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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Man’s Best Friend.”

Try not to bee too mad at me guys :) Sorry about the angst.

It is a more than well known anomaly that humans will social bond with any species. This is not barring their danger levels, or factors of perceived cuteness; no matter the cost, humans will pack bond with any animal. They have even been known to bond with inanimate objects and houseplants. However, one of the greatest bonds man has ever created, is their bond with dogs. Thousands of years ago a man shared his food and his fire with a wolf: another social pack species. After years and years of careful breeding selection manipulated by humans, they ‘created’ an animal that protects loyally, forgives quickly, and loves unconditionally.

In my study of humans, I have found that the emotional bond with a dog can run deeper than an emotional bond with humans. I am not entirely sure why a human would find it more displeasing to watch a movie where a dog dies than to watch a movie where a human dies, but I have some suspicion that it has to do with the innocence and unconditional friendship that dog has given man, a quality that man has never given himself.

***

Waffles: a 75lb 34kilo german shepherd shoved her head into an alien bush nose working furiously as she pawed through the strange purple plant. She came back up a moment later and sneezed violently sending up a cloud of delicate yellow polin.

Admiral Vir laughed and whistled, and turning on her heel she bounded back to him over open ground her ears straight up, her tail wagging furiously. She ran up to him and touched her nose to his hand as if tagging base before bounding off again to sniff the path before them.

Krill and Sunny walked with him, Krill staring at the brightly colored alien landscape with buzzing antenna.

Waffles leaped through another patch of wild blue grass sending up more white spores into the air, stopping only to sneeze again before continuing.

Sunny went up to walk beside the Admiral, “She looks happy.”

Adam nodded, “Yeah, I like bringing her down on occasion to get some fresh air. I know she does pretty well on the ship, but I feel bad keeping her cooped up so much.”

With another bound Waffles plowed through a shallow stream sending up droplets of water.

This planet was one the GA had been studying for some time, and, as it seemed, it was a relatively nice, habitable planet that they were readying for colonization for the Finnari, or perhaps, humans, or even both permitting everything went well.

Krill watched the dog as she plowed through the grass, rolling in the weeds like she was having the time of her life.

Predators used to scare him, but the dog had proven herself to be docile at the Admiral’s command, and he could at least tolerate her if not like her…. Just a little.

Adam Grinned at his dog’s antics and charged into the grass after her.

The dog dropped her front paws, but and tail sticking up in the air, a nonverbal invitation for her master to play with her. He didn’t reject her offer and raced forward to play chasing her around the field, their legs swishing over the grass. She barked happily as they did.

Adam had now ran far ahead of the others towards another nearby forest path. Waffles was behind him just a little ways as he pulled to a halt panting.

It was then that he heard it, a sudden rustling of foliage turning into a swirling thunder of air.

He turned on the spot eyes wide in shock and surprise.

Surprise at the ravening beast charging directly towards him, its purple fur and white tusks glittering in the sun. he leapt out of the way, but the beast was quick, about waist height and angry. He was so startled he couldn't even scream his only reaction to try to kick at the creature and keep it back.

It squared off against him, and he tried backing away, but it charged again.

There was a sudden snarling noise, and waffles charged into the fight snarling and snapping.

She bit the creature hard on it’s back leg.

“WAFFLES!” Adam shouted

The creature turned violently and whipped it’s tusks at waffles, who didn’t heed them as she charged in again, snapping at its face and throat forcing herself between Adam and his attacker.

It thrashed and she yelped in pain, but charged forward again, grabbing it by the leg and holding on for dear life as it trampled into the bush dragging her along with it.

Another yelp came from the forest, high pitched and painful.

“WAFFLES!” It didn’t take a moment before Adam was chagrin into the bush after them pulling his sidearm as he did. He followed the sound just in time to see the creature whip it’s head around and catch waffles hard in the side picking her up and tossing her to the ground. Blood drenched her fur, while green icor drenched her muzzle.

He screamed in anger instead of fear this time as he leveled his sidearm and emptied his magazine at the creature. He wasn’t sure how many hit, but the creature was tough enough that it staggered off itne bush yowling. He ignored it for the time and ran, throwing himself to his knees at the side of waffles, who was lying on the ground breathing shallowly.

Sunny roared into the clearing just behind them, her spear raised, but the creature was already gone.

Adam reached out his hands which were trembling so badly he could barely function, “Waffles, waffles no no no no.”

He rested a hand on her side and she whimpered in pain, her muzzle resting on the ground her eyes half hooded.

A choked sob broke from his throat, “No. no…. You’re g-gonna be o-ok.”

His hands fluttered uselessly over her body, covered in blood.

“KRILL! PLEASE Someone… h-help.”

Sunny stood back in shock and fear as Adam clawed at his hair, tears rolling down his face in uncontrolled streams.

Krill scuttled in not far after.

Adam turned to look at him his face twisted into a snarl, “Help her!” His voice cracked on demand and he turned back hands still shaking not knowing what to do. Being a doctor krill was well aware that the human’s anger was displaced and did not take it personally as he moved forward and took a look at the injured animal.

He lifted her front paw, and she whimpered piteously.

Off to the side Adam was still inconsolable, his hands in his hair threatening to rip out fistfulls with his clutching fingers. His agitations was actually getting in the way of Krill working.

“Adam, Adam just hold her head ok, help her stay calm.”

He nodded following orders stiffly, crawling over the ground to sit her head in his lap and tell her she was such a good girl and that she was going to be ok. Streams of continual tears rolled down his cheeks and onto her fur. Waffles licked his hand lethargically.

Sunny knelt next to him, hand on his shaking shoulder powerless as for what to do.

She had never seen him like this, ever.

Not that Adam was one to conceal his emotions completely, but he generally subscribed to silent tears if there were any at all. This, this was different, no holds barred uncontrollably sobbing, the kind where the human loses all functioning, eyes, nose, mouth and racking sobs that shook the body in aggressive, violent spasms.

Krill rolled waffles a little further onto her side spotting a deep gash from her chest and abdomen. He couldn't tell how deep it was, and didn’t want to look in this sort of environment.

“Sunny, call the shuttle!”

The urgency in his voice only served to secure Adam’s worst fears, “No… no, ou’re going to be o.”

“Adam, give me your jacket.”

He did without hesitation, ripping it off his body and offering it to krill as if it was the thing that was going to save her life.

Krill got Adam to help lift her onto the jacket and wrap her up, while he used some thing from his medical kit to staunch the bleeding. Waffles was still conscious, through her eyes were half lidded.

“Please be ok.” Adam begged, and despite all her injuries, her tail thudded against the ground at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand. This only started his tears flowing even harder.

Overhead the sound of engines whirred, and touched down on the grass not far away.

“Ok, lift her gently.”

He did as ordered hugging her to his chest and practically racing towards the shuttle as it descended.

When the doors opened he practically bowled past the waiting marine who looked on in shock.

He gently lay Waffles on one of the seats all but yellin at one of the marines to make sure she stayed there before racing to the ront of the craft.

“Admiral are you sure…” The copilot began.

“Get out o my fucking way!” he snarled, and the ire in his voice was so that the man quickly leaped from his seat as Adam slid into the pilot’s seat. Krill was worried that the human was going to kill them all trying to pilot in that state, but what he witnessed next was a feat of pure talent and skill as he maneuvered them up through the clouds faster and steadier than krill would have thought possible.

Waffles whimpered softly in the background, held tight in Sunny’s arms now.

Their copilot sent out a medial call as soon as was feasible and very prudent.

By the time they made it inside, a crew was waiting with a stretcher.

Didn’t matter that it was waffles, but they treated her as they might any human with krill tagging long beside.

Adam ran after them until the doors to the med bay shut in his face and he was told to stay outside.

***

Sunny made her way quietly down the hall footsteps no more than a whisper over the metal floor. It was dark on the ship, the lights having been dimmed for the night. Up ahead she could see light filtering out into the hallway, and the rim lighting of a figure sitting in the dark.

She moved forward, and the mass of shadow coalesced from the darkness. Adam sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands. Three pairs of bright yellow eyes looked up at her from the darkness. And Sunny tilted her head in surprise to see three Finnari curled up around Adam. One leaned against his left side, one leaned against his right side, and one rested against his legs.

The others raised their heads, though Adam remained curled up with his head in his hands.

Sunny nodded to them, “I can take it from here.” She said quietly

The Finnari looked between each other and then waddled to their feet. One of them patted Adam’s hair before joining the group and waddling off down the hall. Sunny knelt and then slowly sat next to Adam resting a hand on his back.They sat in the dark in silence for a long while before he looked up at her.

His cheeks were still wet, and she had no idea how he was still producing any, sure he would have dehydrated hours ago.

In response, she pulled the human closer using all four of her arms until he was curled up against her head resting against her chest.

“I….I can’t l-lose her s-sunny…. I I don’t know what I-I’d do.”

She rubbed his back gently with one of her lower hands, feeling as his body continued to spasm rhythmically with the beat of his grief. He covered his eyes with his right hand turning into her chest as if trying to hide his face. His teeth were gritted against quiet sobs.

But despite his attempts to stay quiet, he couldn’t.

It killed Sunny to watch.

He was completely debilitated. She had seen a human like this maybe once before under different circumstances. Neither war, nor kidnapping, or injury in the time she had known him had ever brought this man to his knees, and if it had it had been silently and alone where he dealt with it himself.

This was different.

He had snapped, broken right in half.

It surprised her almost how fragile humans were, after everything he could have gone through, and after everything he did, this is what hurt him.

His grief came in waves, one moment she thought he had finally calmed down, and then the next moment he was escalating again just as bad as before. It was exhausting to watch, and she had no idea what to do other than keep him company in the dimness of the hallway.

They were there for hours.

And then the door hissed open.

Adam shot to his feet as krill stepped out into the hall.

His hair was disheveled -- even more so than usual-- his face was red and puffy, his eyes were ringed in bright red. The collar of his shirt was damp.

Sunny rose to her feat as well.

“Is she-” he couldn't finish, choking up again.

“She’s alright, we were just waiting for her to wake up to make sure. But she’s going to be ok.”

This time the sound he made was a sob of relief rather than grief, “Can I see her?”

Krill paused but then nodded, motioning him back. He hurried after into the med bay.

At the end of the room, waffles lay curled up on one of the beds.

She was wrapped in bandages and an IV was held into her right front leg with pink gauze. Someone had managed to fashion a makeshift cone out of plastic shielding.

Adam rushed over.

Waffles blinked slowly at him, too tired to lift her head, but her tail began to whap happily against the covers of the bed. He smiled rubbing his hands through the soft fur of her face and ears, “Good girl…. You’re such a good girl.” tears were leaking down his face again, but he was smiling.

With great effort, waffles lifted her head, licking at his face with her long pink tongue, whipping the tears from his face the only way she knew how.

Krill walked over and paused by them, “She should be up and about by tomorrow, but she definitely needs to rest and recover.”

Adam looked up at Krill, “Can I stay here…. With her?”

Krill looked at him unsure, but the look on the human’s face was one the little alien certainly couldn't say no to , and he sighed, “Alright, you can stay.”

When Sunny left the room Adam was curled up on the bed with the dog resting with her back to his chest, the two of them fast asleep.

Thank the spirits Waffles was ok.

***

Ask a human, the vast majority of them find the sadness of grief or pain of a dog to be more poignant than that of a human -- unless the human is one they know--. This is why movies often employ dogs for emotional factors. Perhaps you cannot get an audience to cry for the pain of a human, but if you get a dog to wait at its owner's owners grave than you can have an entire audience in tears. As I said earlier. It's hard to watch the pain of someone who doesn't deserve that pain and never will.

Dogs are a reflection of the best parts of man

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

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Too Many Bridges (I Dig Canals) 1

He was twenty-two when he died.

His mama hadn’t wanted him to move out to West Texas, crying that it wasn’t safe. His dad had soothed that he’d be fine at UTEP, the first one in the family to go to university, a business major, doing them all so proud.

His little sister had said they’d all dealt with much worse in high school, where the teachers screamed at you for speaking Spanish until you could barely remember a word.

His short older sister just snuck a dumb Homestuck backpack into his luggage, filled with the latest volumes of Boruto. He’d liked to read them while eating shitty convenience store ramen at 2AM.

Then he’d run out of cup ramen in his senior year, gone to the 7-11 at 1AM to grab some more, and made the mistake of glancing at a cracker junkie shaking from withdrawal.

Last thing he knew, he was bleeding out around a knife while the druggie tore through his groceries, crooning, “C’mon, c’mon where’s the hit, where is it, I know you’re hiding it.”

He’d only had the strength left to flip the racist fucker off before he finally drifted away.

He wakes as a baby.

The only natural response to this is to begin screaming.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! Why the fuck is he a baby?! Is everyone a baby when they go to Heaven?! Or wait, his butt’s kinda damp, is this Heaven at all?! Is he in Hell?! Was him flipping off that cracker enough to get him sent to Hell, after all he’s done?! All the masses he’s been to?! For the love of Christ, what’s going on—

A woman with white-blond hair and a tired face leans over him, muttering something harsh-sounding in a foreign language.

A loud and angry sounding man’s voice shouts something from somewhere he can’t see, which startles him into crying harder.

Then a large and callused hand slams down over his mouth, practically smothering him.

The woman’s face looms over him, wrinkled and shadowed like the face of the devil himself, poisonous green eyes glaring at him.

“Damare, kuso gaki.” The devil-woman hisses.

He whimpers.

His hair is green now.

Like a dehydrated shrub left too long in the heat, spiky-dry and almost yellowing at the edges.

And his eyes are purple. As if the green spiky anime hair wasn’t enough to humiliate him.

He misses his mama and his dad and his sisters but thank Jesus they’ll never see him like this.

At least his skin color’s pretty much the same as his last life. If he ended up resembling that fucking junkie who murdered him in any way, shape or form...

Well. All he knows is it wouldn't be pretty.

His new name is Meiun Nobuo.

The devil-woman who would rather smother him in his crib than let him cry apparently gave birth to him.

The deadbeat who cursed him with this eye and hair color and returns most nights stinking of alcohol and rotting fish is the sperm donor.

He misses his real family.

They live in a dock town.

Their house is farthest from the shore, so the scent of rotting fish guts and seagull shit is vaguely bearable. It’s bigger than the fishermen and farmer’s huts and market stalls that make up the rest of the village, with a curved asian roof.

He thinks the sperm donor is in a relatively high position in the village, perhaps an official of some sort. Probably inherited, because he seriously doubts anyone with a brain would elect that drunk deadbeat to any position of authority, but who knows.

He used to think the same thing about the government in his past life, and look what happened there.

Ragged official looking people buzz in and out of the rooms he’s not supposed to enter all day every day. Some of them smile at him if they notice him, lips spread sickeningly wide and eyes sycophantically crinkled.

Others look at him like he’s a nuisance, worthy of only their ire.

As if he asked to be reborn to this fucking paltry excuse for family when he had a perfectly good one back home

The devil-woman isn’t from around here.

That much is obvious in the way she’s constantly ill at ease, snapping at the slightest inconvenience, acting like everyone’s out to get her.

To be fair, a lot of them probably are just for the chance to have some peace and quiet again.

He privately counts himself among that number.

She’s always grumbling about how much better it is in rain, but regardless of the weather her shitty attitude never seems to improve.

She also starts trying to poison him when he turns four.

When his rice tastes weirdly bitter he spits it back into the bowl.

The devil-woman slaps him across the face.

“Eat.” She hisses, forcing his head into the bowl. “I didn’t destroy my body for you to bring shame to the Dokuso name like this. Your great uncle was already immune to neurotoxins by the time he was your age. The least you can do is eat.”

He tries to struggle, to scream for someone to help him, but the devil-woman just forces his head down farther until he swallows every last grain of tainted rice.

His body won’t stop shaking for the rest of the day, every gasp of air feeling like it’s scraping his lungs raw.

It becomes some kind of demented pattern.

He’s poisoned, he suffers, his body adjusts, he’s poisoned again in a new way, rinse and repeat until he seriously finds himself contemplating whether his last death was better than this.

The look of dissatisfaction the devil-woman always wears, as though he’s somehow not doing this (or dying) fast enough for her liking, weighs the argument a lot.

On the days where he’s in less danger of throwing up his guts, he has lessons with a tutor, because of course he fucking does.

Death, taxes and homework: the three constants of existence.

The tutor calls him a prodigy with mathematics, even if his grasp of kanji is shaky.

The deadbeat uses this as an excuse to push some of his work onto a five year old with some garbled line about “carrying on the work of our forefathers”.

He hates this.

He hates it so fucking much.

He prays every night, asking Christ why he’s being tormented like this. He hasn’t got an answer back yet.

He’s gonna make a break for it as soon as he’s old enough to do so. He’s still too young to be allowed out of the house, even for festivals. He also doesn’t receive anything like an allowance yet either, though he suspects that’s more due to the fact that the sperm donor is a cheapskate.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. He’s already got access to some of the accounts, has proven himself to be a dedicated worker beneath suspicion.

Nobody’ll suspect the kid “carrying on the work of his forefathers” if money begins disappearing, not when there are so many greedy adults around. It’s foolproof.

He’s just gotta wait until he learns where he is and how he can get away.

He can do that. It’ll be fine.

“The daimyō has declared dōjutsu users enemies of the state.” His sperm donor complains one evening. “The Mizukage has authorized the use of deadly force to subdue them.”

The devil-woman sniffs, says something nasally and contrarian back but he can’t hear her over the blood rushing in his ears.

Dōjutsu.

Mizukage.

His mouth is dry. He can’t breathe.

There’s no way—there’s absolutely no fucking way—the tech here is way too primitive, he must be hallucinating, going through withdrawal from not reading his favorite manga for so long.

There’s no way this place could be the same world as Boruto. Besides, Chojuro would never authorize a-a genocide like that, Kagura-kun would be so disappointed in him—

But Kagura-kun’s grandfather wouldn’t have had any problems with it, would he?

It’s not until the devil-woman whacks him over the head and screams at him to get up that he realizes he’s on the floor.

He climbs shakily to his feet.

He endures the scolding quietly.

He goes to his room when dismissed.

He shuts the door behind him and slides down it, trying to muffle the sounds escaping his throat. They could be hysterical laughter or sobs. He really isn’t sure.

Because of course he’s been reborn years before any of the good characters of this series or plot developments that he can clearly remember will make their appearance.

That’s just his fucking luck.

He presses his forehead to his knees and screams.

This revelation helps along his plans, at least.

If he’s in Kiri, then he knows he’s probably on one of the many islands that make up the...peninsula? Archipelago? Fuck, geography was never his strong suit.

But yeah, he’ll need to charter a boat to get to the mainland so he can disappear.

He briefly entertains the idea of becoming a ninja for Kiri, maybe growing up to become one of Chojuro’s aides and Kagura-kun’s mentors. Getting to meet Boruto when that arc comes around.

But no. Or at least, not yet.

Going there before Terumi Mei has had the chance to overthrow Yagura isn’t a good idea, what with the whole “kill everyone else you studied with to become a genin” thing they’ve got going on. Also the people claiming to be his parents might track him down and have him sent back.

Fire Country is probably his best bet to vanish. The ninja there actually care about the populace.

He might even be able to go to Konoha. See Boruto and Sarada and Mitsuki grow up firsthand.

The thought leaves a warm feeling in his chest even as his limbs tremble from the effects of the latest venom for the rest of the week.

It doesn’t last.

Of course it doesn’t.

It’s one thing to know that certain people in the community are slated for death.

It’s a different ballgame entirely to see a mob barge into the sperm donor’s office, howling for blood.

He can only hear the words “kekkai genkai filth” chanted like a curse before the deadbeat is nodding his head and rising, grabbing a huge ass sword from where it’s been gathering dust on the wall.

He tries to shrink back, tries to let the throng pass him without drawing their attention, but a hand grabs his collar and yanks him away from his little table, away from his calculations, and drags him along with the frothing crowd of people with hate in their eyes.

He’s squashed near the back of the herd, but every time he tries to get away there are hands and arms to yank him back into line, hands of men or women or—Jesus, or other kids.

He’s eventually funneled through the doorway of a tiny farmer’s hut, pushed into one of the walls by the crush of people, and he looks up and there’s—

There’s—

Oh God.

Oh Jesus in Heaven have mercy.

He can’t look.

It’s awful, it’s too much, he can’t look, he can’t, he gags, averts his eyes—

He sees the girl in the corner of the room.

She’s crying, mouthing “Mama” to herself over and over.

One of those murderers has seen her too.

The man takes a step towards the girl—

“Stay the fuck away from her!” He yells.

He can’t remember moving. All he knows is he’s now in between the girl and the mob, knees trembling and adrenaline pounding in his ears.

His voice is all shaky and squeaky, not intimidating at all.

He’s scared.

Jesus Christ, he’s so scared.

These monsters just killed that innocent lady for their dumb fucking witch hunt.

What’ll they do to this girl if they get their hands on her?

One of the villagers steps forward and growls, “Outta the way, boy. You don’t wanna get hurt for that thing.”

“Fuck you, asshole!” He screams back.

“Meiun, discipline your fucking brat before we do it for you!” Someone else in the mob shouts.

The sperm donor is pushed to the front and begrudgingly holds out a hand. “Don’t be stupid Nobuo. Get your ass over here, now.”

“Listen to your father!” The demon-woman shrieks from the safety of several people away.

He laughs. He can’t help it. “My father?! You want me to acknowledge that drunken excuse of a sperm donor as a father?! Get real, you fucking hag!! You and him wouldn’t know what real fucking parenting looked like if you fucking murdered it in cold fucking blood!!”

He points at what’s left of the lady. “Because guess what? Looks like ya did!”

“How dare you—” The deadbeat’s gone dark purple.

“No, how dare you?!” His hands are shaking and Christ, there’s no way this can end well, but his mouth won’t stop running. “That lady was a perfectly fucking nice lady, a loving wife and a good mom and you assholes think you can just come out here and murder her for what?! Having something that you don’t?! Being a genuinely good person, like you aren’t?! You’re all just JEALOUS FU—”

Pain explodes in his temple.

A man’s screaming, “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, YOU KNOW NOTHING YOU LITTLE BASTARD, SHUT UP—”

He tries to raise his arms, tries to fight back, but the man’s swinging too wildly, he can’t stop the blow to the gut that knocks the air out of him.

More arms appear from nowhere, shoving him to the ground, pinning him down, jeers and taunts about how if he loves kekkai genkai filth that much he can join them, see what happens to them.

The knife glints evilly in the light.

He doesn’t wanna die again.

Jesus Christ, he doesn’t wanna die again.

There’s cold for a moment behind his right ear.

And then there’s nothing but agony, red and sharp and pounding pounding pounding and Nobuo is screaming screaming screaming.

Until his throat feels like it’s going to give out.

Until he knows he’ll die like this.

He doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die he doesn’t wanna die Christ—

The sensation is sudden and painful.

Like he’s been punched in the chest again, but in reverse.

Something erupts from him, with enough force to leave him breathless.

The jeers and ugly laughter become screams as pained as his own.

“Shit, he’s one t—?!” is the last thing he hears before a sound like glass shattering over and over overwhelms all other noise, even the terrified shrieks for mercy.

Nobuo’s eyes roll back into his head.

He blacks out.

The right side of his head throbs.

He whimpers in pain, curling in on himself.

“A-are you alright? Are you hurting? I tried to patch you up as best I could...” A soft, sweet voice murmurs.

He cracks open his eyes a sliver to see a dark-haired head with a pretty face hovering over him. The pretty face looks worried, almost scared.

“What...?” He tries to ask, voice croaky as hell. “Where...?”

“Ah, I, uh, took you and ran away after you got those guys off you.” The pretty face explains, averting their eyes for some reason. Their kimono is torn in places. “You-your e-head was bleeding really bad, so I tried to fix it, but I don’t think I did a very good job...”

What?

His hand lifts to the side of his head, feeling cloth sticky with what he can only assume is blood.

And feeling nothing beneath it.

His breathing hitches. He tries to stop it, tries to gulp the panic and fear back down, he can’t cry, he’ll get hit again if he cries, he can’t—

He lets out a sound that can only be described as a wail, shoulders shaking.

There’s movement and he flinches, oh god, he doesn’t want a hit, not now, not when he’s already dealing with this—

Small, thin arms wrap around him, trembling. A head of soft hair buries itself in his other shoulder, and a low voice begins sobbing “I-I’m so-sorry, I-I didn’t, I co-couldn’t stop them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” in his remaining ear.

A small part of his brain notes that this is the first time he’s been hugged since he woke up as a baby.

They cry for a long, long time.

Finally, when it feels like he’s gonna have a head cold for a week at least, he shrugs his shoulder minutely.

The girl looks up, face blotchy and red.

“You’re that girl, right? What’s your name?” He croaks.

The girl tenses and pulls away a little. “I’m Haku. I’m eight. A-and I-I’m a b-boy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks flush. Where does he feel like he’s heard that name before...?

“And you are?” Haku prompts.

“M-Meiun Nobuo.” He states with a grimace. “M’ six.”

“Ah...then Official Meiun was...” Haku’s eyes begin to fill with tears again. “Y-your father, and, and your m-mother—”

“God no.” He snaps. “That man impregnated that woman to make me, but father and mother are the last things they can be called. Real parents don’t pull the shit they do on their kids.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “This may’ve sped up my plans, but you did me a favor, taking me with you. I was planning on running away anyway.”

Haku lets out a confused sniffle.“Where were you planning on running away to?”

“Fire Country.” He might puff out his chest a little. “Their ninja actually care about people, and they don’t hate kekkai genkai there.”

“Kekkai genkai...th-that’s what they kept calling me and m-mama...” Fat tears begin rolling Haku’s pretty face.

He shakily slides an arm around the older boy’s shoulders. “Y-you can come with me. If you want. I-I don’t exactly know the way, I was hoping to get some more geography and funds first, b-but I’ll figure something out, I swear.”

Haku takes a few deep, shuddery breaths. “I-I don’t either, but I know how to get to the next village, if that’s okay?”

“That’s great! That’s way better than what I can do!” He assures, giving his traveling companion’s shoulder a pat. “...d’you, like, wanna start going now, or...?”

“Can we stay here for a moment?” Haku asks. “J-just until I can check your head’s okay?”

Meiun Nobuo nods carefully, leaning more against the older boy. “Sure. No rush.”

#my writing #too many bridges (i dig canals)#naruto #one piece #boruto #homestuck #naruto oc #meiun nobuo #haku naruto #tw: violence against children

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years ago

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7x01: Meet the New Boss

Then:

Cas is God now, and I’ve never been more devout.

Now:

We start right where we left off. Cas wants the rest of TFW to love and respect him but they only fear him. Well, dude, you can explode them with a snap of your finger. Dean asks if he’s going to kill them. He has no need; They’re powerless against him, so they’re not going to try anything. Dean pleads with Cas again. But all Cas says is that he hopes, for their sake, this will be the last time they see him, and he’s gone.

Dean asks Sam how he’s doing. Sam falls, cuts his hand, and sees visions of Hell. So, peachy.

God!Cas is really taking the whole God Complex to a new level. He kills off a ton of angels in Heaven. “It is a new day on Earth and in Heaven. Rejoice.”

Dean’s soul Baby is once again in a sad state of disrepair. Sam’s resting while Bobby and Dean discuss trying to find where God II is chilling. Bobby suggests looking for a trenchcoat on a tortilla and I sometimes love watching episodes I don’t rewatch a lot because that was funny. Dean has no clue how to deal with Cas, but he can fix his car, and when Sam wakes, he can work on fixing him too.

Later, Dean’s grabbing a beer when Sam walks into the kitchen. He’s okay! Okay enough, at least. Dean tells him to come help with the car and they’ll talk about what to do about Cas. Sam starts to walk out when.

A homophbic preacher is giving a shitty sermon when God walks into the room. I will always stan the God!Cas that says, “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.” I mean, God!Cas is completely out of control, but just like our Cas, he was trying to do his best in a world that’s far too easy to do your worst.

Cas kills the minister and then hears a whisper of his name. He stumbles but walks out of the church.

Sam’s in the basement getting some tools when he starts to have visions of Hell. Bobby finds him.

There are news reports that 200 different religious leaders are dead in an “act of God.” One eyewitness reports: “We all saw him. No beard. No robe. He was young, and sexy.” WHooEE. (Sidenote: Chuck has a beard and a robe. Lol.) The Ku Klux Klan is forced to disband. New Age motivational speakers: Gone. I mean, God!Cas, bby, these two are not the same. Sam thinks they should try talking to Cas again. Dean has closed that door.

Cas healed leprosy? Bless the God that overrides pharmaceutical companies and their greed for profit.

Cas finds Crowley hiding out in a trailer park.

He tells Crowley that he will remain King of Hell but Cas will control where the souls go. Crowley has no say in the situation so he graciously accepts.

Sam is up late reading when he has a nightmare vision of getting choked by a chain. He wakes and calls for Dean and Bobby.

They’re busy in the shed with Baby and the 5000th beer of the episode. Also, Dean’s wearing his cute blue jumper and why can’t they bring that back?

They discuss Sam. Sam overhears their conversation. Sam and Bobby really want to find something to get to Cas. Dean does not want to poke that bear. Dean does suggest summoning Crowley.

They want a spell to bind Death.

Cas is out and about healing true believers while he is deteriorating.

Then he opens his shirt (YAY!) only to reveal a roiling belly full of something that wants out (NAY!).

Bobby gets a Fedex from Crowley: The binding spell for Death. They have a lot of the ingredients but they still need “an act of God, crystallized.” Bobby found something at a house about 9 hours away.

That night after some quick thinking on Dean’s part, (“Excuse me, do you have any Grey Poupon?”), they head inside the house to steal their act of God.

The residents of the house interrupt their burglary (they keep the fulgurite in an actual glass case smh). Dean turns around to see a shotgun pointed at him and has ZERO concerns. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail he has the homeowners trussed up. After a polite introduction, they begin preparing for the ritual. Sam and Bobby work on spell ingredients while Dean does the real heavy lifting and carefully arranges a bag of greasy takeout and a soda on a side table.

The ritual begins. The building shakes. “Um, hello? Death?” Dean peers around nervously and comes face to face with newly bound Death.

Dean immediately fetches the bag of greasy food - the best fried pickle chips around! Hey, Death, if you won’t eat those please pass ‘em over here.

“This is about Sam’s hallucinations, I assume?” Dean’s jaw drops down the ground. WHAT hallucinations, Sam? I can’t believe you are keeping something from your brother!

Dean files this new piece of information away and they get back on track. They need Death to kill God. Because “we said so and we’re the boss of you.” Dean. Honey.

Our poor Dean-tastrophe gets saved from himself by the appearance of Our Lord and Hot Guy on a Tortilla, Castiel himself. Death is utterly unimpressed.

“You look awfully like a mutated angel to me,” Death snarks, and informs Cas that he’s due to explode soon. In addition to a major overload of souls, Cas has also swallowed Leviathan - ancient hungry monsters that predate angels. They’ve been locked away in Purgatory for time out of mind, but now they’re just a step away from a delicious new world and their doorway is Cas’s gut.

Cas brushes away this concern.

“Where is he?” Cas asks Death about God!God. “I did a service taking his place.” Oh honey no.

Dean quickly gets tired of the Death versus Castiel snark-off and orders Death to “kill ‘im now.”

Death lifts his hand with grim amusement to smite Cas, when Cas snaps his fingers and frees Death. Uh. Wherps. Death strolls over to the pickle chips, reassures the frightened homeowners, and Castiel flaps away to…

A political campaign headquarters. Cas heads in to kill the senator running for re-election who has caused “poverty and despair in God’s name.” His stern facade cracks and he starts to laugh wildly. Uh. Oh no.

Death berates Dean for not preventing Castiel’s catastrophic god complex. He warned him, after all! About the souls! It wasn’t a cryptic clue at all! “Maybe you should find somebody better to tip off,” Dean suggests with rising ire.

Death suggests that his own time is better spent on another planet. At the time, I pictured Death swimming with our tentacled interstellar friends in a sea of stars but now I like to think Death planned a jaunt to a parallel world to talk to jetsetting Dean and Sam instead.

Sam tries to smooth it over and asks for a smidge of help. Death tells them that if Cas returns it all to Purgatory, that will be enough to save their world. He arranges for another eclipse as well to help them build another door. Finally, he warns Dean about ever trying to bind him again and compliments him on the pickle chips.

Cas wakes up. He’s covered in blood, lying in a pool of blood, and he’s surrounded by...the dead bodies of the political campaign workers. Cas killed everyone, and he killed them bloody. Viciously.

Back at Bobby’s, Dean has his boots kicked up on the table with a drink in hand. Sam tries to rally him to fight to get Cas back from the brink. Dean isn’t buying it - not from the guy who’s been hiding his hallucinations from everyone else. (Okay, but pot kettle black, Dean Bean.)

“It’s under control,” Sam insists. Dean would still rather escape into a life of porn and alcohol binging. He then finds news footage of the campaign office and sees the demented smile on Cas’s face. Erm. Not good.

Sam doesn’t give up, though! In the junkyard, he prays to Cas to let them help him. Back inside with Dean, Sam’s ready to sink into a chair and give up when Cas appears.

He looks...rough.

Cas asks for help. He talks Dean and Sam through setting up the ritual while he slumps on the floor. “I feel regret,” he tells Dean, wishing that he were strong enough to fix Sam’s wall before he dies. Dean’s not ready to hand out any hugs. BUT I AM.

Sam’s off getting blood for the ritual when he runs into an old face. Lucifer confronts him and tells Sam that he’s still trapped in the cage with two archangels and has been hallucinating everything since. “This is my best torture yet. Make you believe that you’re free and then yank the wool off of your eyes.” Yeesh, that’s clearly a move Lucifer would’ve learned from Michael. Who learned it from Chuck, right?

Dean heads off to find Sam and discovers a jar of blood in the hallway...and no Sam. Pressed for time, he rushes back to paint the sigil on the wall. They prop Cas up and start the spell. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas gets out just before the spell ignites.

The wall rips away and then light blasts out of Castiel.

Mood, amirite?

Cas lies on the floor, unresponsive. He’s cold and not breathing. He’s DEAD, JIM! “Damn it,” Dean mutters as sorrow steals over his features.

And then Cas blinks awake. And insta-heals! He sits up, blinking. “That was unpleasant.” Cas has his usual half bewildered half sorrowful expression. He swears that he’ll redeem himself to Dean, and Dean seems at least halfway receptive to that plan! He won’t push him away!

Except...Cas suddenly pushes Dean and Bobby away. He crumples in on himself and shouts that they’ve held on! The leviathans! In a moment, any trace of Cas is gone as Leviathan!Cas grins maniacally and tosses Dean across the room.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Cas says...and knowing how it ends up we agree! Pining, baby. Pining!

These Quotes are the Monster Under Your Bed:

What a brave little ant you are

Miracles, mass visions, trenchcoat on a tortilla? I don't know what I'm lookin' for

I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation

We all saw him. No beard, no robe. He was young...and...and sexy. He had a raincoat

Who feels like hog tying death tonight?

You know how I'm gonna deal? I'm gonna stuff my pie-hole, I'm gonna drink, and I'm gonna watch some Asian cartoon porn and act like the world's about to explode because it is

I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 7x01 #meet the new boss #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #death #crowley #supernatural season 7

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whumpqin · 5 years ago

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Perfect the Way You Are

Next official chapter installment! This one was a little more difficult to write than I thought, but I pushed through and wrote it. This one’s kind of rough, heed the warnings!

Elisha tag! @faewhump @imagination1reality0

CW: Pet whump, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching (non sexual), dehumanization, knifes, torture used as punishment, fantasy racism, victim blaming, mentions of abduction, mentions of broken bones, lotta icky language in here by the whumper

Word count: 2,243

The knife slid into his stomach, cool metal biting against his warm, inflamed skin. Elisha keened, swallowing thickly against the scream that threatened the escape from his lungs.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” the devil’s voice whispered above him. A constant reminder of the hell he was in. “Jeremiah was right about one thing, you do take pain well. You take everything so damn well. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that fiery head of yours that makes you so reserved.”

“Pl-please… it, it hurts…” A hand was placed on the side of his face, smearing his own blood against him.

“Shh, I know, pet.” Aridai pulled the blade out, finally letting him breathe without worry of further injury. That’s what they had told him to do, breathe. “It’s supposed to hurt. Now… recite your rules for me while I work on this next bit.”

This was the worst day of his life.

He hadn’t expected it to get any better, of course. They had abducted him. People who do that generally don’t have good intentions. But, for the most part, they left him alone in the dark to either starve or go crazy from the lack of human interaction and stimulus.

Today, Aridai clearly had other intentions. They had wanted a “de-stress” session, and after Elisha had affirmed his false name and his new rules they had gotten right to work cutting off of his shirt and sinking that knife into wherever they felt necessary. Even with the permission to use his voice, no amount of begging aided him against Aridai’s cruelty. Everything went unheard and there was no mercy granted.

“O-one. My, my Masters should, hnnk! Should always be ah, ad-addressed as Ma-Master..!” Elisha’s voice cut off in a shrill cry, unable to keep quiet any longer as Aridai’s knife dipped into his skin again. Terrified tears slipped from the corners of his eyes freely.

Elisha was humiliated at first when he was exposed. Embarrassed that someone else saw his thin frame besides the plants that sat next to his mirror back home. He had always been a private person, and this was just a violation of the boundaries he had put in place for a reason.

It was clear that Aridai had no boundaries. None besides the rules they set for everyone but themselves; a free spirit that rose above the masses of normal folk.

“Good boy. You’re being so good for me,” they said, pleasantly smiling as if Elisha couldn’t see the metaphorical horns peeking from underneath their cardboard halo. “Keep going, Caleb.”

Two, hnk!” He squeezed his eyes shut as a long draw of the knife cut across his chest, continuing the pattern that only Aridai could see the product of. Like he was some carving of theirs. “Nev-never, hh, question your, nn, m-my Masters.”

Aridai had been angry with him. Elisha’s fear was so intense that he couldn’t stop himself when he tried to squirm out of their grasp, thrashing his tail around in unspoken anxiety. It was hard not to be afraid of someone approaching you with a knife, especially when your hands were tied behind your back and you were chained to a wall.

They had dragged him to the ground and straddled him, effectively preventing him from being able to pull away anymore. Then, Elisha had to face their ire, and he quickly learned that the only thing worse than Aridai was their vicious temper.

“Th-three. Do wha-what I’m, hnn, told, regard… regardless of the- ah, consequences..!” He gazed up to Aridai, pleading, and they only watched him with satisfaction.

“Good. That’s one you’re still working on, isn’t it?” They asked, a light tilt to their head. “Do you feel bad for being mean to me?”

“Ye-yes..! Yes, I do, please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I won’t pull away again, I won’t, I won’t..!” Bloodied hands found their way to his face again, this time with a thumb resting over his lips.

“No, you won’t, will you? You’ll learn to know better than to pull away from your Master. And you can stop that mumbling, now.” The thumb rubbed across his lips, gently, inviting for all the wrong reasons.

There was nothing that would provoke a Cambion’s instincts better than to wave a hand in front of their face. It was like asking them to bite you, an instinct whose origin was long forgotten to the old days. It was a lesson that Elisha remembered learning from his mother when he was young and naive and definitely not prepared for a world like this.

Everyone, who was smart, knew this. But most humans who knew well to avoid such things often spread rumors about the dangers of a Cambion’s bite. Elisha knew all it did was break the skin and draw blood, but everyone feared that their devilish nature would seep into them like a venom, tainting their bloodline and cursing their children. Like they were a wild animal.

What Aridai was doing was dangerous, but it was also a challenge. They were daring Elisha to bite, to go against his Master. They were waiting for another slip up.

Instead, Elisha shivered from the cold, wounds weeping blood as he stared up at them like an injured puppy. He merely swallowed, the only giveaway that he was thinking of anything at all, and made no move besides the occasional flick of his gaze as Aridai’s leg shifted.

Finally, they smiled. “You’re so strange, Caleb. Though I guess that is the appeal.” Aridai’s hand withdrew and instead braced against his chest, preparing another series of cuts to complete their “carving”.

“Wha-what does..?” Elisha clamped his mouth shut, unsure if that was considered “questioning his Masters” or not. He didn’t want to chance it after he had already made them so angry.

“What? What was that? Did you say something to me?” Their gaze landed on Elisha, and he couldn’t tell if their expression was full of curiosity or fury. He couldn’t tell anything about them anymore. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“I-I’m sorry, I ju-just…” Elisha’s gaze frantically searched for something so that he could give them an excuse, something that would make them less angry. But his mind was already burning from the pain, as he quickly realized that he was out of options when Aridai laid the knife on a portion of his skin. “I-I don’t, don’t know what-what you mean…”

“What I mean? Oh! You mean your appeal? What makes you so interesting?” When Elisha nodded nervously, they laughed. Aridai was always laughing for some reason or another. “Oh Caleb, don’t sell yourself so short. You were like a little diamond in the rough.” A pause, a little light flickering on in their head. “I’m gonna call you that now. But, anyway, just a moment.”

They carefully carved more sections into his skin, finishing their work. This next part was more quick than the others, and Elisha was able to take some strange comfort in that. When Aridai pulled away they took some fabric out of their pocket and pressed on his wounds, and he felt parts of his ribs shift in a way they definitely weren’t supposed to. He keened, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t allowed to.

“Had to finish before I lost the image in my head. Now we can have a chat. So! I guess… you’re asking why you of all the easy pickings of the world, huh?” They tilted their head as Elisha nodded with a whine. “Way to be nice to people, Caleb.” The guilt was immediate, and added a further tightness to his chest that he didn’t think possible. “Poor little diamond… so lost on why it won the lottery when it picked stupid numbers on purpose, huh?”

What does that even mean? Elisha’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Hm… Too ambiguous for you? Alright, lemme dumb it down for you.” Aridai learned close, uncomfortably so, to Elisha face. They used their free hand to brace themselves beside his head. “You were perfect, Caleb. You don’t even realize how long it took for us to find someone as perfect as you. No friends, no family, no one to look for you when you disappeared. When we were watching you, you seemed so much different than other Cambion. They tend to be the talk of the town, y’know? People notice when they leave, because they’re so damned relieved that they’re gone.. But you…” They shifted, removing their hand from the fabric to touch his face again. He resisted the instinct to pull away like he had stupidly done before.

“Absolutely no one would miss you when you were gone, besides the people who would want money from you.”

Elisha swallowed, trying to not let the immense weight of Aridai’s words crush him.

“Now, I’ve met a fair amount of Cambion. They’re feisty creatures, and way too stubborn for their own good. But you’re different than your kind, Caleb. You’re tamed.” Aridai ruffled his hair, staining it with blood. “You’re so nice and reclusive. Not at all like all the other ones I’ve cut up before.”

A flicker of fear flashed in Elisha’s eyes as he fought to breathe. They had seen Cambion before? Did they kill them?

They tilted their head to the other side. “I guess… in thinking about why you were taken… I guess you were just perfect the way you were. You were practically begging to be taken.” Aridai finally leaned away, pulling the bloodied fabric from his chest. “Jeremiah said it was all an act. Fake, or something. But I can tell. You try too hard to be pretending. You actually think all that nice and kind bullshit makes a difference in the end..”

He felt sick. Elisha didn’t want to believe that what they were saying was right. It all felt wrong.

This wasn’t his fault. There was no way that they were looking for someone like him. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and they took him.

Elisha had been trying to change. He had to believe that it was worth it.

“S-someone… they-they have to. Some-someone will look,” he argued quietly, voice wavering from tears unshed. “It’s, it’s the right thing to… to do.”

Aridai laughed again, plenty amused. “Who’s going to look for you, Caleb? Name someone for me.”

He tried to search his mind. His mother? No… he hadn’t talked to her in years. Elisha couldn’t remember the last time he talked to his neighbors… and the only person he carried a conversation with outside of plant life was the grocery clerk at his local store when he craved some sort of interaction from people.

“My, my landlord, sh-she’ll know I’m, I’m missing, she’ll call the, um, the police.” Elisha felt confident in that regard. The police took care of things. They found lost people and brought them home to their families.

“What do you think the police are going to do? Track you down, bring you back home? Let you live comfortably in your house again and lock up the poor, bad people who did this to you?” Aridai’s eyebrows upturned in mock pity. “I’ve been skating underneath their radar for years. They’ll give up after a month or so, and mark you down as another cold case that never gets solved. That is, if they give a Cambion like you the time of day.”

They moved, finally getting off of him and settling into a crouch next to them. Elisha tried to look away, he didn’t want to see their face anymore, but Aridai reached forward and forced their eyes to meet.

“If you had told anyone about yourself, then maybe. Maybe you would have a chance.” They grinned, sinister and cold. “Face it, Caleb. No one is going to look for you, because you’re a nobody. And you only have yourself to blame for that.”

The tears that threatened to fall finally made food on their claim. Elisha gasped, trying to force down the inner hurt that he felt, but he knew that bits floated to the surface. He bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but the taste wasn’t enough to get him to stop.

It felt like Aridai had cut them with broken bits of glass, mentally and physically. He wanted to curl up in a ball of shame but he couldn’t even move to get away, even if he was allowed to. Don’t break down in front of them. Don’t do it. Don’t show weakness.

For once, he agreed with his instincts.

It was a blessing when Aridai finally stood up. “I think I’m done here. This was really fun, Caleb. Maybe we’ll shape you up enough to participate, hm?” They let out another series of lighthearted chuckles, and the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. “I’ll send in Jeremiah to clean you up. Honestly…” Aridai held up both hands, which were covered in Elisha’s own blood. “We’re both a pretty mess.”

They quickly retrieved their implements, looking him over one last time, before ascending the stairs to the rest of the house. The top of the basement shut with a loud slam, and he caught the sound of a lock as it clicked into place.

In the dark, Elisha finally let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and felt the cracks underneath his skin that were beginning to show deepen.

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the-evil-authoress · 4 years ago

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GX Month Day 19: “I Was Here Too!”

GX has a vast array of unique characters, some of which we only saw once. Pick a “one shot” character and show them off!

WELP. Warning for minor character death.

Headcanon: ...too many to list. Oo, actually, no, I got one. The Gentle Darkness has favored the color red throughout all their incarnations.

Credit where credit is due, I got the name ‘Rune’ from @higuchimon and asked if I could use it too because I freaking love that name. As I’m sure you’ll be able tell, this is a vastly different character from the one they write. Also go check them out! They have amazing fics!

“Gather the prisoners!”

Rune didn’t think he could strain his muscles further, but when the shout rings out, he finds out he was wrong. All of his muscles freeze and lock in place, stretched taut with tension and screaming in agony, but unwilling to relax.

He’s trembling.

“Relax,” the man, Larz, whispers in his ear, a heavy hand on his shoulder and Rune flinches because everything hurts. Their captors - those creatures - work all of them from sun up to sun down with backbreaking labor, and Rune barely ever held anything heavier than book before being here.

Larz is probably the only reason he’s still alive. Rune still doesn’t understand why the man chose to stick with him when there are so many of his own comrades he should be looking after. But then again, Larz and his friends are all warriors. Everyone here is a warrior except for Rune. He still doesn’t understand how he got here. One minute he was walking peacefully alongside a wagon from the caravan; the next was utter chaos as the air itself split open and monsters charged out. Rune was knocked unconscious and woke up here in a cell with the ugliest face he’s ever seen leering at him. He hasn’t seen any of the other caravan members since.

Rune met Larz shortly after, the older man startling at the sight of him enough to whisper, “It’s you.”

Whatever the hell that means. At the time, Rune’s panic decided “where are we?” was a better question, and he still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to ask or tell Larz “I’m not who you think I am” simply because he knows he’d be dead if not for the man’s support. Any guilt Rune might have felt about lying pales in comparison to his desire to survive.

So he tries to relax but his shoulders are bunched and stiff and he’s fairly certain he physically can’t relax them because he’s forgotten how.

Thankfully, he does still remember how to take measured breaths.

The shout came from one of the lower ranked guards; a chaotic scramble ensues as they argue over where the order came from, and Larz gently pushes Rune back and nods to an unattended wagon. They walk toward it as if to pick up the work where it was left, then duck behind it.

There’s a stranger in the camp, obscured head to toe by a plain cloak, and Rune swallows back bile at the sight of the person who’s come out to face the stranger.

Zure, Knight of Dark World, right hand of Mad King Brron - who Rune dearly prays he’ll never have the misfortune of meeting - and the same ugly, terrifying face Rune had woken to that first terrible day of imprisonment.

“This is our chance,” Larz murmurs and Rune jumps.

“Wh-what-” His voice cracks and Larz covers his mouth with a calloused hand even as Rune snaps his jaw shut. That was too loud. He can’t draw attention to himself. He can’t draw attention to himself. The last time he did-

A heavy hand on his shoulder draws him out of the spiral before it can begin.

“How fast can you run?” Larz asks.

For a moment, Rune doesn’t respond. The conversation between Zure and the stranger has grown louder and angrier - well, Zure’s side of it at least; Rune still can’t hear the stranger’s voice. “I don’t know,” he admits. His legs ache, everything aches, and he never built up much physical stamina as a scholar. But if it’s for his life, his freedom, then- “But I want to try.”

Larz meets his gaze, and Rune hopes his determination shows through the fear- because he’s scared, he’s scared out of his goddamn mind. He has been since he got here. But he wants to live. He wants to go back home where Njal is waiting and forget this ever happened, forget about his silly, childish idea to travel the world and find ‘the thing he’s been missing’. It all feels so stupid and childish and whimsical now compared to this hell, compared to the threat of losing his life.

No, no. This is not the time to cry. Stop it, you traitorous tear ducts. You can cry when you’re safe, in a warm bed, with Njal hugging you.

With a nod, Larz reaches out with a glowing hand and snaps the chains that cuff their wrists. Rune feels a tingle, like something is resonating inside him, then the glow fades and takes the feeling along with it.

Most of the guards are distracted now by Zure and the stranger, even the other prisoners don’t pay much attention to Larz and Rune weaving their way across the camp. The few that do, Rune recognizes as Larz’s warrior buddies and aid in keeping the guards distracted.

So much compassion from people he barely even knows-

He sees Larz grab a sword in his peripheral. The gate is right in front of them now and Rune’s heart beats in his ears. They’re so close. They’re going to get out of here. He’s going to go home.

“Oi! Oi! Stop them!”

Rune forgets how to breathe.

Larz roars, yanking Rune forward by the wrist and breaking into a run. Rune stumbles before getting his feet under him. Red splashes in his vision as a goblin falls but Rune barely sees it, eyes focused solely on the vast expanse of desert in front of him. He just has to keep running. His legs burn, his chest aches, it’s hard to breathe-

Something grabs him from behind and Rune screams as he chokes on the collar of his shirt.

“Got you, filthy human!”

No. No! Where’s Larz?!

His eyes finally focus. The man stands several meters ahead.

When did he let go?!

Another goblin lunges and is quickly felled by the sword in Larz’s hand. Rune’s panic gives way to cold dread.

They’ll kill him.

“Run.” The word is barely a whisper; Larz can’t have heard it. Rune still sees the despair in the man’s eyes before he turns and flees.

Good. Good. He’ll be safe. He doesn’t deserve this. Not after the kindness he’d shown to a stranger, whoever he thought Rune was.

I don’t either, a smaller voice whispers in the back of Rune’s mind. He ignores it.

The goblins drag him back into camp. He doesn’t make it easy for them. He kicks and struggles but he’s never been a fighter - only held a sword once or twice while Njal gushed about his work, was always more interested in learning how the world works than throwing a punch. He gets maybe one good swing in and swears he feels something in his wrist crack.

He’s tossed to the dirt at Zure’s feet with soon to be bruises atop already abused muscles. A laugh grates against his ears as ugly, lipless teeth lean over to leer in his face. “Thought you could escape?”

Rune contemplates spitting in his face and decides, however slim his chances, he still doesn’t want to die today.

“Load him up with the others,” Zure orders when Rune doesn’t respond.

‘Others’? ‘Load’? Rune twists to look up and really wishes he hadn’t when he sees a misshapen mass of bone. A wagon, he realizes and feels sick. A wagon with people peering out between the white bars.

The edge of a cloak swishing into his vision. “Wait.”

The ground beneath him flips on its axis and Rune retches as something wrenches inside him as if trying to pull him apart from the inside out. For a brief few seconds, his entire reality consists of pain, nausea, and dancing colors. The sensation fades slowly, leaving Rune gasping against the dirt. He chances a glance up at the stranger, and piercing orange eyes stare down at him from beneath the shadow of his hood. Rune swears the person smiles.

“Not that one. Leave him here.” The stranger’s voice vibrates with an odd resonance that sends a shiver down Rune’s spine. He isn’t human, no matter what his face looks like.

“You have something planned?” Zure asks, ire in his voice but it’s obvious the two aren’t arguing anymore. What’s going on? Where are they taking everyone? Why not him? Who is this guy and why does looking at him make Rune feel sick?

“Yes.” The stranger still stares at him with those orange eyes and it makes Rune’s skin crawl.

“Fine. I’ll listen.”

With a wave of Zure’s hand, Rune is wrenched to his feet by the hair and nearly expels the meager contents of his stomach. He’s too busy fighting the nausea to struggle as the fiend drags him back to a cell. Unceremoniously dumped and arm cuffed to the wall, Rune can only watch and listen as the other prisoners are loaded into bone wagons and rolled out of the camp.

He’s alone and abandoned and in pain and can’t do a damn thing about it. He tugs on the cuff once as nearly screams as his wrist throbs.

He was so close to freedom.

Now is perfectly good time to cry.

Larz makes it back to the hideout in the mountain. Barely. Stumbling to the wooden door, he barely manages to rap out the secret code before collapsing to the stone beneath him. The door flies open as gentle hands pull him in. He can barely focus on the woman’s face.

“Larz,” a rough and worn voice gasps and Larz feels no end of relief to hear that voice.

Twins cries of “Father!” reach his ears next as Kyle and Gina rush him, and Larz’s eyes water.

“I made sure...I wasn’t followed,” Larz says, fighting for consciousness as he’s prompted to lie on a bed roll. He doesn’t protest as the women strip him of his rags to dress his wounds. His children hover nearby and, though he wishes they didn’t have to see him in such a state, he’s glad for their company.

He’s also glad for Freed’s company when the women deem it appropriate to let him join. “Larz, what news?” he asks softly, eyes haunted. Larz wonders if his own eyes look like that.

“Our men are being held in a prison camp to the north,” he murmurs to his friend.

“Was there a boy?” Larz jerks at the appearance of a strange face leaning eagerly over Freed’s shoulder. Freed turns an irate frown at the boy but nothing more, so he must not be a threat. “Blue hair. Strange clothes?” He plucks at the brightly colored garment he wears.

Larz’s breath sticks to his throat. The boy’s clothing is strange, far stranger than even Rune’s when he first came to the camp, and yet... “Y-yes. You know him?”

The boy hisses a word through his teeth that Larz doesn’t recognize and spins for the door.

“The candle still burns!” Freed snaps in the ensuing commotion as several other children in similarly brightly colored garments rush after the first boy. It takes Larz a moment of terror before he realizes the others are trying to stop the boy in red.

Red...? And if he knows Rune... No, it’s far too silly to hope for such a coincidence.

Scowling, Freed stands and Larz grips his arm before he can chase after the strange children. “Freed,” he rasps, consciousness slipping now that he’s safe. “He was there. Our King has returned.”

Freed inhales sharply, and Larz sees it, a tiny flicker of life and hope in his friend’s eyes. “I see,” he says, and pulls Larz’s hand off his arm to rest by his side. “Rest, Larz.”

There are still so many things to say - I tried to save him but they caught us, he’s so weak and frail now, you have to get him out of there - but the words fail him as Larz finally succumbs to exhaustion.

Rune is pretty sure his wrist is swollen. He doesn’t think it’s broken, it’s not discolored (yet) and it doesn’t hurt anymore than the rest of him. The bruises have set and he might as well be one giant lump of pain. He can’t even move without flinching. So he sits there, with his back against the hard stone, arm going numb and tingly as it hangs from the cuff above his head. His mind is foggy from pain but the same pain prevents him from slipping into the blissful dark of unconsciousness.

Basically, life sucks.

“Jesse!”

Rune pries his eyes open and risks looking up at the unfamiliar voice. The blurry shape of a person hovers over him.

Njal?!

“Jesse?”

No. No, that’s not... He looks different. Sounds different. What the hell is a ‘Jesse’?

Palpably excited, the boy chatters on in something distinctly foreign, neither the language from back home or the one spoken here that Rune had picked up in bits and pieces with Larz’s help.

“Who?” Rune manages to mumble and the boy trails off, excitement giving way to uncertainty. A girl with red hair lingers behind him, staring at Rune as if staring through him could answer her questions. Her eyes flicker over the space between them with a deepening frown. The boy looks back at her.

The girl’s hand moves and, despite the aches and pains, Rune jerks against his bonds and cowers against the wall as another monster appears from thin air. His voice shakes as he tries to warn them, but the boy chatters again, hands raised and waving. He doesn't look scared, and that terrifies Rune even more.

The monster looks like a woman - a barely dressed woman - and her mouth falls open at the sight of him. She shakes herself before Rune can decipher her expression and twirls the staff in her hand, saying something in that same foreign tongue.

Rune braces himself for more pain.

“Can you understand us now?”

What? He blinks up at the boy who looks like Njal. There’s a gentle warmth in his eyes, if disappointment. Rune’s eyes flick back to the woman, standing calmly behind the redhead girl, and nods.

“Okay,” the boy says, something in his voice changing. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Rune hisses as his injured wrist is freed from the cuff and steels himself as the boy pulls his arm over red draped shoulders and helps him stand. The bruises have not done his aching muscles any favors. Clenching the red fabric between his fingers, Rune rides out the urge to scream. The boy waits for his breath to even before prompting him forward.

They’ve barely taken a step when the girl spins around, air hissing through her teeth, and backs away from the entrance to the cell. “Jay, we got problems.”

The boy - Jay? - tenses beneath Rune, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Problems?” he asks like he doesn’t actually want to know.

“This was a trap,” the woman says, keen eyes fixed calmly on the exit - their only exit - as she flexes her fingers around her staff.

Rune’s breath hitches as the boy shifts again. He...was left as bait? For these two? Or just anyone unlucky enough to find him? No. He doesn’t want that. He didn’t want Larz to risk himself and he certainly doesn’t want a pair of complete strangers risking themselves for his sake. He’s about to voice as much when the boy reaches for the girl’s shoulder with the hand not keeping Rune on his feet.

“I’ll distract them. Get this guy out of here.”

The girl spins around. “Jaden--”

“I can handle this,” the boy says. “I won’t start a duel if I don’t have to; I’ll just stall long enough for you guys to get out.”

A duel...? A fight? He’s actually talking about fighting those things? Rune’s breath stutters and the boy mistakes it for fear - well, it is fear, but not that kind of fear - because he murmurs a gentle, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.” To the girl he says, “I still gotta find Jesse, so I can’t die here, right?”

So ‘Jesse’ is the name of a person who apparently looks like Rune? After the month he’s had, he’s just gonna roll with it.

The girl sighs - Rune can’t tell if it’s resignation or relief - and offers her arm. Again, Rune considers telling them to leave him and get out of here, but the four of them are already cornered and Rune still doesn’t want to die. So he grits his teeth as his weight is shifted from one person to another and doesn’t stop the boy from walking out to face what waits.

“What’s your name?”

Rune startles at her voice by his ear. She stares at him as if searching for something. “Rune.”

Her eyes flicker, but she smiles as she nods and repeats his names as if committing it to memory. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Christina. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

There are so many things he could say to that - why, you don’t even know me, please don’t hurt yourself for my sake - but he’s scared and he wants to go home. “Thank you.”

Voices filter in from outside as they slowly creep up to the edge of the cell and Rune shakes as he hears Zure’s voice. He tries his best to block it out, but he still catches snatches and the confirmation that he was in fact left as bait makes him feel sick. He holds his breath as Christina carefully pulls him from the cell but Zure faces away from them, and Christina begins to slowly lead him past the inattentive fiends towards the exit while Jaden chats it up with Zure like this is a regular Sunday night.

It would be admirable if it wasn’t terrifying.

Christina’s eyes are focused on the exit, but Rune’s are on Zure, so he sees the blade swing toward them, sees the lightning crack off it’s surface. He plants his feet, yanks his arm from her grasp, and shoves.

Then Rune’s entire existence is consumed by burning pain.

Someone screams. It might be him.

He never feels himself hit the dirt.

Everything is white when his eyes flutter open again. White and blistering pain and a voice without words- O-oh. He knows that voice.

I found you.

The voice wraps around him and it’s warm and that should hurt but it doesn’t, it’s soothing and loving and urges him to rest. His eyes flutter as he sinks into the warm light.

Wait.

Njal. He’s still waiting.

But the voice urges him to rest and so he does.

#gxmonth2020 #rune #johan's dark world double #jaden yuki #judai yuki #gx #ygo gx #ygogx #yugioh gx #yugiohgx #yu gi oh gx #long post

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darkestwolfx · 5 years ago

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Lost Kingdom - Re-Review #34

“Lesson over.”

And once again, Kayo is seemingly perfect... @tsarinatorment and @psychoseal is it time for some more rants? I think so. I’m sure Tin-Tin would have been quite capable at holding her own in TOS, and I also think Gordon would be a little better at physical combat. But hey, this is only like forty seconds of the episode, so I will move on.

“I wonder if Kayo’s finally met her match.”

“Guess not.”

Just to say, I was so voting for MAX - seriously, I have faith in this robot. Does no one remember him in ‘Legacy’? I’d have MAX for a guard dog any day.

“I’m detecting structures down there. They seem to be man made.”

“Want me to get Virgil?”

Why, Alan? So he can go in and do some heavy lifting? In fairness, there had to be some kind of reference to him because um... where is he? Anyone want to hazard a guess?

“The World Council Emergency conference just ended, and the archaeologists agree, it is the lost city of Atlantis.”

“Imagine that. A city reappearing after thousand and thousands of years.”

“If it’s been buried under water for that long... there won’t be much left that’s worth seeing.”

Oh my gosh, I love the story of Atlantis! Literally, other than animal conservation, Ancient/Classical History was one of my favourite topics.

Anyone else love this film? Apparently it’s one of the most loved Disney films, but also most forgotten. Bit of trivia for you as well - it was the only Disney film to have ten proposed DVD covers, all of which were released as promotional posters, but of course only one made it onto the DVD. However, the German and Chinese distributors for the DVD chose to use different posters for the DVD cover (both of which only saw distribution in these countries) whilst the rest of the world copied the British/American choice. Personally, I preferred every other poster to the one they used the DVD, but hey, they didn’t give me a vote.

And, okay, yes, I won’t admit to knowing everything, but I do know a lot about what other people might class as pointless.

Anyhow, back to Thunderbirds;

“I’ve got a feed coming in. You need to see this.”

“This is Francios Lemaire, bringing you lucky viewers, yet another chance to watch me make history! And here we are, on the bridge-”

“Control room.”

“Control room- of my luxury sub, the Jules Verne, from where I’ll be bringing you footage, of the very first human - that’s me - to explore the legendary, lost city of Atlantis!”

Oh look, here we go!

As soon as that music started I just who it was going to be.

Madeline is perfectly describing my feelings on Francois for this episode in this picture. I think - by the look of the faces we got from Tracy Island - that she describes what the Tracy boys feel as well.

“I order you to leave the area.”

Yeah, Lady Penelope, you tell him.

“Alright, alright, I was only trying to bring a bit of culture to the masses.”

Probably not the right way to do it.

“Your submarine’s in a live sea quake zone, Mr Lemaire, I strongly advise you to leave as fast as you can.”

“What is this? The International Rescue Babysitting Service!”

Um... considering your past record... yes?

Anyone remember the birthday party in the Mariana trench?

“I’m well aware of my location, thank you.”

Um, was he drinking whilst driving? Yeah, that’s a great thing to teach the masses.

“Francois, that’s re... uh.”

“Oh dear. Silly goose. Why didn’t you tell me I was in the wrong gear?”

Probably why you got the wrong gear, mate... Time to call the International Rescue Babysitting Service, d’you think, Lemaire?

So, anyhow, thanks to Lemaire’s stupidity - we have a rescue! And it’s one for Gordon - the water kind of gave that away - and oh look, Virgil (wordlessly) runs across the scene and gets ready to go. Really, where was he?

Still, I think I would have lost my patience with Lemaire by now - and damn ethics, I might have been tempted to ignore him.

“Hello, how much longer do I have to wait?”

“It’s only been half an hour.”

“I’m bored.”

“Patching you through to Thunderbird Two for an update.”

Ha-ha, way to pass Lemaire away from you John!

“We’re coming too!”

I can hardly believe it! It’s Brains, willingly going on a rescue, in person!

“I’ll tell you what’s crazy, Brains. Us chasing Lemaire through an active sea quake zone!”

Why is that man such an idiot? He really didn’t even need IR. Next time definitely just leave him, I vote.

“It’s breathable air.”

“It better be, look!”

And Lemaire’s idiotic streak increases...

So, here we are - apparently. There are many proposed locations for Atlantis (the first map below is Europe, the second is a wider view of the world), with many still in dispute. For a long time, it was believed that Atlantis being near Santorini made sense. In fairness, when I stayed in Crete, I had a lovely tour with some locals who tried to show me all the reasons why Atlantis had been near them. Actually, their argument (especially in their native language without the typical English mis-translations) is quite convincing. Crete does have massively similar architecture to that suggested in the Ancient Greek depictions of Altantis. It was argued that these could have been built at a much later stage, but the stone dates back far enough to suggest not. Whether or not Atlantis did sit near Crete, it is fair to say (especially as both were inhabited by the Greeks) that maybe the Atlantians did have a part of their Empire there.

Later, theories rose that Atlantis had previously filled a gap in the Straits of Gibraltar, and Island separating Spain and Africa, and potentially offering connections between continents. This was initially met with much annoyance by Greeks, who believed that Atlantis (an ancient Greek Empire) couldn’t have sat so far away from their own homelands. But, at the time, it was really only Greek and Italy who had big plays across Europe, and the Atlantians were rumoured to have waged war or conquered a considerable amount of the country in Greek’s name. The Straits also make a lot of sense scientifically and geographically. Although the Greeks believed (at the time and still now) Poseidon to be responsible for the sinking of Atlantis, we know that it had to have been a combination of earthquakes and/or tsunami’s which brought down this great empire, and the Straits of Gibraltar sit directly on a tectonic fault line which has led to a subduction zone (so sea quakes would be of great possibility - so I’m assuming TAG have gone with Gibraltar as a setting here) which has now been active (that we know of) from the 1700s - seems likely to be it was active before too.

You can read more about that here if it is of interest to you: https://www.livescience.com/19656-gibraltar-subduction-zone.html

Of course, many take the belief that Atlantis was a fictional story of Plato’s, whilst other’s take the belief that it was the end of the ‘last great ice age’ which caused the disappearance of Atlantis (due to flooding, sounding familiar?), but Plato’s descriptions, whether believed or not does suggest that Atlantis built connections between Africa and Europe (later working into the Pangea theories) and that the sea delves further than we know;

“In the Atlantic there was an island, larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent. She was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and was the leader of the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being compelled to stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery those who were not yet subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us who dwell within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea. For which reason the sea in those parts is impassable and impenetrable; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island. ”

Plato’s final passage on Atlantis, as it sits translated from direct Greek (thus ignore any tense errors - they are intended).

Plato’s impenetrable and impassable ocean theory would fit with the territory of high seismic activity too - which does suggest Gibraltar as a decent proposal, especially as Plato seems to know the Straits by another name, but the same land mass.

Okay, I’ve now ranted on about Ancient history enough, I think (although it is another reason why I love this episode), and I honestly do still have such a soft spot for the history of Atlantis. Maybe one day I’ll change careers and become a historian, but for now I’m happy with my mission of trying to limit extinction and global disasters. If anyone wants any more knowledge on Atlantis, just ask and I’ll put it in a separate post - this one is going to be too long otherwise, and is meant to be about something else.

You can definitely see where they took their inspiration from. I seriously adored all the behind the scenes footage for this episode. Go and look at it for yourself, the detail they put into it all makes it worth it.

“Look at those shapes. This was definitely built by Mer-people! Start rolling. I’ll do a piece to camera.”

“You grabbed me, we ran. I don’t have the camera with me. And we shouldn’t be in here!”

“Mr Lemaire, you’re putting yourself and your wife in danger!”

Yeah, I don’t think he really cares Gordon, she’s just his glamorous assistant and biographer after all - wife is actually quite far down the list.

“Would you order MAX to assist Mr Lemaire from the area?”

“That won’t be necessary!”

Scared of a robot, are we now, Lemaire?

See, just saying MAX could have totally taken Kayo. In my opinion.

“We’re trapped and Thunderbird Four is on the other side. Is it still in one piece?”

“I’m picking up full readings.”

Hell, it better be! You only just rebuilt it in the last episode! Goodness, imagine that all over again.

“Hello Gordon.”

“Lady Penelope!”

“Aren’t you lucky that I was around to come and dig you out of trouble.”

“I’m even happy to be rescued by a Lady in a pink submarine if it gets me away from Lemaire.”

So don’t go knocking it Gordon! She could easily turn around, you know. And just say you’re happy to see her, Gordon! Goodness these two could have been together long ago if they weren’t both so stubborn (and Gordon a little silly).

“He is one royal pain in the-”

Language! You’re talking to a Lady (and an audience group consisting of children), Gordon! I think we can all agree with the proposed end of that sentence though. Lemaire is.

“Do not fire a missile at my submarine!”

Yeah... point proven, again, I think.

“Final proof that Mer-people exist!”

Did anyone mention yet that meeting a mermaid is Gordon’s dream? Just because, he doesn’t seem too excited about that prospect here. Brains on the other hand, he can die a happy man now.

“We’re going to rebuild it in the assembly hanger, full scale!”

Nice reference to the selfie-stick in this episode, which was at the time, brand new, of course. I am still bitter that said word has made it into the Oxford Dictionary - seriously, they dropped the level of the game by letting that in.

“Parker loves playing pinball, don’t you Parker?”

“Not when hI’m the ball, M’Lady.”

We’re really learning a lot about Parker’s free time lately - pinball and complaining about the weather... hmm, interesting.

It was a nice way to end - showing everyone going out to the pool - good to see them making use of that thing!

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 6: There Are No Saints in New Orleans

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Come one, come all to the exclusive (even among the elite) event of the evening; a show not to be missed and sure to be the talk of the town for years to come. That's right, you'll only find it here at Persephone. Werewolf vs. Minotaur — to the death!

[READ IT ON AO3]

An old-fashioned iron elevator lines Persephone’s back wall. Pull back the metal doors and step in to crystal-clear glass without a smudge or streak in sight. It would be a nice way to look down on the club’s main floor from above — to take in all the things limited by distance and closeness.

But when Taylor sees the equally-clear panel that slides aside to allow the elevator to descend into a plunging endless black he rethinks how cool it is. Like, immediately.

They approach keeping close behind Cadence and Katherine. Ryder catches him looking over his shoulder and throws a subtle arm around his shoulder, whispers “keep your eyes ahead, you look like you’re up to something” in his ear, and remains at ease.

Some people just aren’t used to this sort of life, but thanks for the tip?

An attendant presses the call button on the elevator’s rigging. Summons it from the topmost floor in the smoothest glide he’s ever seen. There’s no way that’s just human technology at work.

Another attendant — similar, not identical — pulls open the grate doors where a third steps aside for them to enter.

He guesses she’s fae by the way her skin shimmers like glitter beneath the surface and the point of her ears. Doesn’t say anything just in case he’s wrong and might somehow offend them, but the golden highlight under almost obsidian skin is breathtaking nonetheless.

Though she becomes breathtaking in a whole new way when Taylor watches her eyes drift subtly to the signet rings on the hands of their guides.

She holds up a long-fingered hand before Ryder, Taylor, and Cal can join them.

“Rings, sers.”

Ryder jumps at the opportunity — cocks a brow and starts what has to be a prepared monologue; “I knew you’d ask. Wouldn’t you know, what happened was —”

“Rings, sers.” She cuts him off, unfazed.

He looks behind her to Katherine; already inside the elevator and leaning against the back railing. But it’s Cadence who steps forward, places a feather-light touch on the attendant’s arm to draw her attention.

How the towering man manages to look so unassuming is a mystery. Even his smile seems genuine — but it can’t be. Especially not from the way Ryder spoke to him earlier. If Taylor hadn’t seen those red eyes for himself he’d have a hard time believing the man was anything potentially dangerous.

“I can vouch for them, miss.” He offers.

Just when it looks like he’s disarmed her with his smile, the fae shakes her head. Though when she replies she’s kinder in tone; recognizes his status as assumed by the ring.

“It is my job, ser.”

“I don’t remember security being this tight during the Lunar Eclipse.”

“Increased measures due to recent events, ser,” she nods imploringly, “all for the protection of the guests, Persephone-assured.”

Taylor blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “We just lost our rings in one of the rooms, that’s all!”

But it’s not enough. She starts to wave down the other two workers. “These things happen, ser, we understand. However until your rings are recovered we cannot allow use of Persephone’s services.”

When Katherine finally joins the conversation she’s got a furrowed brow and a hint of ire on her tongue.

“Jesus, Nik, leave it to you and your new boyfriends to make everyone’s fucking lives that much harder.”

Everyone’s startled for different reasons. Taylor and Cal exchange glances, mouth ‘boyfriends?’ in absolute bewilderment. Nik looks ready to smother her with his sleeve it it’ll stop her current train of thought. The attendant’s cheeks go slightly blue with what must be their version of embarrassment at her vulgar language.

Only she doesn’t stop there. “Let me guess — while you had me and Cade waiting at the poker game you were… what, getting off in the steam room?”

And because he’s always been a sucker for improv Taylor takes Nik and Cal’s hands in his and squeezes. “I don’t really think that’s your business.”

“What, my partner isn’t my business?” she snaps.

“When he’s with us he’s definitely not your partner, honey.”

Katherine’s got a twinkle in her eye — elbows Cadence into action subtly while the attendant looks between them to see if she can settle their tiff on her own or if she’ll need backup.

“Like I care what your newest little toy has to say,” Katherine rolls her eyes dramatically, “but you kept us waiting then and you’re holding us up now! If Izzy’s gone by the time —”

“Pardon her,” Cadence leans down and apologizes to the fae in a low voice, “she’s had a bit of a night.”

“I—I can tell.” Comes the squeaked-out reply.

“We really don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Of course.”

“Oh come on,” jeers Taylor — now fully in-character, “like poker compares to what we can give him? You’re out of your mind.”

Cadence hisses through clenched teeth and lets the fae fill in the rest for herself. This doesn’t have to turn into a big scene. You only have to let them through.

She finally cracks; lets out a helpless little noise and stands aside. “We’ll have the spa searched for your missing belongings. Forgive us for delaying your — er — Persephone experience.”

The attendants are probably meant to stay in the elevator for the duration of the ride but as the three of them shuffle in — Taylor and Katherine now coming to verbal blows about some throwaway comment from “Miami last year!” — she worms her way out, presses the button for the lowest floor behind her, and helps her fellow worker close the gates to send them on their way.

Only when the glass panels close and plunge them into darkness does the fighting end.

He can hear Katherine’s smirk. “Not too shabby… who are you, again?”

“Taylor. That was actually kinda fun.”

“You really dropped the ball there, Ryder.”

“Hey, Kathy?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance.”

The noise is first. Cheers of joy and frustration and a distinct thudding followed by the clap-clap of hooves.

Then come the lights; less fancy and bright than the ones back on the main level but they’re probably there for an ambiance or something — part of the fixation the rich have with things looking shabby and poor. And through the glass floor it doesn’t take long for their eyes to adjust.

The last piece of the puzzle is the smell — old things like rust on chain-link fences and concrete that bring him back to the city for a flash. And underneath it the sour, coppery smell Taylor’s only recently come to understand is blood, freshly spilled.

It’s not just a cage match — it’s a bona fide Fight Club being held a couple stories underneath the wealthiest properties in New Orleans.

The crowd hangs in a thick mass of sweat and expensive perfumes around the center cage. Sways like the tide to keep their eyes on the fighters within as they rumble around their confines.

Up high they get a rare chance to see the fighting full-blown. Rare, and terrible.

Taylor barely has time to clasp his hand over his mouth and hold back his exclamation. Watches as the hulking stone troll — it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom, it’s not Krom — with geologic muscles pounds its fists against its chest and rushes at a startling speed towards the opponent.

The owner of the hooves is a satyr; half the troll’s height with horns included and stocky rather than built. There’s a chip in the curved ram-like horns and blood running down its face from a broken nose.

It stomps against the concrete — and he has to ignore the splatters of dried blood in various colors to focus on the fight itself — and braces. Makes Taylor want to yell for it to move because there’s no way it can hold back the sheer weight alone of the troll. He almost can’t watch. But it’s like a train wreck — he can’t look away.

The crowd erupts with noise at the collision. The satyr is stronger than it looks; holds back the troll first with its horns and doesn’t give it time to grab for the softer, fleshier parts before charging, bull-like, to push the heavier opponent all the way to the other side of the cage.

Then it goes dark; the hand over his eyes just a little clammy. The troll roars in agony.

He pulls Ryder’s hand away just in time to see the troll fall face-first. Thin, watery blood pools beneath it. His confusion doesn’t last long when he notices a jagged, torn edge of the caging bent into the cage like a spike.

“No weapons inside,” Nik explains lowly; like he’s holding some sort of reverence for the troll now being dragged limp by its arms from the arena, “but that doesn’t stop the resourceful.”

A shirtless duo, what look like a brother and sister with a beauty so striking it can’t possibly be of this world, enter and take the satyr’s hands to raise it up as champion. Most of the crowd boos and jeers — Taylor can see why when the money begins changing hands near the shaded back of the space.

“People enjoy this?” He can’t help it when his voice cracks.

“Violence is just another luxury when you’ve got enough money.”

The elevator grinds to a halt and Cadence pulls the doors open for their exit.

“Keep close.” Ryder doesn’t give him much of a choice, what with the arm around his shoulders, but Taylor’s definitely not arguing right now. Not with what he just witnessed.

Several steps and something feels off — missing. Makes him look around to find Cal a few paces behind with a sickly pallor and his hands balled into fists.

“Cal, what’s wrong?”

It draws the attention of the others. Katherine follows the werewolf’s line of sight and mutters more than a few expletives under her breath.

The walls are lined with (no doubt expensive) graffiti and posters larger than life. Some are peeling at the corners and bear ink faded with time and what might have once been sunlight. Now they’re almost relics of a bygone era — no, eras — of fighting.

Nearest the elevator has to be the most recent title match. Glossy paper smoothed down and tacked in with polished nails, colors still vibrant and with a large piece of tape bearing SOLD OUT across the front partially obscuring the words.

But it doesn’t take a genius to piece it together.

MARDI GRAS EXCLUSIVE!! ONLY FOUND AT PERSEPHONE!! MINOTAUR VS. WEREWOLF!! $5K BUY IN!! ASK YOUR ATTENDANT FOR DETAILS!!

Before Taylor can reach his side Cal doubles over and empties his stomach at his feet. They’re far back enough that it doesn’t grab anyone’s attention. Already the next round of bets is beginning and the mob is losing itself with greed and a hunger for blood.

“Hey — Cal, hey,” he rubs the man’s broad back as he gags up the last of his spittle, “we’re here, we’ll get Donny before anything happens. He’s not gonna fight.”

Cal rights himself shakily; wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“How do you know — guh — he hasn’t already?”

He doesn’t. And doesn’t want to try and give Cal false hope. But his face says everything before he can try to put on a smile — makes Cal nod grimly.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

A gaggle of goblin onlookers herd aside just in time for them to spot the bouncers haul away the unconscious stone troll through a metal warehouse door.

Ryder jerks his head that way. “Likely where they’ve got all the fighters.”

“So let’s go.” Cal growls; starts to push his way through the bodies before Ryder grabs him and holds him back. “What the hell?”

Katherine clicks her tongue. “You don’t know what match they’re on. Storm in there now and every fighter who wants to be here could be back there waiting to turn you into ground beef.”

“But Don —”

“We’ve come too far to risk it now, Cal. Please…” The wolf looks into Taylor’s eyes — then his shoulders sag with a nod.

“Fine. Just until we see what round they’re on.”

Ryder lets out a low whistle that draws Katherine’s attention. Sweeps her gaze over to what has to be some kind of VIP corner with a poor excuse for bleachers dotted with better-dressed guests smoking cigars and being served by attendants.

Most of those guests are crowded around an older woman in all black. Set lines from an unkind tussle with the years around her thin lips and deep in her forehead. She doesn’t sacrifice her wealth for her mourning; and the high-cut thigh slit on her gown isn’t something you’d expect at a funeral anyway.

“Let me guess, Izzy?” Taylor asks as quietly as he can — practically whispering it in Ryder’s ear.

But he doesn’t get the chance to answer as Isadora's ruby eyes fall on their group from across the crowd. The same color as Cadence’s back up on the floor.

Oh.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Katherine scoffs; throws a dirty look back Taylor’s way before resuming her position on Cadence the vampire’s arm. “Don’t have any fun without us.”

With a tittering wave they’re gone — being let passed the velvet rope to Isadora's section and too far away for any of them to hear.

“What do you suppose they’re talking to her about?” He doesn’t bother whispering this time — knows they can hear him even if they don’t look his way before the movement of the crowd obscures them from view.

Ryder shakes his head grimly. “Nothing good. So let’s not be caught making it our business.”

Though the betters and onlookers are of the same caliber as the party-goers back upstairs, the ambiance of the space is just different. Taylor isn’t the only one who feels it, either. Every time he grabs for Cal’s arm to keep them all together he feels the shiver of goosebumps — the wolf within knows something here is inherently wrong.

Up above it hadn’t seemed like all that shining wealth could be housed within the same realm as the thing that had gone after him in the cemetery. Now, though, he gets it. This is the real world; all the paint washed off and costumes put away.

He definitely doesn’t find it as beautiful anymore.

An unseen announcer takes to a pitchy speaker system to let everyone know the next match is in fifteen minutes and that all bets are final. It incites those around them to start placing their final calls — jostles them like a sudden storm at sea.

He stumbles as a figure forces himself between Taylor and Nik. Scrawny shoulders like cut stones and a rusty mop of hair that ends just above a set of pointed ears suddenly turning to look at him with way too much malice for a stranger to have.

“Watch where you’re going, mortal.” When he speaks the fae’s accented voice cracks in a way Taylor’s all-too familiar with. It makes him grin despite himself and when the stranger takes an almost comical level of offense to it he laughs, too.

With no shame, of course.

“What in the blazes is so funny?!” It’s obvious the kid — god, he can’t be more than a teenager or… whatever that is in elf years — puffs out his chest to look a little bit more intimidating. Obvious and wholly ineffective.

Lucky for Taylor the only kind of people that make him look less masculine are preteen boys.

“I’m —” pause to breathe again, “— I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I…” No, yeah, he is.

“How dare you,” is the sneered response, “do you know who I am? When I tell my father of your impertinence you will rue this!”

Well that just kind of kills the joke. Makes Taylor look back to Cal who doesn’t make a show of hiding his curled upper lip.

“Whoa there. Calm down Little Elfen Annie, you bumped into my friend, here. So how about instead of empty threats you try an apology?”

Somehow the youth finds more of himself to puff out but it’s no match for Cal’s werewolf physique. He dwarfs the redhead effortlessly. And only then does the kid notice.

“Of course you’re a shifter. One of the impure, no doubt.”

Taylor gawks. “Hey, watch it. Now you’re just being a dick.”

“You vulgar —”

“You wanna talk vulgarity twerp you ain’t heard —”

“Oh god — N-Nik! Nik! Ni —”

They all three fall silent when Ryder’s calloused hand falls on the elf’s decorated shoulder. Makes him look up (and up) into the Nighthunter’s stone-cold expression with the barest flicker of fear showing through his bravado.

“Get. lost.”

Ryder doesn’t have to tell him twice. Though he does make it look like he’s choosing to leave — rights his blazer and mutters something in a lilting language under his breath that Taylor thinks he catches a bit of but, obviously, doesn’t speak so he lets it go.

“What the hell happened to ‘laying low?’” Nik scolds the pair of them. Barely enough to get Cal to calm down. “Put it on ice, Kujo. Before you get us kicked out and then no one’s gonna save your brother’s sorry tail.”

Whatever curse Cal throws at Ryder’s turned back is lost when the crowd starts cheering and chanting around the cage. Draws their attentions to the far end where the back door opens and a large, hulking shadow casts over the dim lit hallway beyond.

“We know you’re all buzzing for the fight of the night, folks!” comes the Announcer’s voice overhead. Cal whispers a “no…” and Taylor feels his stomach drop out from under him.

“But we thought we’d give the poor wolf pup a fightin’ chance. So who wants to see our reigning champion take on the as-yet undefeated Corbyn the Satyr?!”

All around come shouts and chants of “bloody him!” and “break his face!” — along with the odd “get me my money’s worth, damn goat!”

Then a loud snorting noise rings through the arena and makes a hush fall over the crowd.

“Min-o-taur.”

“Min-o-taur! Min-o-taur! MIN-O-TAUR!”

Soon the chant fills the air like a gospel. Draws out the god in question from the doorway in a prayer.

The Minotaur is everything and more. Just like in the movies but real; a real bull’s head on top of a real hairy body covered in mottled scars and wounds that fade into two of the biggest blackest hooves Taylor’s ever seen.

Atop his head are polished horns that, even from a distance, he knows could impale him without resistance.

The Minotaur stomps into the middle of the cage and raises its large arms. Encourages the crowd to chant higher, louder, faster. It revels in the sound of its name; tips back it’s enormous head and lets out a deep howl that actually shakes the metal of the cage. The crowd bursts into cheers like animals possessed at the sound of it.

For the first time Ryder actually looks worried.

“We gotta find that kid wolf before that thing tears out his spine.”

Taylor cringes at the mental image. “Jesus, Ryder, have some —”

“No,” Cal interrupts hollowly; never looks away from the Minotaur as it riles up the crowd by hammering its fists on its chest and bellowing in their faces, “he’s right. Donny’s dead if he gets in that cage.”

Just as the creature huffs in a group of faces at the front there’s a hot breath on the back of Taylor’s neck. Makes him yelp and jump sky-high away from the shiver that curdles up his spine.

“Hnn what the hell?!”

The perpetrator, a lemon-yellow goblin with a head almost as tall as his torso, grins his equally yellow teeth at them with fingers folded at his chin.

“Did Meerl hear right?” the goblin eyes Taylor up and down like a snack and it’s an experience he never wants to have ever ever again, “When Meerl was hearing that little mortal man wants in cage?”

Meerl (apparently) wiggles his fingers like long spider legs. “Meerl can make this happen.”

“Wha —” — nope, nope, a big fat fucking nope — “— no way, I —”

“Yeah, we want in.” Nik interrupts, holds Taylor back and snaps several times to grab Meerl’s glittering glance.

“How much?”

Cal snarls. “Ryder, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, wolfpack,” then he repeats; “I asked how much, worm.”

“Meerl only asks for small percent — small percent of mortal’s winning.”

“That’s assumin’ he wins.”

“Meerl can make this happen.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, yes. Come speak with Meerl — Meerl will make mortal rich.”

Before Taylor can protest any further Meerl starts off; pushing his spindly way through the throng just as the cage door shuts with the satyr Corbyn and the Minotaur locked inside.

He grabs onto Ryder in a panic. “What are you doing?!”

The answer he gets isn’t verbal — instead it’s just a look on his bodyguard’s face that (against his body’s wishes, very much so) makes Taylor’s heart do a backflip and stick the landing.

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” Nik doesn’t take. Not this time. Instead just offers his hand cuts and all. He can hear Cal start to protest behind him and, farther up, sees Meerl turn and give them what he probably thinks is a sweet smile and a wave of his claws.

“Taylor.”

Nik’s voice brings him back to himself. What the fuck am I doing?

He hesitates… then puts his hand in Nik’s.

“I trust you.”

“Then come on.”

He throws back a pleading look at Cal — who definitely still opposes, but follows with a single nod.

Nik pulls him along in a secure grip to where Meerl waits. The closer to the cage the tighter the fit but they manage. All the way across the room to the metal door guarded by two suited stone trolls.

“Shit,” says one, and looks the three of them over, “you actually found one?”

“Meerl does good business, should not doubt Meerl,” the goblin croons. With a doubtful glance to his companion the troll shrugs and opens the door.

“Come, come friends,” Taylor tries not to let the goblin’s chuckling dissuade him from trusting Ryder as they’re led inside, “good business to be done.”

If he squeezes Nik’s hand a little tighter when the door slams shut, the hunter is a real bro and doesn’t mention it.

The thing about Meerl’s deal is that it isn’t a bad one in theory.

It’s Their way of keeping the fighting interesting and preventing people from accusing the club of rigging every match. Bring a Joe Schmoe in from the crowd itself and, should he win, most of the winnings are his. It’s a good return of investments for those who spend a little bit too much time and money betting on fighters.

And little Meerl gets a cut of the winnings. Not even half, not even a quarter! There would definitely be enough left over for the inevitable medical bills.

So it’s a sound theory — for someone like the Minotaur.

For the human going up against said Minotaur? Well yeah it’s a fucking death sentence; a warm-up routine for the hulking creature and an easy paycheck for the goblin whose job it is to bring in fresh meat.

Not that any of this is said out in the open but it’s obvious. Like, painfully obvious.

Which is why Ryder isn’t actually considering entertaining the idea.

Wait… right?

The fact that they’re led to a small room with only a desk and some paperwork should raise way more alarms on his so-called ‘bodyguard’ than his behavior would suggest.

Cal tries to keep out of the way; “I’ll wait out here, keep an eye on things,” but Meerl isn’t having it and ushers him in alongside. Closes the door to give them ‘privacy to discuss business matters,’ or whatever.

Doesn’t stop the wolf from nudging Taylor’s arm and jerking his head back out to the dark corridor. Not that they’ve gotten close enough in the—oh—three, four hours they’ve known each other by now but he doesn’t have to be psychic to get it.

Cal’s caught Donny’s scent. They’re in the right place at the wrong time.

The goblin scrambles to work; a fire lit under his yellow ass as he starts grabbing and shuffling piles of paper, packets, and waivers of various official pastels. Starts explaining everything in that hasty way one does when things aren’t completely legit. But Ryder eats it up like he’s just won the lottery.

Frankly it’s disturbing seeing him smile that much.

Before they suffer death by a thousand paper cuts, though, he puts his palm down on the already too-high stack of liability forms. His smile is so greasy it makes the goblin look positively angelic.

“I think this is a great starting point, Meerl,” he grabs Taylor by the shoulder and shakes him with camaraderie, “but this is my kid’s first fight — cold feet, you know.”

“Oh yes yes, yes Meerl knows.”

“So may~be you could gimme a few minutes with him? Help settle those nerves in a special way.”

It’s the wink that makes Taylor lean back. “Uh, excuse you?”

But Meerl is already stood and skittering towards the door. “Oh yes — yes Meerl sees this quite often, Meerl does. Give you, hm, say five minutes, yes?”

“Ten.”

“Six.”

“Fifteen!”

Turns out yellow skin goes sort of orange when it pales. But Meerl accepts with a huff and a nod. “Ten minutes, Meerl will give. Then new mortal will face champion — then champion will face wolf pup.”

The pop pop of Cal’s cracked knuckles as he clenches his fists echoes through the concrete walls.

“Or maybe the new mortal — er, me, you know what I mean! — maybe I’ll face the wolf pup.” Taylor jibes.

Any sensible person would take the way the goblin throws his head back in laughter as a clear sign to get the hell out.

“Yes,” Meerl’s tone is nothing short of placating as he closes the door behind him, “yes maybe—maybe…”

And though he may not be perfectly sensible, Taylor’s sensible enough to smack Ryder over the head the moment they’re all alone.

“Hi, yeah remember that ‘trust’ you asked for? It’s waning — fast.”

Maybe a little less so when Ryder scoops the paperwork onto the floor in a colorful confetti-like array. There’s no imagining his satisfaction.

“I got us back here, didn’t I?”

“With the sleaze-ball right outside the door.”

Ryder ignores him for Cal; “Can you track him from here?”

“He’s definitely close,” he’s almost breathless with anticipation, fear, worry; “he’s terrified.”

“I would be if I had to face that thing, too.”

Either the stone walls suck at muffling sounds or the crowd is losing its collective shit over the match. He knows which is more likely.

Ryder continues; reaches into one of the inside pockets on his coat and winds something long and dark around his fist. “So we’re all clear on the plan?”

Cal nods tersely. Taylor, not so much.

“Uhm, when was there a plan? Did I miss talking about a plan?”

“Jesus,” the hunter pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m gonna start calling you Rookie if you can’t keep up.”

Before Taylor can protest, though, Cal comes to his rescue. “Same thing it’s always been. We got in — now we find Donny and get out as quick as we can. And probably try not to get our faces busted in on the way.”

“And once we’re out?” He looks back and forth so fast he gets a bit dizzy, “You said Kristof was sending some of the Pack after him. Won’t you be on the run?”

“You let me worry about that. I’ll get you your Sage and we can part ways.”

Ryder nods curtly; flexes what Taylor can now see clearly as a thickly braided leather cord between his hands. “Sounds good.”

“No, no it doesn’t!”

“Taylor,” and Cal shouldn’t sound as sure as he does given his situation — not just the one he’s in but the one he’s going to be in, “hey — we’ll be okay. Thanks for the concern but… we’ll be okay.”

It’s likely Ryder’s keen Nighthunter-honed senses that spring him into action because any more time to delay and Taylor might just talk them into a newer, tighter corner than the one they’re already in. But just abandoning Cal after, well, after everything? It just doesn’t sit right in his gut.

“On my signal.”

He barely paints the fake smile back on before rapping his wrapped knuckles on the door. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Is that the signal? No, because he doesn’t move when the wiggly door knob turns and Meerl’s scratchy voice sing-songs through the gap; “Good good! Meerl promises —”

No, the signal is the cutoff and choking gasps of Nik winding the bulk of the cord around the goblin’s skinny throat. Hands flailing, grasping for purchase where there is none while his tongue lolls out and eyes bulge even farther out of their sockets than they already do.

“Knock him out!” hisses Ryder through clenched teeth. Angles their dear friend Meerl over to Cal’s drawn-back fist.

The punch collides with a sickening cracking noise; something definitely broken in either the wolf’s hand or the goblin’s face. Taylor and likely the betting crowd outside would have all their earnings on the latter.

But just before he falls Meerl manages a single attack; sharp nails digging unforgiving into Ryder’s forearm before his eyes roll back into unconsciousness.

Ryder recoils and the body falls through the doorway just as Taylor catches the sound of footsteps halting. His heart stops — only barely starts back up again when he recognizes the distinct metal-tipped sound.

Cadence peeks a head around the doorway; pushes up his glasses before they fall off of his nose. Behind him Katherine appears with a long dagger in hand.

“Here they are.” Cadence announces with all the glee of a man stating the obvious. He catches sight of Meerl and quickly steps away from the long tongue just an inch from his boot. “Ew.”

He gives Taylor a slight wave. Entirely too optimistic for the current situation. Unsure of what else to do Taylor just… waves back?

Ryder, however, is furious. “Kath—what the hell —” he looks around them both to check the coast is clear, “— are you doing back here?!”

Katherine barely has time to return the dagger to a well-concealed holder on her thigh before Cadence pulls her in for a disgruntled side-hug.

“She was worried about you.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t need to,” he admonishes, “I could tell. Kept watching them during our meeting with Isadora — she noticed, by the way. So thanks for that.”

“You didn’t hire me to kiss her ass.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Without being asked Cadence joins Ryder in dragging Meerl’s body fully into the room.

Cal looks between them as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “If we’re done with the childish bullshit? My brother’s about to get beaten to death.”

He pushes past Katherine with nothing more than a grunt. If she wants to say anything she doesn’t; bites her tongue and probably everyone’s benefit.

Taylor calls out, “Cal, wait up!” and follows on his heels as quickly as he can. Doesn’t look back to see if the others will follow but he doesn’t have to.

Bodyguard, remember?

The corridor seems to stretch on forever. Open doors lead to empty rooms and closed doors — well — Cal may be in a hurry but he has the sense not to open them without being absolutely sure what’s on the other side.

They’re so far back he can barely hear the noises from the arena. All it takes is one look down to his feet and he collides hard into the werewolf’s solid muscle. Flails a hand out only to be caught by his strong grip.

“Here — he’s here! Donny! Donny can you hear me?! It’s Cal! Donny!” He tries the handle; growls in primal frustration at the lock. Starts trying to knock it down with the brunt of his weight in a frenzy.

“Donny! Donny hold on!”

Cadence and the Nighthunters arrive just as Cal lets out a bestial growl; teeth grit and definitely more canine than human as he gives a final shove and breaks a splintered hole in the door. Knocks it off its hinges and sends it flying inward.

Cal rushes in — zeroes on a dark-haired and twiggy kid pressed against the bars that hold him captive.

“Cal!” The kid cries, voice thick and choked with eyes red-rimmed from tears. His hands shake as they grasp for one another like sheer force of will can make the bars disappear between them. Cal buries his nose in the mop of dark hair and inhales deeply, lets something wild shift underneath his skin before it settles; satisfied with the scent of kin.

“Christ, Donny —” he pulls back and thumbs away a fresh wave of tears, “— you’re such an idiot! I was worried sick about you!”

“I’m so sorry Cal, I’m so so sorry.” Donny hiccoughs; tries to right himself like he has something to prove.

But how can anyone prove themselves trapped in a cell? One of a dozen on either side stretching further into the labyrinth underneath Persephone.

Taylor and the others follow in — no door to close behind them but they’re far beyond that now. Take in the state of not only the kid but a couple others who press themselves up to their bars in desperation.

“Please get me out of here!”

“I’ve got the money, I swear! Get me out and I’ll pay off Lady Smoke I promise!”

“Please, please!”

“I don’t want to fight anymore!”

It’s involuntary how Taylor turns away and into the newfound safety of Ryder’s shoulder. He can feel the shaking of the man’s hand as it falls on his back.

Katherine lets out a choked noise beside them. “Holy shit, this is…”

“This is too far.” Cadence answers; knows they were thinking the same thing by the way she’s left speechless.

His grunts of effort and frustration fill the room as Cal tries to yank off the door — instinct overriding common sense.

Ryder reaches out, tries to stop him, but ends up on the business end of those same pointed teeth when the wolf rounds on him with bright yellow eyes.

“Whoa now,” Ryder holds up his hands and shimmies down his left sleeve to show a long metal tool, “I’m just tryin’a help.”

“Cal — I already tried that.” Donny reaches out and his touch soothes the beast within. Makes Cal remember himself enough to give Ryder an apologetic nod of his head before stepping aside.

He huffs in silence like he’s the one caged, not his brother. But not all cages are metal, are they?

Ryder takes a knee in front of the door, starts to fiddle with the lock. Katherine takes his cue and procures a lockpick of her own to start working on the other cells.

Cadence keeps his distance from the occupants but looks them over with almost medical appraisal. “You’re here because you owe Lady Smoke on some level?”

A few cells down hooves echo and a woman leans forward; presses her face against the bars and peers at them through two swollen blackened eyes. The centaur leans down and rubs the tight muscle of one of her front legs — she favors it when she shifts in place.

“Some of us couldn’t pay up; others just not in time.”

“Were you given a choice to fight?”

She nods. “Again; some. I wouldn’t fit on her private floor, though, so I was just brought down here to fight.”

It makes Katherine let out a wordless, mindless shout of anger. She struggles with the lockpick. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s gotta be illegal…” Taylor tries. Only to be met with pitying faces.

Cadence shakes his head. “Not here. Though when it comes to Lady Smoke they’re lucky to still be alive.”

The centaur scoffs. “At least if I die in the cage there’ll be a body to bring back to my wife.”

It makes his blood run cold. “Who is this Smoke woman?”

Not even the captives have anything to say and that says a whole lot. Whoever she is she’s a part of this world that he doesn’t want to get involved in — that much is clear.

A thunk and Donny’s door swings open. He and Cal embrace without restraint this time and there’s such a heavy importance to it that Taylor finds himself looking away. Like he’s intruding.

Ryder moves on to the next cell and together he and Katherine work as quickly as they can to free the others.

Katherine sweeps the trail of her dress aside in front of the centaur but stops when a hand of bloodied knuckles rests over hers. Looks up into the human face with reverence.

“Don’t. I asked for this.”

“You didn’t. Nobody asks for… for this.”

“It was fight or let them take my home; my livelihood. It’s hard enough for the glamourless to get by these days. I didn’t want my wife to lose the roof over her head, too.”

Kathy’s jaw sets. “Then we’ll find you a new livelihood. Get you and your wife out of the city —”

“And where would we go?” Her laugh is rueful with a whinnying touch. “My family cast me out for marrying a biped. This is the only place we’ve found to call our own.

“Sssh, Nighthunter,” her thumb caresses Katherine’s hand gently, “no more arguments. I do not intend to die in a cage. And when I return to my love we’ll be free of the Smoke’s reins.”

“She deserves to keep her choice, Kathy,” Ryder coaxes her up and though his touch might intend to comfort her it doesn’t; makes her pull away as if in pain.

In that intimate moment Taylor was sure he saw a different person in her eyes. But whoever that person was — maybe caring, maybe mournful — she’s gone now. Replaced with Katherine and her hard edges.

“Whatever.”

The four other freed prisoners don’t stick around long enough for similar sentimental moments. Hopefully they’ve been down there long enough that they know their way out.

Donny, his hand in his brother’s like a vice, tries to follow them. “Let’s get out of here.” But Cal doesn’t move — makes him try again. “Cal, come on. I hate this place let’s go.”

There’s an unspoken understanding between those left standing.

It’s not enough to just open the doors. The cage needs to be torn down.

Cal sighs in defeat. “Well, they were promised a wolf in the cage. I can go — hey, what the—?”

They all watch as Cadence rounds on a metal heel and abandons them. Katherine barely has time to look back before hiking her skirts up for her dagger and following; calling out for him to wait for her to catch up.

“What’re you thinking? Cade? Cade! Cadence Smith you stop right there! Or at least let me catch up!”

Everyone catches up in time for Cadence to shove the back passage door open.

The pair must have initially gone through without confrontation — judging by the surprised looks on the guard trolls faces. One reaches out with a large sandstone grip but the vampire is too fast for him — moves faster than Taylor can blink and turns the tables with a grasp of his own.

“Oi — let me — GAH!”

He’s too loud not to be noticed. Draws the attention of the nearest patrons and from there it’s a domino effect as the mob pushes and jostles one another to try and get a look at the action.

The stone troll holds up a stump where his hand used to be. Looks down in horror at the remains of two limp fingers and the rest of his hand as a pile of sand. Cadence steps through the pile rather than over it. Leaves him to his agony without so much as a word.

Even the Minotaur — now alone in the cage and egging those still watching on with demonstrations of rippling muscles and the shine of its nose ring — stops. And that — that gets the arena’s attention.

In one last attempt to stop him Katherine reaches out; misses him by a bare inch and can’t stop Cadence from grabbing the announcer by the throat to pin him to the cage.

The seemingly mortal man is already red in the face from his work shouting. Lack of oxygen makes him almost purple under the flickering lights. Anger, outrage quickly melts into confusion then fear when he realizes his large and seemingly impenetrable guards aren’t coming to rescue him.

“I—gek—Can I hh-elp you, frie-end?” He chokes into his mic.

Before Katherine can lunge forward Ryder grabs her; holds her back. For her own safety.

“Cade — don’t do this!”

Her protest falls on deaf ears. When the vampire answers he does so close enough for the speakers to catch him — his barely repressed rage translates even though the static.

“Tell your audience your main event is canceled!”

And doesn’t that get everyone riled up.

“Wha—what?!” He covers the mic with a shaky purpling hand. “What the fuck are you on, man? Le-et me do-own!”

He falls back on his feet. Just in time to catch Cadence’s suit jacket before it hits his face; blinds him.

Cadence liberates him of his microphone for his trouble. “Though first you should tell them that your promised contender is nothing more than a child!” A jabbed finger parts the wealthy sea; Donny clings tighter to his brother as all eyes fall on him. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the werewolf that was promised! Not a wolf but a cub — who you would see torn limb from limb!

“And because I know there are far too many of you who aren’t sickened — nay, repulsed — by the idea of a child being mauled for your delight; to those I offer you this sobering thought! Not much of a fair fight, is it?!”

His words spread like a wildfire — dissent beginning to rile those who have shared money and hands through the night. Taylor catches sight of a man too late — doesn’t have time to stop him from shoving the announcer back against the cage with a shout.

“I should’a known this shit was rigged!”

“Hey, watch it pal!”

“No, you watch it!”

There’s electrical feedback as Katherine renews her attempts — tries to wrestle the mic from her employer to no avail. He brushes her off like a hurricane would a butterfly.

“Fear not, vermin, you will get the fight you were promised. And a fair one at that.”

He’s done with it now; shoves it into Katherine’s claws and busies himself rolling up his sleeves.

“Cadence — you’re not yourself.” And because he doesn’t know better she actually sounds afraid.

“How do you know?” There’s a dry laughter to his words. “You don’t. I don’t, either. But maybe this is it — maybe this is me. And even if it isn’t I’m not going to let a child pay a debt like a man.”

But Cal’s had enough. “If they want a wolf they’ll get a wolf! This isn’t your fight!”

“No,” and it’s with a foreign tenderness that Cal removes his spectacles and pries the single golden loop from his ear; drops them into Katherine’s waiting hand, “but neither is it yours.”

“Don’t let him do this.” Taylor tries to push his way through the crowd; but is stopped by Ryder’s hand on his jacket sleeve. He’s deceptively stronger than he looks. “Nik!”

“No, Rookie. We’re sitting this one out.”

Taylor struggles but to no avail. “But—”

“I said no.” Means it, too, by the end-of-discussion way he clips his teeth. “This guy is nuts, Kathy.”

And it seems the Nighthunters have finally found one thing on which they agree.

“Yeah,” she can’t — or won’t — look away from Cadence’s back, “desperation does that to you.”

When he’s ready, scarlet eyes fall on the announcer still shivering in place. Make him jump to Cadence’s attention.

“Open the cage.”

#nightbound #playchoices #choices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #cal lowell #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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raendown · 6 years ago

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A commission for @theintellectualweeb! Thank you, this was fun to write!

Pairing: IzunaTobirama Word count: 4837 Rated: T+ Summary: Izuna comes home to a kitchen filled with smoke and wonders, rightly, what the fuck. Since when does Tobirama cook? Since never, as it turns out, no matter how many times he continues to try.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Calamity Cuisine

The first time Izuna came home to find their apartment filled with smoke he panicked, as any normal human would. He was the one with a habit of playing with fire, Tobirama usually the one to scoff and stay as far away as possible, so it seemed a logical conclusion that something had gone terribly wrong and the love of his life was in danger.

As it turned out, the only thing in any danger was his dinner.

Panic quickly gave way to amusement upon finding Tobirama standing in the middle of their kitchen with a baffled expression and both hands on his hips, glaring at the stove like it had done him a great injustice. The look was a familiar one. It was the same look he gave to all technology when it wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do. For a man with so many smarts up in his own head he did have an unfair number of troubles with anything marketed as a smart device.

“What…happened?” Izuna asked, not bothering to disguise the laughter in his voice.

“I’m not entirely sure. As far as I can tell I followed the instructions to the letter – although they weren’t as clear as I would have liked them to be.” Tobirama’s nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Oh? What was unclear? And what were you trying to make? All I can see is black smoke.”

Izuna waved one hand through the air, trying to clear a small pocket around him to breathe in, and he wondered why the smoke alarm wasn’t going off until he spotted it sitting on the counter in several pieces. That answered that question. He didn’t even need to ask why or how; he’d known his partner for long enough to guess where his logic had gone with that one.

“Kraft Dinner,” Tobirama announced, holding up a small blue cardboard box. “The instructions said to ‘stir occasionally’ but it never explains what it means by occasionally. Should I hover over the pot and stir every thirty seconds? Should I stir in three equal intervals?” Clearly frustrated, Tobirama tossed the box down and crossed his arms petulantly. “By the time I had decided what parameters to use for ‘occasionally’ the pot had begun to smoke. These things really should include more specific language.”

“Okay you know I love you. But. A child can figure out how to follow these instructions. Literally only you could mess this up.” To take the sting out of his words he clapped Tobirama on the back as he stepped past to open a few windows.

“Children cannot possibly figure this madness out.”

“They really can.” Izuna threw open every window that might be used to evict smoke and then started looking around for something to fan it all around with.

Still pouting Tobirama moved to help him. Izuna considered telling him how cute that disgruntled expression of his was but in the end he kept such observations to himself. Obviously he was already frustrated over this ridiculous little episode and there was no point in riling him up even more. No matter how curious he was about burning the noodles when obviously they would have needed water to cook in.

“How about we just order pizza for the night?” he suggested.

“I suppose so. That was not my plan but one must roll with the punches, as they say.”

“You’re talking like an old man again,” Izuna helpfully pointed out. His partner gave him a pinched look.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Better!”

The second time Izuna came home to a disaster in their apartment was less than a week later and before asking any questions he headed straight for the windows to let it all escape outside. On his way he ducked underneath the swirling black mass and spotted the new fire alarm he had just bought sitting on the counter in the same condition as the last had been – but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry. Not when Tobirama had the decency to look at least slightly apologetic.

“What did the instructions say this time?” he asked when he could breathe again. Tobirama cleared his throat but his answer still came out as an unintelligible mumble. Izuna grinned. “Sorry what was that? I didn’t catch any of that?”

“I said that I forgot about the food. Did you know the oven light goes off when it reaches temperature?”

“Yes. I did. Because I cook all the time.”

Tobirama sniffed. “Well…it’s a dangerous feature.”

“It alternates every minute so that you can tell it’s still at temp.”

“Ah. That is something else that I did not know. I may have gotten distracted by the new catalogue that came this morning. Do you think I could afford a new telescope? There was an ad for an incredibly powerful–”

Before he could really take off Izuna leaned over to shut him up with a kiss. “Not the time. What are you stinking up my kitchen with today?”

He got no answer but opening the oven told him all he needed to know. Well, almost all he needed to know. The blackened mess inside the foil tin could have been either a frozen lasagna or a frozen shepherd’s pie, the ones he kept in their freezer for lazy nights were about the same size, but it was hard to tell the difference after the whole thing had been burnt to charcoal.

“Must have been a riveting article you were reading,” he mused.

“Would saying sorry help?”

“Not if you don’t actually mean it.”

Tobirama nodded. “I’ll work on it. I am sorry the food was ruined.”

For once living on the bad side of town came with an advantage as Izuna was able to slip on a pair of novelty singing bass oven mitts, extract the ruined meal, then carry it across the living room and toss the whole thing out the window. He paused for a moment just to hear the satisfying crash of it landing in the dumpster below before returning the mitts to their hook and turning to give Tobirama the most judgmental raised eyebrow he possibly cook.

“Why has this happened twice?” he asked. ‘You’ve never shown any interest in cooking before.”

“I wanted to cook dinner for you,” Tobirama admitted stiffly.

“So why don’t you just cook the way you always do and order Taco Bell?”

He’d never seen Tobirama puff up with so much offense before. “I will not serve you Taco Bell!”

Nose in the air, he spun away and stormed off to their bedroom as though he’d been greatly insulted. Izuna tilted his head curiously but decided against following the man. Something weird was obviously going on but with Tobirama it was always better to just let things happen as they would and let the man get through whatever he wanted to. It was really only safe to stop him if he was about to hurt himself.

Usually if you stopped him without a better reason he would just turn around and find a worse way to achieve whatever it was he wanted.

As evidenced when Izuna came home several days later to find what looked like the entire contents of his fridge smeared around the kitchen. Nothing had escaped the carnage. Cupboards, countertops, floors, even the ceiling had bits of vegetables clinging to the stucco he’d always meant to scrape off and repaint. At first he thought Tobirama was just that bad at whatever he was doing in here but he understood the moment he took in the sight of the blender with barely a quarter inch of green mush sitting in the bottom of it. The disaster sort of painted a picture of its own from there.

“So. What’s today’s thoughts?” he called out. When Tobirama popped up from the opposite side of the counter with his face coated green it was a difficult call whether he should scream in terror or laugh under he split a seam.

“There was an accident.” Something in his partner’s tone had him narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“And then?”

“…and then I wanted to see if I could recreate the event.” Tobirama’s eyes panned upwards to the mess on the ceiling. “Our blender is much more powerful than I realized.”

Izuna pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply then breathed out slowly. “Should I ask what was supposed to be on the menu today?”

“My thought was to prepare the shakes you like to bring with you to the gym, although I wasn’t certain what recipe you use to make them. I found several online and most of them involved vegetables in a blender. Which seemed strange to me since it’s usually quite the battle convincing you to eat any vegetables but all the websites agreed.” He shrugged, the mess on his face sliding downwards like a comical theatre mask of sadness.

“Should I ask why you insist on continuing these kitchen adventure or…”

“Is there something wrong with a man trying to prepare a gift for his partner?” Tobirama frowned but his ire was exponentially less effective when hidden behind pureed vegetables. Actually in a strange way it just made him look more kissable, which was a little gross to think about.

Cleaning up the mess of blended food took three hours and Izuna refused to lift one finger to help. He did drag his favorite armchair a little closer so her could act as cheer squad and keep Tobirama from getting distracted. Only god knew what sort of oddities were going on inside his mind every time he paused in the middle of doing something and turned as though to act upon some new idea. Izuna was merciless in driving him back to his task, feeling absolutely no guilt for doing so. The mess was his fault, after all, so he should be the one to clean it.

Afterwards he gave in to Tobirama’s pouting and let the man flop over his lap while he watched TV. It wasn’t exactly cuddling by mostly people’s standards, better described as Tobirama using him for a glorified book rest, but to them it was an excellent way to spend time together while still entertained by their own interests. Just because neither of them enjoyed the same shows didn’t mean they couldn’t happily occupy the same space.

For a full week after that Izuna came home to a disaster free kitchen and he began to think that whatever madness had taken hold of his partner was finally passing over. Their evenings were quiet and the nights when he didn’t cook something for dinner he made sure to call out for delivery to arrive at the same time he knew Tobirama would be getting home, following his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t until halfway through the second week that he discovered he had become complacent. Considering that he thought he almost deserved the shock of opening the door to find the bloody remains of an actual chicken spread out across their counter.

“Oh god, Tobirama what the actual fuck!?” Dropping the backpack he carried his work folders in, Izuna covered his mouth with both hands and spun away to combat the bile rising up in the back of his throat.

“Fresh meat,” was Tobirama’s succinct answer.

“A little too fresh! Did you actually slaughter a fucking animal in my kitchen? What the hell!”

“You always complain the supermarket doesn’t have meat as fresh as you would like. I thought…” He trailed off as though it had only just occurred to him that there may have been a few flaws in his thought process.

Still facing away, Izuna tried not to picture more details in the single glimpse he’d managed to catch. There was absolutely no need for him to know which parts of that poor animal were where or how much blood was now contaminating his countertop. He wasn’t exactly squeamish at the sight of blood but a dismembered carcass was a little different from accidentally stabbing his hand with a mechanical pencil again.

“Either you’re going to need three bottles of bleach in there before I even think of cooking anything on those countertops or you’ll just have to replace the whole thing because oh my god Tobirama. Does it ever occur to you that maybe you should run these ideas by someone first to make sure they’re not crazy?”

“No,” Tobirama responded bluntly. His voice sounded like it was still coming from the same spot.

A little suspicious, Izuna felt the need to clarify, “You’re not actually still trying to chop up that poor bird are you?”

“Should I stop? It seems like such a waste now that I’ve come so far.”

It took a while to stop twitching but Izuna kept his calm by chanting how much his loved his partner over and over in his head. Without that he was sure he would have turned around, vomited, and then killed the other man. Only when he thought he could speak without screaming did he open his mouth – and then stopped.

“God, I hate it so fucking much when you win with logic,” he grumbled.

“Does that mean I may continue?”

“Yes, fuck, go ahead you psycho. It kind of would be a waste. Are you almost done or something? Can it go in the fridge after? Because I am not coming back in to that room until everything is cleaned up.” Without waiting for an answer he absconded down the hall and barricaded himself in their bedroom.

In the end he actually benefitted from this turn of events since keeping himself locked away kept him from getting distracted by Tobirama’s company as he so often did and gave him the opportunity to go over some of the reports he’d dragged home from work. It was several hours before the quiet little nest he’d made for himself was disturbed by a hesitant knock on the door and he realized that he had probably gotten more done in that short amount of time than he had all day at work. Not having to fend off constant interruptions was definitely a luxury he rarely got to experience.

“May I open the door?” Tobirama called through the wood. “I promise that I washed my hands. Twice.”

“With disinfectant?”

“Both times.”

“Yeah alright. But you better not be covered in blood!”

Tobirama was not covered in blood. He was, rather, naked from head to toe. “I guessed that any mess on my person would upset you so I threw my clothing down to the dumpster. Well, I tried. I believe it was the Lady Hyuga on the third floor who put her head out the window just in time for my bloody shirt to land on her face.”

Izuna howled with shameless laughter.

“Good! I never liked her. Her and all her family; there’s got to be a hundred Hyuga living in these apartment blocks and they’re all so stuffy.” He continued chuckling as he tried to imagine the scene she would have made.

“So you say. I also cleaned the kitchen. As instructed, I disinfected every surface twice.” There was a distinct note of pride for a job well done in Tobirama’s voice, like he expected a reward for following orders, and strangely the fact that he was standing naked without a hint of awkwardness only made it more endearing.

“Thank you,” Izuna told him. “Come here.” When he beckoned Tobirama stepped closer and bent down to receive a soft kiss as his desired reward.

When he straightened he looked back over one shoulder. “I considered trying to cook the meat myself–”

“Nope!” Izuna was up on the bed in an instant, hustling down the hall.

“I said I only considered it!” Tobirama called after him with undertones of offense.

After a quick inspection Izuna declared the kitchen clean enough, though he still had to rub everything down one more time just to make himself feel better about wiping off the blood. The meat he found tucked away in the fridge looking almost like any other store-bought cut of meat so he pulled it out and got started on a late dinner for them both. If the meat did end up tasting much better for being so fresh, well, Izuna was sure Tobirama understood the thanks he was offering when they went to bed that night.

Nearly a full month passed after that without any sort of cooking fiasco breaking up their daily routines. There were several attempts, multiple calls from Tobirama at various points during the day with strange questions that Izuna was certain would have led to certain disaster, but he was rather proud of himself for putting out any and all fires before they could really spring up.

Both of their brothers dropped by for a visit while he still had things under control and Izuna was happy to have a clean kitchen where he could whip up a meal delicious enough to impress even his cantankerous older sibling whose palette swung wildly between caviar or bust and whatever was rotting in the dumpster behind the closest fast food joint. Madara complimented him on his steaks and Izuna pretending that Tobirama had butchered those fresh too but decided he didn’t want to listen to the screaming.

Their family dinner was nice overall despite the two Senju brothers disappearing for nearly an hour and then reappearing by climbing in through the window. Hashirama had tears streaming down his face but he refused to say why so Izuna could only guess that he’d been terrified getting dragged up and down the fire escape. Although neither would explain where they had gone it wasn’t actually so out of the ordinary for Tobirama to get an idea in his head and drag some poor sod along by force to help him act on whatever crazy thought had occurred to him this time so Izuna let it go without thinking very much about it.

It wasn’t until another two weeks later that he realized he maybe should have thought about it a little more. Or, actually, that it was a good thing he hadn’t. Surprises were nice every once in a while as long as it didn’t involve his kitchen going up in flames again.

Walking in the front door to find a perfectly cooked and plated dinner of his favorite western meal, roast beef and mashed potatoes, definitely was not on the list of surprises he could have guessed at ahead of time. Suspicions and questions immediately rose up but he managed to keep a lid on them for the time being in favor of slipping off his shoes without looking away from the feast laid out on their kitchen table. Neither of them being very formal people, they didn’t actually use their kitchen table for eating very often. Mostly they sat on barstools and ate over the kitchen island. Today it seemed Tobirama had taken the time to clear everything off their dining table for a proper presentation, bottle of wine and all.

The image was only made more perfect when Tobirama skidded in to the room with the distinct look of someone who was hurrying to meet their cue. He was blinking wildly and his hair showed evidence of being wrestled down in to a more smooth style, though it still defied expectations by standing straight up on the man’s head. It just wouldn’t be Tobirama if he were perfectly smooth.

“Did you kidnap someone’s dinner?” Izuna asked. It was the only explanation he could think of for the appearance of such a well-cooked meal.

“No.” Shuffling a little awkwardly, Tobirama looked away with a pout. “Anija agreed to come over and cook for me since my efforts to do so on my own...were not yielding the expected results.”

“I must have just missed him in another elevator or something. Damn. This all looks amazing. I am suddenly terrified that I’ve forgotten some kind of anniversary.” Relief swept through his body when Tobirama shook his head.

Gesturing to the closest seat, Tobirama murmured that he should sit before disappearing down the hall again with a frantic light in his eyes. Only when he turned did Izuna finally look past the funny hair and the wild expression to notice that the man was dressed up. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Tobirama wearing anything nicer than a clean t-shirt in the four years since they had met.

“What’s all this?” he asked when his partner came back in to the room.

“I was trying to be nice,” Tobirama huffed. “But I could never get it right. Dinner is- it’s tradition, I think. But Anija said that a nice meal means I should look nice and you do deserve nice things and–“

“Okay, okay, calm down. If you say ‘nice’ one more time you might accidentally crack a smile.” Izuna did just that in response to the prissy look he got.

“Just pretend I can be kind to you for one evening, if you please.”

Rather than point out that Tobirama did kind things for him all the time – in his own way, of course – Izuna shut his yap and let Tobirama pour him a glass of wine. His favorite, he noted. That was the sort of kindness he had come to expect before they even started dating. Tobirama was the sort of man who watched and learned and remembered, then he put those observations to good use by ordering Izuna’s favorite foods, taking him to movies with his favorite actors, switching brands when their new laundry detergent started leaving rashes on his delicate skin. His love was shown in little actions.

After the wine was poured Tobirama grabbed a paper napkin off the kitchen counter and brought it over, unfolding the one ply sheet and shaking it in the air like it was a proper fancy cloth napkin. Izuna stopped him before he could try and lay it out across any laps.

“Why don’t you just sit down and eat instead of trying to worry about every single detail? This is already amazing. Consider me impressed. Now eat before your food gets cold.” Izuna watched with amusement as his partner wrestled with the concept of not attending to every last detail himself.

“Fine,” he mumbled at last.

The food was delicious, though that was little surprise if Hashirama had cooked it, and the wine complimented their meal quite nicely. With the windows closed to keep the sounds of traffic muted and some kind of music playing at a low volume from their bedroom the evening actually had quite a lovely date-like atmosphere that they didn’t bother with very often as a couple.

Really the only thing that could be improved upon was Tobirama’s dinner conversation. Usually no matter where they were he could be counted on to chatter away about whatever he pleased, unbothered by the idea that someone else might overhear him and find his choice of topic offensive somehow. Now he sat ever so slightly hunched with his fork clenched tightly in one hand and most of Izuna’s attempts to start a conversation were met with distracted mutterings that didn’t quite sound the same as when he was lost inside his own head trying to work out a problem.

If Izuna didn’t know any better he would say his partner was worried about something.

“Are you alright?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, fine, all fine. It’s fine.” Tobirama continued to scowl down at his half-finished meal without even trying to make eye contact. Something was definitely wrong.

“Tobes–”

“Don’t call me that.”

Izuna bit his lip. “This surprise is great and all but you’re kind of worrying me. Are you sure you’re good?”

“Worrying you was not exactly what I had intended. This was supposed to be a nice evening for you. I can be nice!” Tobirama slid his own plate away from himself a stood up to pace an anxious circle around the table.

“Yes, I know you can be.”

“Well good. When you love someone you’re supposed to do nice things for them. Every magazine and article I’ve read says that and Anija agrees so I trust the majority consensus.” As he spoke he made another circuit around the table with his brows drawn together in an expression that could almost be mistaken for deep concentration by anyone who didn’t know him well.

Scooting his chair back, Izuna stood up as well to stop the other man in his tracks. “Hey. Stop. Tell me what’s wrong. You’re being…not you.”

“You just agreed that I can be nice, I’m doing a nice thing!”

“Uh-huh and you’re also rambling on about it when usually you like it better if I don’t mention anything. Please tell me what’s actually going on.” Izuna lifted his eyebrows and caught Tobirama’s eyes. They stared each other down until Tobirama wrinkled his nose and looked away.

Well versed in the surprising unpredictability of a man so set in his own patterns and routines, Izuna hadn’t even bothered trying to guess at the reason behind his partner’s behavior, not after how many times he’d been wildly wrong before. Conclusions he thought of as completely logical could usually be torn apart in three sentences or less by Tobirama’s oversized brain. So right now he just needed the idiot to talk; the suspense was killing him.

Still, he tried to be patient as Tobirama’s eyes darted everywhere else in the room but at him until finally he dug around in the pocket of his dark slacks. The theme of black on black he had chosen for his outfit did absolute wonders to make the rest of him pop. Izuna couldn’t wait to peel it all off him later.

“Anjia said if I wanted to give this to you then I should probably butter you up first. I think he was making fun of me but I wasn’t sure so I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.” Tobirama nodded as though agreeing with his own logic. Then he opened his hand and all the air rushed out of Izuna’s lungs at once.

The ring was modest and slim, clearly chosen to look more natural on Izuna’s smaller fingers. With a band of white gold and a simple braided engraving around the center it could not have screamed ‘engagement ring’ any louder unless someone glued a massive diamond to the top of it. Izuna couldn’t stop staring. And because he couldn’t stop staring he also couldn’t help but notice the very fine trembling in the hand hovering between them.

“I think you’re supposed to ask a question when you give me that,” he breathed.

“Right, yes, you are correct.” Tobirama cleared his throat and shuffled a step closer. “Will- is there a specific way I’m meant to phrase this? I think I should have done a little more research first.”

“Will you marry me?”

Both of them stared at each other in surprise after Izuna blurted out the question on both of their minds. The silence was only broken when Tobirama gave a little mewl of discontent.

“I was supposed to ask you that!”

“Well you were taking too long. So…answer me.”

“Of course I wish to marry you, I was going to-mph!” Before he could go off on a tangent about who should ask or answer Izuna cut him off again by throwing himself at the other man, arms wound tight over broad shoulders so he could drag himself up to Tobirama’s height for a deep kiss.

Hands settled on his hips to pull him in closer and Izuna was grateful when Tobirama bent down a little so he could lower himself from the tips of his toes. Under no circumstances was he willing to break their kiss yet. Not with so much unadulterated joy thundering against the inside of his rib cage. With no other way to express himself he held on tighter and kissed with everything he knew he wouldn’t find the words to say, hardly able to breath past his emotions and loving every minute of it.

It wasn’t until Tobirama pulled away to blink at him with concern that he realized he was tearing up.

“My brother can never know that I cried,” he demanded. Tobirama nodded solemnly in return.

“Understandable.”

“I love you.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

Laughing wetly, Izuna let his head drop against the middle of Tobirama’s chest. “Jerk. You’re supposed to say it back.”

“Ah. I love you too, of course.”

That was all he needed. Izuna closed his eyes and clenched his fingers, picturing what it would look like when Tobirama slid the ring on to his left hand. Not with a hundred guesses would he have thought this was the reason behind so many disasters in his kitchen.

Worth it, he decided. Tobirama would always be worth it.

#rae writes #commission #izutobi #izuna #tobirama #modern au #fanfiction

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karkatvantasistrans · 6 years ago

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Everyone heal your epilogue stress with another chapter of my Rosemary fic!!! Even if it is a little...dare I say........sadstuck. You can also read it on ao3 here.

Be Kanaya

When you return for training the next day, no one mentions it. You bump shoulders with Terezi while running from a crash of Time in the air behind you, and the sureness with which she hooks her arm into yours dissolves your weeks away from battle as if they had never taken place.

You wonder if Vriska feels just how erratic her control of Mind has become. You wonder if she encourages the chaos so she can feel in control of something, watching as space spits her aspect outwards, hitting the potential decisions of your allies as Vriska deflects the onslaught, cackles as it overwhelms Dave for a moment, drops him to his knees. You wonder why you bother aiming Mind at a wall at all as Karkat wretches, his matesprit opting to curse out Vriska rather than either source of the attack.

No one questions why this is.

When Dave’s time whips into Terezi’s control, you are in the sphere of influence this time, spiraled backwards into a time as a young grub when you grappled with the feelings you failed to have for a boy who, for all intensive purposes, you should have been the perfect kismesis for. You feel the smallness, the vulnerability rocket through you as you struggle to warp the space between the fraymotifing pair, and this time when Vriska laughs you swear it’s at your prepubescent shame, spilling out of every pore as the waves of purple escape the wall, embrace you instead.

If this is the case, no one mentions it.

Maybe there’s less to mention than you think.

Be Kanaya, one day later.

You would like to tell Rose about this.

Between the thorns of her disapproval, there is a unification of ideals that you crave every time you are left open on the battlefield, emotional wound of a girl as you heave and bleed.

She is not around for three days to ask where the blood comes from.

Maybe you don’t look quite hard enough.

Vriska mourns the loss of structure silently, the threat of your hard fought-for weekend creeping into the edges of her training schedule for the day. She pushes you harder, lights into each of your arms and bodies and torsos with a fresh intensity, delivering the promise of a weekend spent on self-repair.

Freeing you from the burden of unstructured time.

There was an inkling you had, before your coupled departure, that the pressure Vriska put on you all to perform was not uniform. As you watch the blood trickle down Karkat’s forehead, bright red, unnatural saturation running over the hills of his face and through his bared teeth, this is confirmed. Head wounds bleed a lot: it’s something you’re all familiar with. But the intensity of his blood, of his entire approach to battle sets you all silently on edge. It’s different from the unhinged approach Terezi allows her aspect: endangering others is, in some way, part and parcel with your overall goals. But when Karkat fails, or refuses, for the hundredth time to deflect an attack, to focus his energy on himself over adversary, the message in the air is unmistakable.

He won’t let Dave defend him outside of battle.

When they pull their fraymotif together, hot red bursting over the wall in liquid waves, Dave shoots every attack back into history, vaccuums them from the timeline altogether.

These are the only times Karkat will defend himself: under the cloak of Dave, red explosion incomprehensible in their combination.

You all remember the first time Dave came between him and Vriska, the only one who’d allow himself the vulnerability to worry for Karkat out loud. To demand that Vriska stop launching attacks exactly where she knew they would hurt, pull the hot red of shame over the honest slice of agony.

Dave was the only one to begin to put a name to the truth in the air: that Karkat didn’t see himself coming out of this battle alive.

No one named it explicitly: Dave only pressed into Vriska, demanding, finger to her chest as the rest curled into his cape. Why Karkat’s focus was never re-directed to defensive practices; why no one had a problem with how much of the blood on the floor was always Karkat’s.

Vriska only lauded Karkat’s dedication in response, the comfort with his potential demise a tether binding the two of them together.

Dave and Karkat left together that day, returned separately the next.

Dave’s eyewear did little to hide his ire, but it was never brought up again. The only indication left was the hot anger on his face behind his matesprit’s back, the chill of inevitability sitting, fog-like, over the room.

You refuse to auspticize the comfort with Karkat’s death he shares with Vriska.

But you make a silent commitment not to let another boy be destroyed by her.

Be Rose

You haven’t left your room in four days.

Shuffling down the corridor, sleeve sliding along the wall, you text Kanaya as your mind churns with data. There is so much to absorb, you think, to consider in the accumulated mass of troll and human text alike. Your novels are annotated with brusque, splattered strokes in the room you’ve left behind, and you carry the synthesized conclusions with you in the well of your mind on your way to see her. You are excited, you think, to see someone who can be an audience. The inclinations of your heart burble deeper, muted, under the cascading cipher of the rational mind.

-– tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 17:01 -–

TT: So, Kanaya, to what do I owe the pleasure of you summoning me from my lair?

GA: Oh Its Status Has Been Updated To Lair Since We Last Spoke?

GA: I’m Anticipating An Excess Of Macabre The Next Time I’m Over.

GA: At Least As Far As Decor Is Concerned.

GA: Otherwise A Demotion Back To Block May Be In Order.

TT: I promise nothing but the most appropriately monikered interior.

TT: Cultural norms on earth dictate such an abode if I’m to be consorting with a woman of the vampiric persuasion, I’m sure you understand.

GA: Ah So It Is The Earth Equivalent Of Tidying Up Before Ones Matesprit Arrives.

TT: Only if you like to adhere to banality, I suppose.

TT: I’d like to think the supernatural element is a welcome expansion on the concept, however.

GA: Hmmm.

GA: Perhaps.

TT: Anyway, Kanaya, you didn’t answer my question.

GA: No?

TT: What do you have planned for our rendezvous tonight?

GA: Ah, That.

GA: My Plan For Today Is As Follows:

GA: [TACTICAL OMISSION]

TT: Oh my.

TT: I’ve suddenly found the motivation to hurry.

-– tentacleTherapist[TT] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 17:17 -–

– -- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] at 17:19 –-

GA: In All Seriousness Though I Did Have Something I Wanted To Run By You

GA: Also Under The Heading Of A Tactical Omission Until You Arrive

TT: I look forward to the unveiling of this top secret information, then.

TT: See you soon, Kanaya.

–- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 17:21 –-

Your hand does not feel like yours when you reach up to knock on her door.

You are awake in her bed.

Shift of skirt, hair bouncing off of shoulder, you orient yourself: face to wall and arm tucked under stomach. It’s with a bleary brain that you roll your head, unite your eyes in tandem with her figure.

“Welcome back.” It’s delivered dryly, spine to face, and she finishes typing before she turns to see you.

Her screen is filled with cascading geometric patterns you do not recognize. They hum together in time with the focus of her eyes on you: intricate and intense, the illusion of constant motion.

“I didn’t mean to drift off so soon into this visit, Kanaya. I’m sorry.” It’s sincere: it’s damage control.

The shake of her head is slight, but present.

“Is that what it’s called?”

What?

“…Pardon?” A pull of legs under thighs as your body urges you closer to her, upright. “Maybe I’ve got too much sleep between my ears still, Kanaya. Sorry.” You deliver a yawn for emphasis, try and send her a sleepy wink to cement your camaraderie.

“You weren’t sleeping.” A shift of her eyes, her whole body, as she spins back towards her husktop.

Away from you.

“You ended up that way, more or less, but when you came over you were not…present.”

The rip of guilt is hot, like a rope pulled up from your stomach, through your eyes.

“It was trance-like, but otherwise…unobtrusive. That being said,” A click of hesitation pops in her throat as she raises a knuckle to her teeth, swings her eyes back to you for the briefest moment.

“…it would be nice. If you could actually schedule being present when I ask you to come over.”

“Of course,” Reconciliation attempt comes too quick, too eager.

A trance.

“I’m sorry, Kanaya. I’m not always able to predict changes in state like that. Perhaps it would have been prudent to warn you, but…I did want to see you.” For all the rehearsed intimacy of your hand on her cheek, the emotion that claws its way out of you is still genuine.

You can work with a trance.

“This is a normal attribute of human soporofics?”

“Ah - only at certain echelons of consumption. It’s the sort of thing I’d enjoy alone, not necessarily on a day I’m planning to see others,”

This is not normal.

Fidget of fingers, soft disquiet of lost inhibitions beyond your own ability to predict.

This is not normal.

But you are fine, the moment has returned, the underestimation is to be expected from time to time.

Repentance re-adjusts itself, focuses on your girlfriend’s disappointment alone. An unexpected blip, but one whose only consequence is a ruined afternoon.

Salvageable.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No…” Head turning, body with it, finally facing you in full.

“No. It’s alright. I’d like to at least spend some time together before I fall asleep.”

Be Rose, 41 minutes later

Kanaya’s hair is slick with sopor, gathered at her temples and rubbed in thick, decisive lines over her forehead. You can see the streak of her fingertips etched into the green on the back of her neck when she moves to turn off the light.

You have to remind yourself not to play with her hair as you sleep, subtract the buffer between slightly unpleasant nocturnal solemnity and nightmare.

Tucked with one arm to her chest, the other circling her back, you feel the gentle brush of lips and the edges of teeth on your forehead as she starts to drift to sleep. You think of how soft Kanaya’s hair always is when you wake up, sopor-treated silk, and wonder if the gentle frame of dry black on her face in those morning hours is the sign of a nightmare ripping through her mind.

You feel childlike, infantile as her arms circle you into her chest, disgust soaking you lightly until a fluid equally familiar pulls you under entirely.

You never did find out what she wanted to tell you

Be past Rose

“Kanaya!”

Did you forget?

You’re Kanaya Maryam.

You have just finished training with the rest of your friends, and have filtered out with slightly less urgency than the rest of them. Training in a group is more strenuous than you remembered, possibly because of Vriska’s overenthusiastic testing of your independently practiced abilities. Catching your breath at the hallway’s threshold, you turn to see Terezi walking towards you, hands shoved into her pockets.

“Terezi,” you greet, voice uneven with the remnants of exertion. Her face is illuminated as she steps into your your radius, reminds you of the energy brimming from your skin.

“Ah, sorry…” Hum of lambent skin lifts into the corners of her lips, over the hills of her cheeks as your phosphorescence pops, extinguishes. She is lit, now, only by the distant lamps of the hallway, glowing a soft red under her chin.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something!” Straight to business, no pretense:

“Was this you?”

Your eyes struggle to register, in the dark, what she is pointing to on the right side of her face. Something whips through you as you identify the “what” as bite marks, and you force your eyes back onto hers when you start to recognize the soft pucker of blood pooling around both scars.

You struggle to excuse your proclivity for blood theft.

“I’m afraid so.” Is all you’re able to cough up, dull throb of your face’s light bouncing off of hers in embarrassment. The pinch of teal in your gut Sings, shooting through your system as it begs to be reunited, made whole as you watch the way her blood pools lightly under the healed wound

“I didn’t expect there to be such a physical effect when I woke up, I admit I may have gotten…”

You struggle to find a better word, utterly fail.

“Snacky.”

She cackles, elated, head thrown back and uniform fangs exposed to the sky.

“That’s great!” She enthuses, and you hear the echo of an “eight” in her pronunciation.

“I didn’t mean to leave a mark,” You’re reassuring yourself, not her. She is positively jubilant over the revelation.

“I wasn’t exactly using every faculty of my think pan when that happened. I’ll admit getting cored left something to be desired in my…proclivity for foresight…” You tap your chin, lightly, a small bounce of light flickering with each collision of your nail.

“I don’t care about that at all!” It’s a dismissal and a reassurance: the Terezi special.

“Nothing wrong with a little battle scarring, Kanaya. But!” You feel the light slap of her cane on your ankle, soft repetitious tap communicating the post-strife excitement still rattling over her bones.

“What’s the story with your new spectrum imbibing lifestyle?”

You pause, hesitant, then surprise yourself by deftly pulling up the lip of your shirt, revealing the writhing mass of your stubbornly healing stomach.

The air is silent between you two for a moment, interrupted only by the wet slither of your churning organs.

“NEAT!” Comes her excited response, and you feel a warmth hit your bloodpusher as you immediately understand your comfort in trusting her with this.

#rosemary #alcoholism #gif #flashing gif #under the readmore #scribbles

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secret-diary-of-an-fa · 5 years ago

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Explaining ‘Joker’s Negative Critical Reception

SPOILER WARNINGS FOR ‘JOKER’ AND ‘THE PERFECTION’ (LIKE, ALL THE SPOILERS)

TRIGGER WARNING: I BASICALLY THINK THE JOKER WAS RIGHT

In my recent review of Joker, I alluded to an enclave of (predominantly middle class) film critics who absolutely hated the film, not because of its actual quality, but because it drew attention to widespread social inequalities in which they themselves are complicit. To be honest, I was going to leave it there and not provide any commentary on these film critics, since, y’know, they failed miserably: people went to see Joker in their droves and it made roughly enough money to fund two moon-landings and a year-long block party. However, I did some googling and it turns out that the phenomenon of insane critic-hate for this flick is much more widespread than I initially thought, and so it behooves me to give the reasons for this hate a little more thought.

Now, obviously, I’m dismissing the idea that this is simple, honest criticism that just happens to differ from me out of hand. I try not to do that too often, because I think its far too easy to start seeing conspiracies where there aren’t any. However, if you’ve been to see Joker then you already know that it’s a self-evident and transcendent work of artistic accomplishment the likes of which almost never actually show up in cinemas. A handful of bad reviews I could understand, since all taste is ultimately subjective- but a million thinkpieces about whether the film even has a right to exist looks suspicious to me.

In order to start dissecting Joker’s own private backlash, I’d like to draw a comparison to another film (which I also mentioned in my initial review): The Perfection. You see, Joker references a lot of classic films, from King of Comedy to Taxi Driver to The Network, but the film that it most reminds me of is The Perfection (which, incidentally, is the only other film I’ve ever called ‘transcendent’ without the faintest trace of irony). Both films are revenge films about people suffering from an invisibilised forms of pain. The protagonists in The Perfection survived rape but couldn’t have their suffering recognised because it was an accepted part of the sexist world to which they belonged. They eventually killed their rapist and his minions. Fleck (the Joker’s real name) suffers from mental illness and crippling poverty, but finds no sympathy. Instead, he’s alternately abused and ignored by the people in his life and those he turns to for help. His mental illness is even exploited by TV personalities who he’s never met for a cheap laugh. In the end, he takes revenge and in so doing, starts a violent uprising.

The big difference between The Perfection and Joker is that the former attracted praise from the majority of critics and ambivalence (rather than abject hate) from those who weren’t on board, while the latter was hit with a tidal wave of abuse. Both films are of comparable quality and both are thematically similar. so why is one widely accepted and the other denounced.

Well, one of the major differences between the victim-protagonists. The Perfection’s victims are lucid, relatively financially stable women from two different ethnic groups. The Joker, in contrast, is a mentally ill white man from an impoverished background. The sad fact is that some types of victim are trendy and others aren’t. Dirt poor, mentally ill honkies just aren’t as on-trend as well-spoken middle class women who have had something horrible happen to them. I don’t intend to be dismissive of the type of suffering portrayed in The Perfection (nobody deserves to go through what that film’s heroins did, yet sadly, in real life, many people do). Nor do I want to put Joker on a pedestal for giving a crap about a less socially-acceptable type of victim. My point is merely that there’s a double-standard at work in the review press. Most film critics have social circles that are ethnically and gender-diverse (which is a good thing, obvs) and can therefore empathise to some extent with people from different backgrounds. They get a nice warm glow from supporting people they know in real life. However, by the same token, I doubt most of them have ever met a working class person who wasn’t serving them coffee, or dealt with someone whose illness prevents them participating in mainstream society. To the average film critic, the working classes and the mentally ill are just ‘those dirty looking people from the other side of town’, whether they’d admit to thinking that way or not.

However, I feel like the learned inability to empathise with poor people doesn’t fully explain the hatred for Joker, though it undoubtedly facilitates it. One of the interesting factors about the hate the film’s received is that it seems to emanate equally from both ends of the political spectrum. On the one hand you’ve got yer neocon fuckwipes wringing their hands about the bad influence the film could have on children (they fail to mention how these children are going to sneak into see an R-rated film en masse) On the other hand, you’ve got virtue-signalling SJW motherfucks bemoaning the fact that the film dares to portray violence committed by a white dude in a sympathetic light (I’m not entirely sure how sympathising with the justified anger of a downtrodden, abused version of the Joker is supposed to equate to endorsing spree killings perpetrated by racists and misogynists in real life for completely different reasons in real life. Then again, the aforementioned virtue-signalling SJW motherfucks don’t seem to know either, so I suppose we’re just supposed to ignore the discrepancy).

It’s rare for a film to attract such ire from both conservatives and liberals, but it is telling. You see, as a die-hard commie (or, at least, a fairly stubborn socialist), I look at conservatives and modern liberals from an outside perspective, and they seem to me to have more in common than they’d like to admit. Both fundamentally believe that the society they live in is good and worth preserving- they just can’t agree in what form. This is particularly the case in America, where most of the film’s audience and critics are pooled. The idea that there’s nothing particularly great about American civilisation- that maybe, just maybe, there’s not much there worth salvaging- is equally anathema to the most hardened bigot and the most free-wheeling hippy libertine. The idea of American exceptionalism is so ingrained that anything that the thought of it failing beyond repair is horrifying to practically everyone.

This, I suspect, is the real reason for the hatred that Joker has attracted. The version of Gotham portrayed in the film is beyond redemption and, ultimately, you’re meant to feel happy (or at least relieved) when its smug, self-assured elites are shot dead; when its infrastructure burns; when The Joker- that cackling pop culture nightmare- is finally unleashed.

As it builds, Joker toys with the idea of tragedy. It walks a tightrope, making you question whether the Joker’s actions are really justified, but in the end it comes down on his side. It just waits until the last possible moment to suckerpunch you with that fact. The Clown Prince of Crime himself articulates the way the film has kept its sympathies in check until the right time when he says that “killing those three young men was funny, and I’m tired of pretending it that it wasn’t” (I’m misquoting, but only slightly, for the sake of expediency). This line is the pivot for the whole movie- the point at which the movie openly admits that its villain-protagonist isn’t just a sympathetic character study, but someone who might have a coherent point. His first murders were of the “awful” elites of his society and yes- in the grand scheme of things- their deaths were pretty necessary. And funny.

Had Joker just shown us its protagonist’s descent into villainy without hinting that he might actually be right, I suspect the films would be praised as a morally complex work of genius. But it dares to suggest that America might as well burn, so film critics- who occupy that relatively wealthy and stable rung of society where society itself starts to seem like a good idea- can’t really cope with it.

Is my interpretation correct? Who knows, the film is carefully ambiguous- maybe I’m not meant to be quite as on-board as I am with Joker’s brand of civilisation-collapsing nihilism. But the fact that it even has that element; that possible interpreation probably does explain why critics hated it.

Either that or they’re just tasteless fucking idiots. Oh fuck. It’s that second one isn’t it? I just wasted two hours of my life writing this didn’t I? Well bollocks. Off you fuck.

#Secret Diary of a Fat Admirer

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sumukhcomedy · 5 years ago

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Should We Silence Bad Comedy?

I stopped writing in this at the end of last year mostly because I was sick about writing about comedy. This is time-consuming and I had other things to work on and the criticism and opinions of comedy have started to feel far more hack than comedy itself can be. But going on the road and doing comedy this past year, a number of different comedians and audience members brought up this blog and so I figured that, when I felt like it, I’d still post in this again. As you’ll see, given the numerous links to previous essays I’ve written, I’m writing yet again about topics I’ve already written about before but it’s only because comedy, comedians, and the mostly meaningless debate over it continues to get worse.

The most recent debates conjure up what continues to be the crux of comedy’s biggest current issue with simple terms like “free speech,” “PC,” “woke,” etc. just being thrown around with little care for an in-depth analysis of what these mean and how they mean different things to different people. This rears its head yet again with the recent Netflix specials of Dave Chappelle and Bill Burr and the firing of Shane Gillis by Saturday Night Live. It’s a strange moment in which those at the top of stand-up comedy and certain comedians on the rise are being lumped together over these issues and it’s created a muddied mess. The perspective I have and that I wish others had was that we should all think deeper on this and fall somewhere in the middle.

I’m not going to get much into the Shane Gillis situation mostly because I don’t care. I didn’t read much about it and I got the gist of what happened and that’s all that’s really needed at this point in a case of creating something likely very stupid that masks itself as comedy. If you’re in comedy long enough, you understand that it’s a business like everything else. For as “unique” or “alternative” or “fearless” as your comedy may be or you perceive it to be, it still will be scrutinized by corporate interests. SNL still has to abide by the cultural phenomenon it has become and that it is part of a corporate juggernaut. All Gillis had to do was play the usual card that comes with public relations and apologize in an appropriate manner. As most stories do, this would have all blown over and been forgotten about in a week or less. He chose not to apologize appropriately. He was fired as a result. That was his choice to double down on what seems to be both his past and his present and his support of what I can only perceive to be bad, unfunny, and uncreative comedy.

Chappelle and Burr are at a different level because they’ve earned it and, unfortunately, they get a huge brunt of it because they are famous and the expectations associated with them are so high. Why Chappelle doubled down on making jokes at the expense of the trans community or why he did a hack impression of a Chinese man in his most recent Netflix special is beyond me. Why Burr chooses to rail yet again at audiences being offended by what he says is beyond me as well especially when he’s mentioned this in a previous special in a much funnier manner. It seems only like they’ve lived at the top in comedy for so long and are now irritated by unnecessary criticism. In some sense, it’s understandable. But, for the most part, it seems just as unnecessary as the poor criticism. Why create uninventive comedy based out of anger towards audiences that, for whatever reason, don’t like you anyway rather than create comedy that’s observational and hilarious and was what made you considered the best in the business? I have no clue but this is at least where part of the material in Chappelle and Burr’s recent specials are at.

Sprinkle some crack on this impression.

But the types of individuals that seem to draw the ire of Chappelle and Burr and went after Gillis as well are equally bizarre to me. The fact that our culture has some sort of desire to tear down comedy or that it should fit some sort of “good” and “sensitive” mold for all is strange as well. It speaks to these individuals not actually having a knowledge of how comedy, business, and most of this country operates. Forcing someone into experiencing how comedy should be experienced and what kind of comedy they are allowed to like doesn’t change them. Making an effort to “cancel” a person simply because their comedy is in poor taste doesn’t particularly resolve anything other than to embolden those that support such bad comedy. This, to me, isn’t the way to change minds, implement diverse perspectives, or educate people in comedy. But, I’m not the loudest person in the room or a part of the masses of either side in this issue. Most sound and reasonable comedians and audience members aren’t a part of this conversation because we’re, shockingly, creating and enjoying good comedy.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Chappelle is one of the greats to me. Killin’ Them Softly was one of, if not the, most influential comedy specials on me. I still love him and thinks he’s hilarious. It doesn’t mean that I support his jokes about the trans community or find them funny. It doesn’t mean I understand why he did or talked about some of the things he talked about in his most recent special. As friend Curtis Cook put it best on Twitter, “Dave Chappelle is kinda my idol ‘cause it’s always been my goal to walk away from 50 million dollars after realizing audiences are laughing in a way that belittles the struggles of my people then return a decade later to make that money back by belittling the struggles of others.” I can’t explain why Chappelle said or does what he does on a stage now but it’s his right he’s earned and there’s certainly a lot of money involved in it.

Regardless, I also laughed hard at certain parts in his special. The stuff about R. Kelly, gun control, and Jussie Smollett were vintage Chappelle to me. Is it his best special? No. Is he becoming old and detached? Likely. Does it mean I dislike him and kick his entire comedy to the curb? (No, or at least not yet unless some horrible, illegal stuff comes out about him). The same goes for Burr.

Gillis, on the other hand, was fired for statements he said that have been around for as long as comedy has existed. Bad comedy that punches down, is uninventive, and involves slurs will persist. I can say that because I have traveled the country for over a decade doing stand-up comedy and the audiences for that are there. They are there because people’s perspectives on comedy still are mostly in that realm either because they haven’t been exposed much to quality, creative comedy, they haven’t gone out of their comfort zone in life or comedy so bad comedy is all they know, or they are, frankly, just dumb people. But, as I mentioned, I don’t think you have the potential for changing people with comedy by forcing a certain type of experience on them. You change them by providing them with a different option and hope they enjoy it and learn from it. In many cases, they do not, but when they do, it’s far more rewarding as a performer to do that than to spend time making sure some guy you don’t know who probably sucks at comedy anyway gets fired from a job.

In my approach to comedy, I want to experience as many different types of audiences as possible. That’s just me. Comedy has always been segregated because our nation is still unraveling from a history of segregation. And I can at least say, having the opportunity to perform in a variety of different places, that there are equal amounts of bad comedy in all of them. There is bad comedy in comedy clubs (most of it). There is bad comedy in small towns (most of it). There is bad comedy in corporate events (most of it). There is bad comedy in alternative rooms (most of it). There is bad “ethnic” comedy (most of it). Maybe my comedy is bad to you, too! That’s just part of it all. And as we supposedly attempt progression in society, through the Internet and this discussion and debate on comedy, we are actually segregating ourselves even more than how segregated comedy rooms already are.

Look, I’ve been shit on for my race and who I am my entire life. I’ve been told by bookers that my material will “sail over their audience’s heads.” I’ve also been booked where I watched my comedy “sail over an audience’s head” and bomb horribly. I’ve also been booked and appreciated immensely by audiences. I’ve had the opportunity to headline really great rooms and open for really great comedians that I respect and that are now friends. All of that doesn’t happen without allowing myself to experience all aspects of comedy, take some shit and unnecessary criticism in life and comedy, and be better personally for it. Whether audiences will be better for it is up to them. Whether my fellow comedians choose to do this and try to be better is up to them as well. But, right now, we’re just in a vicious circle (thanks Dane Cook!) over this topic of bad comedy and the defense of bad comedy that makes all of comedy look dumber than its audiences. From my perspective, we shouldn’t silence bad comedy. It only energizes those that love and defend it. We should actually be continuing to create better comedy than it and hope it can change others. It probably won’t but whatever. It’s better than bitching constantly about the same topics over and over again but, then again, that appears to be what we’re fighting over in comedy: the ability to tell hacky stuff in our specific comedy room of choice and defend those we don’t even know to be able to do the same thing.

Laughter is a unique thing because it’s an emotion we can all have as humans. We all can experience it in whatever way we like and we’re bonded together by it. What prompts laughter for each person is different just as what leads to our other emotions are different as well among each of us. We shouldn’t condemn people for laughing just as we shouldn’t condemn them for crying or getting angry at a moment they likely shouldn’t have. We should try to educate them or make them laugh at something better just as we try to make our other emotions like sadness or anger better in other parts of our lives. If trying to make better comedy or these types of people laugh fails, then we move on. They’re left to live in whatever hole they would like with comedy. But there are plenty of people open to being better with comedy. Unfortunately, for now, comedians and their audiences are so caught up in a defense or condemnation of comedy in its most uncreative forms that they aren’t actually looking at why they appreciate comedy to begin with.

#dave chappelle #bill burr #shane gillis #snl #comedy #stand up comedy #pc #hack #woke #free speech #comedy special #netflix

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jbk405 · 6 years ago

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Maybe I’ll get that List out tonight after all

Avengers: Endgame spoilers.

SPOILERS.

Do not read further.

In no particular order...

1) The entire climactic fight makes no sense.

Thor already beat Thanos all by himself at the climax of Infinity War. Not just beat him, but beat him easily. Beat him easily when Thanos had all six infinity stones. Thor took a direct energy blast from the Infinity Gauntlet without even noticing it and literally cleaved through it with Stormbreaker. It took him all of five seconds, and Thanos had to literally re-write reality to get around it.

This Thanos is four years older than the Thanos we saw in Infinity War, pulled out of time from the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie. He’s functionally nothing but a roving warlord, powerful on a human scale yes but also reduced to working with the likes of Ronan and Loki. Outcasts and vagabonds working as mercenaries. And he’s weak enough that Ronan was comfortable telling him to piss off once he got a single infinity stone of his own. The thought that Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor -- Thor wielding both Mjolnir and Stormbreaker -- together couldn’t take him down without any stones in his possession is ridiculous. When you add in the likes of Captain Marvel -- who we see punch through warships singlehandedly -- I wonder what the point of the entire affair is.

On that note...

2) This Thanos barely even knows Earth. All his talk at the end about how he’s going to enjoy destroying the Earth, about how they’ve finally made it personal and earned his ire, makes no sense. He has had only one single encounter with the planet, when he sponsored Loki’s invasion in The Avengers. He hasn’t even dealt with Peter Quill and the Guardians and made the connection that Peter’s from Earth, to then by transference blame Earth for the betrayal of Gamora and Nebula. He’s got absolutely zero beef with either the planet or the Avengers.

This Thanos hasn’t reached into his safe in frustration at the end of Age of Ultron to pull out the Infinity Gauntlet and claim he’ll do it himself, he’s at the start of the quest.

And on that note...

3) In Guardians of the Galaxy Gamora had already decided to betray Thanos in the timeframe when she appears here. We see her attempting to steal the stone from Peter Quill as soon as he shows up on Xandar. Nebula hadn’t already decided to betray Thanos, but that was only because she didn’t think it was viable and she jumped ship to Ronan the second he got the stone and said he would turn against Thanos. The idea that past-Nebula would try to prove her loyalty to Thanos when she’s seen that future-Nebula has already seen him die and later refuse to turn against him, and that Past-Gamora would need to be convinced by future-Nebula, is ridiculous. These two were aching for the opportunity to betray Thanos.

4) The Avengers compound is destroyed by a bombardment from a spaceship, which presumably has destructive technology at least comparable to a modern-day missile, and not one single Avenger dies? Not even the purely-human, non-mechanized, unprotected humans? Tony got more knocked about by the helicopter attack on his home in Iron Man 3.

5) Why the hell is Alexander Pierce walking in the lobby of Stark Tower practically during the invasion of New York? Yeah, yeah, fun cameo callback and Hydra tie-in and all that, but there are still Chitauri corpses falling from the sky at this point. He shouldn’t have had time to even get here, let alone actually done so. Same with Sitwell and the Strike team. Again yeah, fun elevator bit, but it makes no sense.

And on that note...

6) Why the heck are the Avengers trying to steal the stones from their past selves instead of just asking for them? They state repeatedly and explicitly that they are not worried about paradoxes or damage to the timeline, that no matter what they do they will not change their own history, so in that case why not have Stark fly up to the group as they’re huddled around Loki and say “Hey, we’re from the future and we need that glowing blue box”. And if they think that won’t work -- past-Avengers might assume it’s an illusion from Loki as Past-Cap did -- why not have that as a backup plan in case their original plan falls through? When Future-Cap is accosted by Past-Cap who demands to know who he is, why doesn’t he even once say “Time travel”? Even if Past-Cap doesn’t believe him and they fight anyway why not try?

7) Why do Natasha and Clint jump directly to a suicide contest? Why don’t either of them turn to the Red Skull and try shooting him? Try tying him up and interrogating him? Try rappelling down the cliff to see if the stone is just waiting for them at the bottom? Why not try anything instead of just saying “Oh, crap, I guess it’s time to bump myself off”? It’s not like they’re on a tight timeline or anything.

8) The un-snap at the end isn’t a Happy Ending and I can’t understand why the movie tried to portray it as one. Sure, it’s happier than letting everybody stay snapped, but it’s been five years. Parents are going to come back to find that their kids died in the chaos. Spouses are going to find their loved ones have either mourned them and moved on, or been fixated and depressed for five years. At the very least you missed formative years, like Scott and Cassie (BTW, I don’t care what timetravel shenanigans they need to do in the next Ant-Man movie, they better get Abby Ryder Fortson back as Cassie). Society has crumbled and been reshaped, the entire population will have mass PTSD. This is going to be like somebody returning home after the end of World War II: It’s good that the war is over but it still happened. They specifically shaped the un-snap so that it wasn’t a reset button, which means that the universe is still absolutely wrecked.

I’m not the only one who realizes this, right?

9) The biggest problem: The close-out with Steve Rogers does not work. Not on any level.

As I lightly touched on above in Point 6, this time-travel operates on the branching timeline theory: Every alteration to the timeline generates a new reality spinning from that point and does not change the past/future of the timeline that you came from. This isn’t my theory, this is explicitly stated by the characters and is shown to be how it works. They cannot alter their own history. So no, Steve cannot go back and live out his life in the past and then take the Slow Path to get back to “now”: If he did decide to stay in the past it would generate a completely new timeline and “our” Sam, Bucky, and Banner would never see him again.

If alterations to the timeline do effect “this” timeline then their actions in this movie should have wiped out their entire recent history. Loki escaped with the Tesseract after the Battle of New York, not being brought back to Asgard and not being caught in the Dark Elf attack, from there never impersonating Odin and thereby causing Hela to escape and later help start Ragnarok. Thanos disappears four years before he performs the Snap. Nebula died. If these things now happened in the past of the main timeline then the entire current MCU would be different.

Thematically....what the fuck? As I saw somebody else say in a post, practically Steve’s entire arc in the MCU has been him chasing after Bucky and now he just hops right to the past when he finally has Bucky back and conscious and sane for the first time? Barely even says goodbye, instead spending more time talking with Sam? Again talking with Sam when he comes back? I love Sam Wilson and he damn well better be Captain America going forward, but Steve’s plotline has literally been about Bucky. Where’s their drawn-out goodbye and legacy? All they get is one single back-and-forth callback. Why didn’t Steve consider bringing Bucky back with him to give him the chance to live the life he deserved?

Still on this same point, why the hell would Steve not tell Sam about Peggy? What possible reason could there be for him to keep that a secret? Forget the fact that Sam already knows who Peggy Carter is, even if she was a stranger to him why wouldn’t Steve tell a friend about the woman he married? Even if we-the-audience didn’t hear it because they wanted to keep it vague for some reason, they could have just faded out on Steve’s smile. What possible reason was for him to actually say he wouldn’t tell Sam about her?

All told, the movie was actually a lot better than I expected.

#Avengers: Endgame #Poor writing #MCU #Film #Movies

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tumblunni · 6 years ago

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OH FUCK I THINK I FINALLY CRACKED THE CODE OF WHY I ALWAYS LIKE THE VILLAINS BETTER

Like man it always makes me so confused cos i mean im a soft AF person and i always end up having sympathetic redemption headcanons for them so its not like i like VILLAINY ITSELF but what else do all these characters have in common?

Thats it. Thats it, ursula helped me crack it.

I just WANT THOSE TRAITS ON THE HEROES

I really want a nice confident sassy funny chubby trans auntie who promotes body positivity to our young hero and always gets to say the coolest lines and get the best moments and BE LOVED FOR WHO SHE IS

And like usually whenever you get anywhere close to seeing those "villain traits" on a hero they like.. Remove all the good parts. If you have a supportive hero aunt she's always boring and generically supportive instead, and has to look like the most stereotypical boring mess ans have a super small plot role and uuuugh thats IF SHES EVEN THERE i mean seriously aunties and grandmas are weirdly less represented as mentors than grandpas who are already REALLY HARD TO FIND and again OFTEN GENERIC AND UNFUN WHENEVER THEY GET TO APPEAR

And how damn often are we allowed to have a chubby gay aunt!! WHERE IS MY CHUBBY GAY AUNT!! ive met SO MANY chubby gay aunts in real life like 90% of all my psychologists have been either that or like.. The exact same but a straight lgbt ally instead. Sassy plus size aunties are THE BACKBONE OF OUR SOCIETY DAMMIT! I've had so much help thanks to sassy gay aunts!! And like even just looking at any damn crowd scene in a normal city centre youre gonna see so many chubby aunts and long nosed uncles and all those sorts of bullshit "ugly people" that mass media pretends are ugly and relegates to One Minor Role In The Entire Cast despite them being infinately more common than supermodels and NOT UGLY AT ALL GEEZ IT PISSES ME OFF SO MUCH

I cant believe im a fuckin disney villain fan cos of body positivity

Tfw u suck so bad at making hateable people that the fandom universally hugs all your villains and ignores your boring protagonists like fuckin TAKE THAT DIDNEY

God i wanna hug hades sooo bad he just needs a friend aaaaaa

And i mean its not just disney, every damn time ive obsessed over a villain its been because they have some trait thats supposed to be "bad" but its actually good and we dont get to see it on the heroes

Like my thing with science villains in particular is that when i first played ff7 i really liked the idea of an evil minion who's a bad sidekick not just because he's "dumb" or "bumbling" but because he's actually not interested in any of the evil stuff and he works against his own boss and is like.. Friendly to the heroes, i have no particular grudge against you and i wont stop you if im off duty and all. I liked the Turks for the same reason but in the origibal ff7 translation they were kind of stoic and serious and i didnt really become as much of a fan of them til i saw them being more goofy and comic relief in some optional sidequests and then their movie adaptation. But hojo was always being all "lol my boss's plan is so stupid amirite" and had that very memorable scene where he's just sunbathing and tells you everything you need to know to get to the next thing to ruin his boss's plan cos i mean fuck it who even cares im just here to soak up some sun while fully dressed in a turtleneck and labcoat. It sucked so much that he was such a reprehensible bastard with creepy sexual assault vibes and murder and child abuse and experimenting on people and basically just NOT A LOVEABLE VILLAIN but his CONCEPT held so much potential to be filled by a sympathetic character instead...

So yeah then cos of him i kept being obsessed with finding SOME CHARACTER SOMEWHERE that actually lived up tp that potential, and thats why i was instantly interested in charon from pokemon and totally on edge waiting for the slightest chance for him to become That Perfect Sass Gramps Of Legend. And then he was indeed sassy!! And had so little screenyime that there was potential for interpretation of him as potentially redeemable cos i mean the game never said he wasnt, the game barely said anything about him at all, lol. And he was so old and small and frail looking and i just wanted to protect him!! And then that one wifi event that actually hinted at synpatheticness!! Aaaa its a recipe for a Forever Fave~

And i guess maybe it all started with my grandma being awesome and me really missing her? Cos i had shitty abusive parents and she was my ONLY good family member who showed me what love was like. And she was also basically a supervillain. Like every damn supervillain trait except being evil! She was bombastic and confident and sassy and mischievious and loud and passionate about stuff and always had something funny to say and never gave up no matter how many times she failed. And she also used all that great power for the forces of good!

So yeh thats why i love sassy good guys and i hate that often even when a sassy villain gets redeemed they seem to lose all their edge and become more generic now theyre a good guy. Or they get totally sidelined with no screentime anymore, or they ONLY get to be comic relief and dont get the full and complex redemption they deserve. Or just a lot of bads!! Its never the simplest answer of just fuckin.. Keep the character the character. Thats kinda why i didnt feel too much for the maleficent movie even though the concept itself sounded like everything i ever wanted. The character in that movie is a very different person to origibal maleficent, she's more just a stoic tsundere mumsy figure than a hammy badass iconicness. Still a nice villain redemption but it felt like it would have been better as an original story instead of an attempted maleficent. Also i wish they handled it better with the whole "true love's kiss could be from your mum instead" thing cos i get sooooo grossed out whenever i see people shipping movie maleficent and aurora! Like yes sleeping beauty with lesbians would be great but not when one of them is old enough to be her mum and raised her like a mum and changed her goddamn diapers! Also why did they have to ruin the three good fairies just to make maleficent have the mum opportunity? Like just remove them from the story if you wanted maleficent to raise the kid instead. No need to rewrite them into incompetant assholes when they were everyone's fave part of the original! Dont sacrifice the rare and elusive Good Sassy Gay Aunts!! THEYRE LIKE THE ONLY ONES IN DIDNEY!!! (Incodentally merlin is the equivelant of this to hades as the fairies are to ursula)

Also also villains tend to have ACTUAL FLAWS in stories that have a more boring bland protagonist. I wanna see the story behind charon's neuroses and how he struggles with overcoming his temptation to be bad because of greed but ultimately manages to conquer his own negative side because power of friendship and such. Thats a great character arc that provides so much more than he does as a villain where they just wasted him entirely :(

SO BASICALLY IN SUMMARY

* villains are often more complex and well developed characters with flaws while the same wroter might make shitty heroes due to the illogical fear that nobody would root for them if they werent 100% perfect and successful at everything ever

* villains are also often made as negative stereotypes of minorities and other rarely seen traits, which means its easy to reach out to them and reclaim them as a more positive version when theres literally no other options for you to cling to

* the quite common accidental sympathy factor where a villain will seem to be hated more than they deserve for their actions, ir unjustly punished so much that they feel like an underdog, since the writer assumes you'll think theyre "more evil" for being a stereotype and if you dont agree that this thing is bad then it seems like they have way less sins than the story claims they do

* also sass. Sass is good.

But basically the whole root of it is that its stupid and cruel and doesnt goddamn work when you make villains bigoted stereotypes. It just makes me love them! The only person i hate when i see a stereotypical villain is the writer who thought that was a good idea, lol. Just imagine that meme of the samurai holding the cat but its me holding all disney villains!

Also even if a villain isnt outright intentionally meant to be "this minority is bad", it can still make me symoathetic to them if theyre still something thats rare amoung the hero side in the same series. Like charon being the "most unredeemable" villain despite being the most harmless and funny and his plan being so much less world destroying than cyrus, and also he's the only grandpa villain in like.. The whole of all. And he's drawn very much in that way thays supposed to be "ugly" i.e normal grandpa, vs that weird sort of younger than he looks grandpa that hero ones tend to be because blablabla beauty ewuals goodness anti body positivity whatever. Tho actually sinnoh was good with that, they had the best grandpa professor in my opinion cos he got to be sassy too! Rowan always reminds me of auron from ff10. Sinnoh was a good game where i liked a lot of both the heroes and villains even if i still had more villain faves cos i mean pokemon is always biased towards that for me since every game has a voiceless perosnalityless main character and often theyre the one doing most of the heroing with the supporting hero characters having surprisingly little proper screen time. Thats a big part of why i loved hau gladion and lillie in sun and moon! They felt more like a real friend group than any other ones before.

ANYWAY now im just going offtopic into more "i love lots of stuff about every pokemon game" so ill stop typing now

But just basically VILLAINS ARE GOOD COS THEYRE GOOD CHARACTERS and if those stories gavethe same character a good guy role then id still love them just as much, if not more. I dont specifically like villainy, its just that my definition of a good character is often considered a bad character by lazy writers, apparantly?

Also WHERE IS MY SUPPORTIVE GOOD GRAMPS CHARON GAME AND GAY AUNTIE URSULA GIVES YOU FASHION TIPS SMARTPHONE MMO

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oh-my-otome · 7 years ago

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Hello and I wish you to have a good day. I don't know if this question had been asked before, but when I read your post about the lords and their dere leanings...I couldn't help but to ponder a bit more. Can you give me your opinion on how good the overall psychological health of the lords and main npcs are, in a scale from 1 to 100 (1 being downright nuts and 100 being perfect)? Also maybe some reasoning behind your opinion if it isn't too much of a hassle. Thanks before~

Hello, my lovely! Thank you for your patience!

Purely for fun:

0=unstable, 50=borderline, 100=normal

Mother (100):

She’s grounded, with her head on her shoulders, and her only negative characteristics seem to be the immediate acceptance of her daughter marrying the first man dragged over the threshold (gross Magistrate notwithstanding), and working so hard that she throws out her back.

Yahiko (100):

Yahiko is spunky but humble, and also very brave. He doesn’t hesitate to defend his sister, and also the girl that he likes, even when his opponent is twice his size. He shows loyalty to Inuchiyo, who grew up along side him, but also openness to his sister’s suitors. Always willing to help out, Yahiko is developing steadily into a fine young man with his head on his shoulders.

Magistrate (20):

It’s bad enough that the Magistrate has his eyes on you, because of your beauty, but it turns out that you’re not the only one he’s interested. In Shigezane and Nobuyuki’s event story, it was revealed that the Magistrate is courting several other young beauties– who are willingly consenting! The Magistrate has other women whom he– ugh! –“spends time” with, and yet, you’re the only one that he levels his ire on, when you say that you don’t want to be with him. Since he can apparently have his pick (??), it makes no sense why he’s fixated on you.

Nobunaga (65):

Nobunaga’s got a lot on his shoulders, but he’s also part of his own problem. More than once, he’s gotten in his own way, with his rash actions. He also wallows in guilt so deep that it must be a struggle for him to decide if it’s worth coming up for air, or just sinking to the bottom. No amount of reverent sake sipping will bring his brothers back, and the cost of seeing his ambition bear becomes harder with each battle. Fortunately, he is surrounded by those who truly have his back.

Mitsuhide (85):

Mitsuhide is over-worked, and that’s exactly the type of masochism that gets him going. While anyone else would break under the pressure, Mitsuhide is in the zone when he feels he’s being depended on. He does have a stubborn side, on occasion, and has a tendency to let his co-dependent relationship with Nobunaga go to far by being so willing to accept almost anything.

Katsuie (85):

Sometimes a little hard-headed for his age, Katsuie is affable and warm, nurturing and kind. He provides the stability that many of the retainers need in their chaotic world, and is always willing to help out.

Yukimura (70):

What takes Yukimura’s score down is his bizarre relationship not with his mother, but with her memory. He purposefully distorts it to suit his needs, and everyone around him just lets him. The other thing is the glee he shows for giving his life for his lord which, while romanticized in the game, isn’t normal. His overconfidence hasn’t killed him yet, only because he has plot armor.

Even with it, he shows disregard for the feelings of those who wish him to come home alive. What he says to his MC’s face about coming home safe is all well and good, but when he’s actually on the battlefield and eagerly throwing himself face first into a mass of swords, spears and guns, with a smile– if his MC could see him in that moment, his words would look like nothing more than platitudes.

Nobuyuki (15):

It’s all well and good to describe Nobuyuki as a yandere– because he definitely is one –but he’s even scarier than that. He lacks true empathy, but knows how to feign it well enough to get by, which only ups the creep factor. Not only can he can mimic the emotions that others display and mime them without detection, he doesn’t hesitate to ensnare another person and manipulate them to suit his needs.

Without a hint of remorse, he also utilizes the help of others in facilitating the captivity of others. If he would do it to the woman he claims is “perfect” for him, imagine how he’d treat an enemy.

Saizo (75):

Saizo refuses to let himself forget how he played a hand in the demise of his friend, even though he knows that not only were his hands tied, but that he was duped, to boot. In an odd way, his rehashing his guilt every time it rains serves to provide some measure of comfort for him, in his grief.

Even when facing ridicule, Saizo is quick to step in to help those who need him, and his jealous streak rarely goes out of the bounds of what most would consider normal.

Hotaru (70):

If he would be allowed to actually learn things like a regular person, Hotaru’s score would be much higher. With his heart firmly in a good place, Hotaru’s mishaps stem from him being forcibly stunted socially, and his continued isolation, rather than from any fault of his own.

Easily fixed with patience and kindness.

Kotaro (60):

Having the misfortune of being part of the Hojo clan, it is surprising that Kotaro is actually normal, when in a normal setting. Excluding situational triggers– such as being around Saizo, Ujiyasu, or when he has a migraine –Kotaro is basically a more world-wise Hotaru.

When he’s around his triggers, you can forget it. He’s basically not even himself anymore, performing actions far removed from how he behaves when away from them.

With the triggers, he lacks control, self-preservation, and empathy.Without the triggers, he’s calm, reserved, and respectful.

When he was crying out for his mother, in his event story, and apologizing for being alive, my first thought wasn’t that he desired to die because his mother didn’t like him for some reason, but that perhaps his mother was dead and he wanted to be by her side, but was still alive.

That’s my headcanon, anyway.

The way that Kotaro speaks of himself also reflects the Hojo way or thinking– that everything is beneath them. He refers to himself as a worm, and worms are literally beneath everything. It is when he meets his MC, in his event, that he walks straighter and taller, making the symbolic transition from the ground (worm) up (holding one’s head with pride)

Masamune (75):

Masamune is only holding it together, initially, because he’s propped up on both sides by Kojuro and Shigezane. He very strongly desires a relationship with his mother, but does little in being the forward-moving action to help get started on that venture, past brief chats avoiding the topic entirely, and merely nodding his assent.

Masamune is also passive-aggressive– sometimes even straight aggressive, with no sugar-coating –and is quick to pull a sword on someone for daring to give him a compliment.

Being around his MC gets him to calm down, and Masamune, having found someone his own age who truly cares for him, is able to display his feelings more naturally. He becomes calmer and gentler by comparison, and is able to open up more.

Yoshihime (30):

Yoshihime takes her grieving to the extreme, starting first with her child, whom she shuns out of ignorance, and then for her husband, believing the lies that her own brother told her.

Throughout the game, we see Yoshihime making very realistic strides.

Kojiro (100):

Caught between his brother and mother, Kojiro struggles to maintain two different types of loyalties, and does the best that he can. Generous and kind by nature, he desires stability.

Shigezane (80):

Shigezane clearly has his secrets, and even when it comes to his feelings of inadequacy, which he readily admits to, he appears to handle himself well. Shigezane is the type of person who knows exactly what he needs in order to be happy, but he remains respectful to others and doesn’t take what’s not his.

He is more independent and proactive than Masamune, which is why his score is higher.

Kojuro (75):

He may have no house training, but Kojuro is very capable in other areas. Kojuro doesn’t work himself quite as hard as Mitsuhide, but he’s up there, diligently working away to buoy up his lord.

Kojuro admits that he occasionally has a problem nannying Masamune and shunning Shigezane, but he also knows where to draw the line, to let his lords figure things out on their own.

eta:

@saizoswifey How could I forget what you very helpfully reminded me: Kojuro’s undermining of Shigezane’s relationships!

He was unaware that he was doing it, however, and it is unclear if the women were potentially using Shigezane to get closer to Kojuro.

See this post.

Having the same type and moving in before someone else can is very similar to how Hideyoshi behaves with both his own MC and Toshiie’s, as in each route Hideyoshi makes the first move.

Thank you!

Hideyoshi (65):

Hideyoshi always has a ready smile and it quick to placate his lord, but under the surface, he can snap back quite easily to the scrappy young man that he used to be, left in the world to fend for himself.

The difference is that now that he’s grown, he has a man’s strength to go along with that rage, and if one isn’t careful, they might find themselves on the receiving end of him having a flashback.

Adept at hiding the pain in his heart, Hideyoshi throws himself into performing acts of service to others, and appears confident even when he doesn’t feel like that on the inside.

Hanbei (95):

Coping with a terminal illness, Hanbei does all that he can to make himself of use to those that he cares about, even when the odds are against him. However, he is stubborn.

Toshiie (75):

Toshiie’s insistence that he tell his MC about her father “when the time is right” is nothing more than cowardice and selfishness, but he holds on to it as if keeping such a secret will somehow protect her. What he doesn’t realize is that doing so will only make her trust him less, as the first thing out of anyone’s mouth would be “why did you wait so long!?”

Hopping around from father-figure to father-figure highlights his need to fill a void in his life, and is an area in which Toshiie misses a chance to strengthen his tie to the woman he loves.

Instead, he chooses to make stronger a bond that was never weak to begin with– by going to save Katsuie –rather than saving his MC, to whom he has already nearly broken his connection with, through his poor choices.

Keiji (80):

Keiji plays up the part of the wild, sloppy-kissing, lazy bones good-for-nothing, but it turns out that he has more stability and common sense than he’s given credit for. Throughout Toshiie’s route, Keiji is there to bolster the MC’s confidence in herself, even when she lacks the energy and will.

Ieyasu (65):

Ieyasu’s demons may be in the closet, but the door isn’t closed– it’s half-open. At the back of his mind are all of the horrors that he faced in the past, and they are easily dragged to the forefront of his mind, should the situation present itself, where he becomes upset about something, or at someone, and then there he is again, losing control. He is reactionary, with a tendency to lapse into old behavior.

Once he meets his MC, Ieyasu improved dramatically, but when he’s presented with knowledge that she betrayed him, he launches into a knee-jerk reaction without even considering that he’s been lied to. Once he’s had a few minutes to think, only then does he realize that he’s not in the past anymore, and that he has the means to protect himself and others.

Toramatsu (90):

Toramatsu is moved very quickly to exasperation, and can be a little melodramatic and passive-aggressive, even manipulative, but he is otherwise normal, as these situations are far from frequent.

Tadakatsu (65):

Tadakatsu’s desires may not be the norm around the castle, but it’s not the desires themselves which are the issue. Tadakatsu will go out of his way to get what he wants, even knowing that his lord takes no pleasure in taking part in it, but is merely humoring him because it helps him remove himself from the situation faster. Finding Ieyasu’s complacency suits him just fine, Tadakatsu actively seeks out situations which will get him his desired results, anyway.

He has also said that it doesn’t matter who it is, so long as they give him what he wants, and to that end, Tadakatsu would likely continue to ignore other people’s boundaries, as even his speech has no filter.

Yasumasa (55):

Yasumasa’s hatred of women seems to come from different aspects of his psyche. From being socially awkward, to wanting to impress his lord, to wanting to dominate his lord’s decisions, to disregarding his lord’s will entirely, Yasumasa can’t seem to figure out what exactly it is that he wants.

He flits like a butterfly from flower to flower, from standpoint to standpoint, each soapbox he stands on changing slightly every time he opens his mouth.

In one breath, he’s saying women have no place in the clan, in the next, he’s asking the Lady of the clan for forgiveness. On one hand, he desperately wants to curry favor with Ieyasu, the next time he turns around, he’s forcing Ieyasu’s hand, and making him uncomfortable.

Mitsunari (65):

Mitsunari is undoubtedly teeming with an unholy amount of fanboyism toward his lord, but he’s also– put bluntly –an ass.

He’s quick to point out how stupid someone else is, and then the next thing you know, he can’t figure out something simple, because it has nothing to do with Hideyoshi, or it wasn’t in a book, or the information in the book is different, or it has to do with women.

He expects to be apologized to, but can barely move his tongue to offer an apology, himself.

Fiercely loyal, Mitsunari throws his hat in with those who have shown him consistency, devotion, and good-will. Once they have earned his trust, those close to Mitsunari can expect that he will give his all, in all ways, and find in him an ever-lasting friend.

Kenshin (45):

Suicidal, and mercurial, Kenshin needs a keeper, and Kanetsugu knows it. Kenshin will do anything so long as it is as far as he can get from the castle, and although it is usually played for laughs a careful read will reveal that the further away from the castle Kenshin gets, the happier he becomes– because he is trying to distance himself from his role.

Once he connects the dots that there is a spy in the castle, sent to kill him, Kenshin, who has long-since grown tired of being the blood-thirsty “God of War,” allows himself to fall into the trap, being so depressed that he sees no way out.

Yoshichi (100):

Cheerful and sweet, Yoshichi does everything that he can to be of help to his lord and his brother.

Kageie (75):

Kageie’s negative traits a few compared to his ability to do his job so well. And it is because he does his job so well that he is cocky, especially with newcomers.

Because he tends to live in his own head, being satisfied with his reasons for doing things, but not always voicing them aloud so that others know why he behaves a certain way, his actions sometimes come across as bizarre, leaving others to wonder how he is able to do certain things. The end result is that it creates mystery, but also confusion for those who want to get close to him.

Kagetsugu (45):

I won’t spoil it, and you can say whatever you want, but the motivations for his actions make no damn sense.

Outside of that, Kagetsugu, like Inuchiyo, tends to realize his own feelings for those around him so late that he has let the opportunity to act on them sail by. Even platonically, he nearly burns every bridge he has.

Shingen (70):

Shingen is trying to hold his clan together, against the rising force of an unlikely opponent. He’s trying to hold it together, and when he can’t, he would rather seeing his empire razed than taken over. He’s also in deep denial about his illness, and very stubborn.

Kansuke (80):

Kansuke is under enormous pressure to keep his lord alive, both in his capacity as a retainer, and as a friend so close that he’s family.

He is a tsundere and a kuudere, and while his emotions tend to not show on his face, he can transition from one dere-type to the other at breakneck speed, when he’s crossed.

#q&a #samurai love ballad party

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