You always had ADHD, but your father didn’t believe it was a cause for alarm. Telling you, it was a hoax from ‘big pharma’ to get people to spend more on medication than to actually help people.

You felt like a burden. A failure. Especially when you were diagnosed with it at seven years old. He would yell at you, scream at you, tell you that you were just being lazy and that you needed to pay more attention.

How could you when everything was a blur of colours and sounds and words didn’t make sense?

When you were diagnosed with psychosis depression, in conjuncture of Synaesthesia and sensory processing disorder, it was like a sledgehammer to your already fragile sense of self. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of emotions and stimuli, with no one to throw you a lifeline.

Your father's dismissal of your struggles only served to fuel the fire of your isolation. You had always felt like an outsider in your own family, and now you had scientific evidence to prove it.

What good was evidence when the people who were supposed to support you didn’t believe in it?

A support system that couldn’t be bothered to support you. So, you learn to pickpocket from wealthy strangers in order to get the money you need for school supplies and food to eat during the school day. Lest your parents get a phone call from the school’s administrator to the child protective services.

The last thing you needed was to be taken from your home and placed somewhere else.

Keeping a sharp knife in your hoodie’s pocket, a silent reminder of what you were capable of unleashing unto others if you were given no other choice but to defend yourself.

“Cos I'm th' one gettin' in'a more fights than thee.” You reminded him with an eyebrow raised at him.

He chuckled before his expression grew serious. “Remember, it’s not for fights. It’s for when things get really bad. You're smarter than me, you’re smarter than all of us. Use it wisely.”

“Ta.” you muttered sheepishly in a bashful thanks.

It’s a long memory from years ago. Now, he is a married man with three daughters of his own, still living back in Yorkshire. After your father decided it was for the best that your brother, Caiden, had taken over the family farm. Leaving you to fend for yourself in the city with an alcoholic of a father who couldn’t even bother to remember your birthday.

You didn’t want to think what kind of desperation your mother would have needed to go through to leave you behind and cheat on your father repeatedly. Though, you know for a fact she didn’t care much about you or your older siblings, either. At least it was what your father drilled into you since you were sent off into the military at sixteen years old.

This is the least of your worries now.

The military charity dinner held by those in a level of wealth you were given the privilege to gawk at. Gaze upon in a hopeless wonder of knowing you were deemed less than in the grand scheme of the capitalist agenda.

“I don't know whether to be insulted at the gesture or wonder why they couldn't get someone else to attend in my place.” You told her as you stared at the window past her into the light grey cloudy sky.

“I could, no, I would be back there on the coastal shores in a heartbeat if they said they found someone else.” You continued to stare past her.

“I could be fishing for hours out there, and I wouldn’t have a care in the world.” You mentioned your diet of fresh fish, crab and the odd catfish if you were lucky enough to catch one.

Dr Stone nodded, scribbling notes on her clipboard, her pen moving swiftly, gliding across the page like an ice skater. As she processed your words.

“It’s important to find healthy ways to cope with your past traumas and the stress of your current job. Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, a hobby perhaps, that could help you find some peace?”

“I do MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. Even though I have doctorate now.”

“I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.”

The doctor nodded, her gaze never leaving yours. “But what about something more…social? Something that doesn’t involve you being alone with your thoughts?”

“I don’t venture out much. I visit London for a two week vacation every three months. I come out more often if I need to get more clothes, shoes and tech for my workstation in my office.” You answered.

“My older brother said this military function was likely an excuse to parade around a poster child of a poor sod, a poverty-stricken soul who crawled her way to Colonel without wealth to back her up.” You mentioned.

Dr. Stone put her clipboard down and leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching yours. “And how does that make you feel?”

“One. It feels too convenient for him to say it. Two. I don’t know what to feel about it. Suspicious at the timing. But grateful for the opportunity at the same time.” You answered.

“I’m sorry for being so blunt, but I need to know where you’re coming from to help you better. How do you feel when you’re around others at these events?” She asked gently.

“I would have been offended if you weren’t blunt. It feels convenient they chose this time of year to do it. They could have chosen any other time of the year. But for some reason now felt like the ‘right time’. I feel like a zoo animal on display for them to gawk at and whisper about. Like they’re all expecting me to break down and show them the horrors of war. Like that’s what they want to see. That’s what makes them feel alive. That’s what makes them feel like they’re doing something noble by pitying me. Though, what is the use of pity now?”

You sigh heavily, feeling the weight of your words. “I feel like a fraud. Like I’m wearing a mask. A mask of success, of bravery, of strength. But underneath, I’m just a scared little girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing in a room full of lions dressed as sheep.”

Dr. Stone nods thoughtfully. “It’s normal to feel out of place in such situations. The military has its own culture, and transitioning to civilian life can be challenging, especially when you’re thrust into the spotlight like this. But remember, you earned your rank through hard work and sacrifice. You’re not just a story for them to tell. You’re a person with feelings and experiences that have shaped you into who you are today. It’s okay to set boundaries and to choose how much you wish to share with them. They may not understand, but that’s their problem, not yours.”

“Progress without work is not real progress.” you responded remembering the first session with her.

“How about trying to find someone to talk to at the dinner tonight? Maybe someone who you can connect with on a deeper level, someone who won’t see you as a charity case or a trophy, but as a human being with a story to tell.” Dr. Stone suggested, her voice a gentle nudge towards the social horizon you had long avoided.

“Only one way to find out right?” you sighed thinking of it.

The military charity dinner was held in a grand ballroom, the kind you only saw in movies. Chandeliers sparkled like diamonds hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden light on the marble floor.

The walls were lined with portraits of important figures, their stern faces watching over the event like guardians of the past. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the murmur of polite conversations.

You felt more like you were going through an outer body experience than actually attending the dinner. The room was filled with the who's who of society.

All dressed in their finest attire. The clinking of silverware and the soft laughter echoed around you.

A stark contrast to the chaos you were used to in the battlefield. You wore a sleek black dress that hugged your toned body. The fabric whispering against your skin as you moved.

It was a stark reminder of the armor you once wore. The one that actually kept you safe.

Looking for a seat painted. Coated. Dyed. Twisted inside the depths of both darkness and shadow.

The dinner was a masquerade ball of sorts, the kind where everyone wore their masks of charity and compassion while their true faces remained hidden behind a veil of wealth and privilege.

You walked through the crowd, the heels of your black stilettos clicking against the marble like the ticking of a time bomb, drawing glances that ranged from curious to pitying.

You felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, armed with your sharp wit and the stories no one genuinely wanted to hear.

You were sipping on a potent amber liquid in the corner out of the view of those who would rather pity you from afar than muster the courage to speak to you.

The gentle tapping upon your shoulder you were determined to ignore. Yet as you pretended to ignore them as if they were not quite there. A deep voice, the accent of the queen’s English breaking through his lips as if they parted in gentle parting waves rather than words.

“Excuse me, colonel, if I may, your presence here is quite the talking point.”

“I suppose it would be. Most oddities of the norm are spoken of. Are they not? Those who do not fit within usually stand out as clear as daylight or a black sheep born from white.” You responded fixing the leather gloves enclosing your hands from view.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to fill the empty spaces in the room. “I suppose that’s true. But you, Colonel, you’re more like a diamond in the rough, aren’t you? Shimmering brilliantly amidst the coal of our mundane existence.”

“I find the apt description of a black sheep more befitting. A black sheep need not take dye to turn into a different colour, it is simply born that way. Wool worth more because it doesn't need to change into a different shade. It is just as it is meant to be but is often discarded for not fitting in with the flock.” You replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

“I’m Kyle Garrick. But you can call me Gaz. I’ve heard quite the tales of your valour, Colonel.” He extended a hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, a sign of respect.

“Of that I have no doubt.” You took his hand and shook it firmly, looking into his eyes without blinking, as if to prove that you were not intimidated by his status. “Tales are often exaggerated to suit the teller’s needs. And I suspect that in this room, the truth is as elusive as a mirage in the desert of deception.”

Gaz chuckled again, his smile genuine. “Fair point. But I’ve seen enough of the world to know that true grit isn’t something that can be faked. So, tell me, Colonel, what brings a diamond in the rough to an event like this?”

“Other than being invited to it?” You questioned the young man.

He nodded in understanding, his eyes never leaving yours. “Indeed. Besides that, I mean. Is there something you’re hoping to get out of tonight?”

“I suppose I don't know. London is nosier than Primrose Valley. Lacks the sea air I have become accustomed to.” you answered.

Gaz leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes scanning the room as if he were assessing the situation. “I can understand that. The city can be...overwhelming at times. But there’s also something to be said for the energy here. The constant movement, the stories hiding in every corner. It’s like a battlefield in a different way, isn’t it? Just with less danger and more champagne.”

“You are just as likely to drown in it as to swim inside it.” you quipped. “Also, I don't know what battlefield you've been on. Most of mine have been as hectic as the daylight savings.”

Gaz’s eyes searched yours, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?”

“One would certainly hope so. I started at sixteen at the behest of my father. My mother left one night, and she hadn't come home back since.” you answered.

Gaz’s eyes widened slightly, and his smile faltered. “That’s...young. Too young, really. But I suppose necessity is the mother of all invention, isn’t it?”

“Necessity breeds innovation. Innovation breathes in the soul of the desperate.” You said, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes never leaving his. The liquid burned down your throat like a trail of fire, a comforting pain, a familiar one. “Mr. Garrick, why do you find yourself here this evening, you do not strike me as a charitable soul.”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the ballroom. “You’re right, Colonel. I’m not exactly the charity type.

But, my father’s a high-ranking general, and he believes in supporting our troops.

Plus, it’s a good way to network, keep an eye on the new recruits, and maybe, just maybe, find a bit of the excitement I’ve missed since leaving active duty.

And you? What’s your reason for being here?”

“Do I require one?” you answered.

“No, I suppose not. But it’s always interesting to know what brings people together in a place like this. Besides, I find that the most intriguing people often have the most intriguing stories to tell. And I’d wager yours is quite the tale.” Gaz said, his eyes still holding yours, a challenge in his gaze.

“Not quite for those who cannot stomach the taste copper.” you responded.

“I see. Then tell me, what do you do in your free time?” Gaz asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

“MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.” you answered looking at the ornate fork on the table.

Gaz’s eyes lit up at the mention of MMA and kickboxing. “Now that’s a side of you I wasn’t expecting. Most women in the military I know prefer the more…traditional forms of relaxation. How did you get into that?”

“I'm a close combat specialist as well as a sniper. Best of both. A combination of two deadly worlds. I enjoy the rush and the discipline it brings. It keeps my mind sharp and my body in check. Plus, it’s a good way to let off steam. As for electrical engineering, it’s always been a passion of mine. Something about the chaos of circuits and wires makes sense to me when nothing else does. It’s like a puzzle, but instead of a picture, you get to build something that actually works.” You replied, your eyes never leaving the fork.

“Fascinating. You're a woman of many talents, Colonel.” Gaz said, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“You have to be. To survive and thrive in this type of world you need it. You require it. You must find yourself utterly complete inside and out.” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Ah, I see. So, tell me, what’s the most thrilling part of your job?” Gaz asked, his gaze still on you, as if he was trying to piece together the puzzle of your life.

“The technology. It adapts faster than we can ever learn to use it. Delightful to see the older generations scramble around as they shriek, 'How do I use this?' in different words. But the question always remain the same.” you snorted.

“But the most thrilling part would be when you can outsmart it. When you can use it in ways it wasn’t intended to be used. That’s when you know you’re truly ahead of the game. Like using a smartphone as an explosive device or a simple USB stick to bring down a network. The simplicity is the best part. It’s like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat, except the rabbit is a bomb and the hat is your enemy’s security system.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, a spark of intrigue lighting up his expression. “Remarkable. It’s not often you find someone who can appreciate the beauty in chaos quite like that.”

“Chaos is everywhere. From the sea, to the sky and the creatures just below the ground. To the very sciences. We know less of our ocean than we do about our moon.”

“Indeed. But chaos is predictable if you know the patterns. And when it comes to technology, I’ve found that the patterns are quite…beautiful, in their own destructive way. Like a tornado, you see it coming, you know the path of destruction, but there’s a certain…elegance to it, isn’t there?” Gaz replied, his voice low and intense.

“Not quite. It is safe to assume we know because of what we already do know.” you pointed out. “A fool assumes he has all the answers. A fool denies truths revealed later to writhe in his 'limitless' ignorance. A smart man knows he does not know everything. A smarter one knows the right questions to ask to find the answers he does not know yet. And the smartest knows when not to ask at all, for fear of what he might find out.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still locked with yours. “A philosopher and a warrior, Colonel. Quite the combination. I can see why they picked you as the face of this event. You have a way with words that could charm the birds from the trees.”

“My therapist recommended most of the books I have read on Existentialism Absurdist philosophy. It made life seem to look like it had more sense than it truly does. Like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, or a goldfish than happens to be koi fish. It's all in how you look at it.” you said with a shrug.

As the dinner came to a close, you were left with your thoughts and memories stirred up. As you walked over to your car, the cool London night air slapped you with reality. You were still the Grim Reaper, haunted by the ghosts of your past. You looked at you car, a 1966 black dodge charger, a symbol of your old life.

As you placed your vinyl leather handbag, until you heard your name, your heart skipped a beat. You turned around to see a man in a sharp navy blue tuxedo with a crimson tie walking towards you, a smile playing on his lips.

“Colonel, I hope I’m not interrupting your quiet moment.”

“If you call heading back to a hotel room as a 'quiet moment' then I would hate to see what you define as a party.” you replied dryly.

The man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Fair enough. But I must admit, I found your company quite refreshing tonight. A breath of fresh, if not salty, sea air.” He extended his hand once again. “John Price, at your service. And before you ask, no, I'm not related to the hotel chain.”

“I was thinking of of a tinned fish brand than a hotel chain.” You said as you took his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Price.”

Price's grip was firm, but not overpowering. His smile remained, but his eyes searched yours, as if looking for something hidden beneath the surface. “Please, call me John. And the pleasure is all mine, Colonel. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Gaz. Quite insightful, really. Rare to find someone who understands the complexities of our line of work.”

“I would hope so getting shot at at the ripe age of 17 is not something I would have wanted my own children to go through.”

“Indeed, it’s a path that shapes us, whether we wish it or not. Tell me, Colonel, are you ever haunted by the ghosts of your past?” John Price asked, his voice carrying a weight that suggested he was all too familiar with such hauntings.

“John. No one can kill someone and come back the same as they were. It’s like trying to walk through a forest fire unscathed. The heat changes you, the smoke fills your lungs and alters your breathing forever. You’re never quite the same.” You replied, your voice a mix of honesty and resignation.

John’s smile remained, but his eyes grew serious. “Wise words, Colonel. And I suspect you speak from experience. I’ve seen enough of those fires to know that you can’t escape them untouched. But sometimes, those ghosts can be…useful. They can drive us to do things we never thought possible, push us to be better than we ever imagined we could be. And sometimes, just sometimes, they give us the strength to keep walking when we feel like we can’t go on anymore. Have you ever felt that way?”

“On and off. Most days yes. On others I want to be on my boat and fish for two hours.” you answered.

John's eyes searched yours, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. “Fishing, huh? I’ve always found there’s something peaceful about being out on the water, just you and the fish. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos we deal with in our line of work, isn’t it?”

“Nothing like catching a fish, cutting it up and eating for dinner later.” you smirked.

John chuckled, the sound echoing in the emptying ballroom. “Indeed. But tell me, do you ever find that the quiet of the water gets too…quiet? That you miss the rush?”

“Covert ops. Those ones are the ones I liked most of all. Its the combination of the James Bond spy feeling and the reality of it all. You get to save the world and look good doing it, minus the fancy cars and the women of course. Just me and my trusty boat, a fishing pole, and a whole lot of patience.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

John’s eyes lit up, a spark of shared experience in his gaze. “Ah, the quiet before the storm. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the catch.

It’s quite a rush, isn’t it? The adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for the right moment to strike, knowing that one wrong move could mean the end of the mission. And yet, when you succeed, it’s like nothing else in the world.”

You ended up giving him your number to him. You don't know why you did. You felt compelled to do it. It was a choice you have decided to do in the heat of the moment.

Thinking nothing of it. As you drove to the hotel you booked to stay in for the duration of your stay in London. It wasn’t as nearly draped in luxury expenditures as one of the wealthy would have.

However, it wasn’t the cheapest either. It was the perfect kind of ‘safe’ middle ground you could find. It was enough to satisfy your needs without making you feel guilty for spending your hard-earned savings.

You decided to text your friend to check on your home along the coast. You weren't sure what to feel about this London trip. It was a new thing for you. A time for just yourself. And your mind. Everything else is extra.

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